#there's something soothing about cacti

[nmotypdfsfg]

[m1d-45]

i love your sagau/imposter au fics so much (esp kazuha’s),, do you think nahida would be able to sense if the creator isnt an imposter because of her having access to Irminsul and being able to see if there are records of them? anyways okok so uh hear me out, maybe the creator tries to seek safety in sumeru while they’re being hunted? sorry if this is a lengthy ask ekwjkwm anyways thanks for reading, ur amazing !

sandy refuge

word count: 3.4k

-> warnings: spoilers for the final sumeru archon quest

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

sumeru was a deadly nation.

liyue was guarded by the adepti, and inazuma’s storms tore the sea around the archipelago to shreds, but sumeru…

sumeru, the land of wisdom, headed by academics and led by scholars and sages. the nation split in two, lush forests barely a stones throw from barren deserts, believers of two (three?) separate gods walking side by side through the city. for a nation so divided, it was rare to get everybody to agree on something, every decision inevitably and invariably leaving some group of people unsatisfied.

and yet, there they were, united under one flag. eremites and the matra, the beige robes of the desert dwellers shifting in the wind besides the glittering armor of the akademiya’s soldiers, spears and swords aligned towards the same target.

it would be beautiful, if only you weren’t the one they rallied against.

you didn’t know how long you had been running when you managed to work your way past the wall, nor how long you had managed to stumble across sand dunes before finding your current oasis.

literally. trees swayed around a large pool of clear water, thick grass cushioning your knees as you barely hesitated before cupping some in your hands and drinking. it was blessedly cool, and you were tempted to swim in it and let it soothe the continuous heat from the desert sun. sadly, you didn’t have a spare set of clothes, and you weren’t keen on stripping when the matra could storm the place at any moment.

or the eremites. or the corp of thirty. or literally anybody else, since you’ve apparently been declared public enemy number one.

you splashed some water on your face and over your head, goosebumps rising where a drop raced beneath the collar of your shirt. how water was so cold when the sand was so hot, you didn’t know, but you weren’t going to complain.

after drinking a few more handfuls of the water, you finally looked around. there was a large spire of stone next to the oasis, flanked by large trees, with a thankfully abandoned hilichurl hut beside it.

you try not to think about how an archer would have had an easy shot as you were drinking.

at the base of a few of the trees is something green, and you remember the nuts that grew in the desert. you were too wary of the henna berries and the cacti they grew on to try and eat those, but you distinctly remember these being used in a few recipes.

all you could do was hope they were edible raw.

you stood—your vision blurred, the ground tilting, but you ignored it—and walked around the oasis, inspecting the green and hoping it wasn’t a fungus.

good news, it wasn’t. bad news, it was the husk of one of the nuts, hollow without any of the fruit inside. fresh, by the looks of it, the green leaves squishing instead of crumbling when you kicked at them.

great.

you sat on the curved trunk of one of the trees, holding up a hand to shade your eyes as you looked up. you could see another nut, hanging off the top of a tree, but.. the bark of the trees were smooth, and any of your athletic abilities were worn away by exhaustion and malnutrition.

you let your head drop and tried not to focus on your hunger, instead inspecting the mix of sand and grass beneath your feet. sand and grass. all of sumeru, represented right at your feet. hot, slippery sand, and cool, spiky grass. the desert and the forest, two wildly different ecosystems, and yet… both drove you out.

you tried not to cry, to push away the helplessness of the situation, but you couldn’t. what had you done, you wondered, for your very face to cause such an uproar? for two separate groups of people, divided in location, name, and faith to ally in their shared hatred of you? if somebody asked you what the millelith, matra, and eremites had in common about six months ago, you couldn’t have answered. you’d have thought about it, maybe, but drawn a blank outside of ‘defenders.’

but what were they defending? and how were you a threat?

when the first tear fell, so did something else.

you jumped at the dense thud, digging your nails—overgrown, bitten at, broken—into the bark as you searched for the source of the noise.

a large fruit had fallen, the one you were eyeing earlier by the looks of it. it sat atop the empty husk of another, magically fallen from the tree by seemingly nothing.

you weren’t going to complain.

you slid off the tree, reaching for the nut, grabbing the stem and pulling, but dropped it just as fast. a fungus was standing just behind it, large orange eyes looking up at you.

you were frozen. would it attack you? was it trying to eat? did they even need to? could you get sick from fungus spores? even if you couldn’t, getting hurt wasn’t worth the meal…

the fungus tilted to one side, then the other, bumping the large fruit towards you.

it… was giving it back?

you stared, but the fungus didn’t move. when you carefully tugged at the nut, slowly drawing it closer so you could properly pick it up, it didn’t move. it just watched you, the rim of its cap slightly falling into its eyes.

you sat back on the tree, pulling it into your lap. the outer leaves were coarse, softening as you pulled away the many layers. there was a high chance some of the inner leaves were edible, but you didn’t want to take chances. the fruit itself was a pale green, easily tearing under your fingers. it was soft, with the barest edge of sweetness that had you prying up more. it wouldn’t make for a full meal, but it was certainly far better than nothing.

you checked on the fungus every once in a while, but it just stood there. by your guess, it was the floating anemo kind, but where was its group? fungi rarely appeared alone, and part of you felt bad.

(felt bad. for a fungus. you’re in dirty, torn clothes and on the run for your life, and you still find the empathy for a fungus. at least you knew your morals were still intact.)

you offered a piece of the nut to the fungus, but it didn’t react. instead it turned, floating into the air and drifting away.

…alright.

you try to eat the fruit slowly, as to not make yourself sick, taking breaks to sip more water from the lake to dim the sweetness. you didn’t know how long the fruit would stay good now that you’d opened it, but you were trying to enjoy it. its not as if you were overflowing with excess, and you likely couldn’t linger here long. you don’t even know why you resorted to the desert anyway.. between cyno, the ruins, scorpions, the primal constructs.. to say it was dangerous was an understatement. even if you made it to the far west, the pari were there, and you didn’t think they would take too kindly to you. fontaine wouldn’t be much better, provided you somehow crossed the sea around it…

nowhere was safe. you supposed that was the point, that nobody would give you refuge, but it still hurt. you didn’t think you’d ever land in this situation when you first downloaded the game..

whatever. you’re not going to go down that path for the nth time. you hold the remains of the nut in one arm as you stand, picking off chunks as you walk toward the hilichurl hut. with any luck there would be something useful inside, or at least be a safe place to rest temporarily.

the camp looks like it’s been clear recently, which is both good and bad. good, because neither hilichurls nor patrols should come by here for a bit, but bad because it lowers your chances of finding anything useful. there’s no arrowheads or vegetables, not even embers in the fire pit, all the supply boxes long since broken.

at least it’s shelter. at least you had food today, and (hopefully) clean water. small wins, small wins…

you gather your strength and begin to drag all the rubble into the hut, using what was left of their training dummies to make a hollow pile. hopefully it would just look like trash to anyone walking by, and could maybe keep you warm. the scraps of furs littered over the camp were matted with something you didn’t want to think about, so this was your best bet.

man, you missed your bed.

you returned to the oasis for more water, scrubbing off some of the dirt from your arms and face. you wouldn’t be clean for long, what with the dirt floor you’d picked as your shelter, but it felt nice. a topical fix for a bone deep wound.

you didn’t try to clean your clothes, eyeing the sun dipping in the sky. having wet clothes wouldn’t help at night, even if it might feel good. perhaps tomorrow? yes, tomorrow. tomorrow you could scrub at your shirt—*blood doesn’t clean easily without soap*—and try to undo some of the knots in your hair, maybe even use leaves and some of the scraps of twine around the camp to bring some water with you.

tomorrow. you got this. surely.

(just ignore the fact that you don’t know where in the desert you are. or how easy it would be to get lost, or dehydrate. nope. this is a perfectly fine and normal situation that you have an okay amount of control over. you got this. you have to.)

you return to the hut, retrieving the other half of your fruit and taking it with you into your pitiful shelter. at least you didn’t have to worry about rain…

it was only slightly cramped beneath the pile of junk, but you had enough room for you and your food. you laid there for a long time, occasionally peeling off pieces to eat. you didn’t know how much was left, and you didn’t think about it, distracting yourself by thinking about tomorrow. if you were clever with some sticks you could fashion some wider soles for your shoes to get more grip on the sand, or maybe a hat to keep from burning… but there was water and food to worry about, but the area along the wall was certainly dangerous, but it might be worth it if it meant you lived a little longer…

you fell asleep at some point, the faint sweetness of your dinner lingering on your tongue.

normally, waking up to someone barely a foot from your person would be unsettling. in your situation, it was terrifying.

you immediately pushed yourself back, crawling backwards away from nahida. she was kneeling, seeming surprised at your actions. you almost wondered how she was out here, and in your survey of the area, it clicked.

you weren’t in the hut anymore. you’d missed it in your fear, but you were lying on grass, in a small meadow. you didn’t pay too much attention to it though, putting a hand to your chest to try and calm your heart.

“just a dream,” you breathed, and nahida’s expression fell. not into anger, more.. sadness?

“i’m sorry if i startled you.” her voice was soft, but flat, motions stiff as she stood up and dusted off her dress.

what a weird dream. first you’re lucid, then she’s here… maybe it was wishful thinking. maybe your brain had finally had enough.

“it’s fine,” you said, taking another look around the field. tall trees arched high above you, the bushes and ferns between them reminding you of the rainforest. in the center were three chairs, with various plates laid out on the table between them. you stood, automatically wiping for any grass caught on you, only to find that you were actually wearing clean clothes again—one of your favorite outfits, actually.

you mostly ignored nahida as you walked to the table, looking over the various dishes. you recognized a few as sumeru recipes, but not all of them, deciding to pick at a bowl of fruit instead. you’re not sure how dreams work here—you haven’t had many since coming to teyvat—but it feels safer to stick with a food you’ve actually tried before.

(you ignore the nut from the oasis. calculated risk.)

“i hope they’re to your liking?” nahida’s voice is hesitant as she comes to your side, sitting in one of the chairs. you don’t do the same.

“i’m surprised i remember so many of these,” you say instead, looking over the sheer variety of food laid out. your subconscious has done well.. almost a bit too well.

“eat. you need the energy.”

“i’ll just miss them in the morning, and it’s not like they’ll give me any actual nutrition.”

“…please, my god.”

your head whips to her in an instant, the fruit falling from your hand as if it was poison. it could be, considering everything.

even after all these months, you’d let your guard down. in front of the one god who had control over dreams, you ate of her food and showed that you were weak.

nahida raises her hands, and you have half a mind to grab a knife off the table. it wouldn’t do anything, but it would make you feel better. “it’s just me. there’s nobody else in this dream.”

you should have known better. “leave me alone.”

“i mean you no harm, i only-“

you put your hands over your ears and close your eyes, trying to make yourself wake up. you pictured the walls of the hut, of your makeshift shelter and the leaves of last night’s dinner. you pretend you can’t hear her voice, that the only sound is the whisper of the wind.

if only you’d remembered her powers quicker, or perhaps discovered yours sooner.

you don’t know how long it took you to break free from the dream, or if you managed to break it at all. you just knew that you woke up to the sounds of talking from outside your hut, the words were faint but still discernible from the wind. two voices, one soft and one rough, picking their way around the oasis.

you didn’t dare try to run, instead shifting some of the wood in your pile to cover the entrance. where could you even go if they found you? west was dangerous, east was deadly, north led you into either a sandstorm or a dead-end sea, and south was entirely uncharted, and that was assuming you even made it that far.

they came closer, and you reached for one of the smaller planks in your small shelter. it was still about the length of your forearm, and though the rest of the stack shifted, you felt a bit safer. maybe you could hide in a cave for a while until they left? no, that would mean you’d have to get enough of a lead to lose them, and you doubted you could run that fast.

“-abandoned.” there was a sound like a rock kicked against the side of the hut, covering the sound of your breath as you recognized the voice. “you sure this is the right place?”

wanderer.

“i’m certain, i saw it myself.”

and nahida. she probably tapped into your mind to see where you were trying to wake up to… it would be clever if your life wasn’t on the line.

footsteps drew ever closer, and it was getting hard to judge the distance. the hut was empty save for your little scrap pile, but how close was too close? could you even have a chance with wanderer’s skill? not to mention the dendro archon…

maybe you were doomed from the start. there was no good ending for you, just a constant delay of the fate that you dodged when you first set foot on this planet.

how long has it been? how much time have you borrowed? teyvat had ghosts, would you become one? would you return to earth? did your earth even exist anymore? this was not the time for this debate…

a shadow moved, and nahida’s voice was far closer than it was before. “divine one?”

you bit your cheek as to not laugh. ‘divine one.’ she already had a god, the one that had ordered this mess to begin with. the first person you ran into, ironically, who had on sight declared you a criminal. you didn’t want to be associated with that person at all, thank you. did she think that you thought you were the god? you wouldn’t be hiding if you did.

“buer. you’re talking to a pile of sticks.”

“i’m aware.” her voice grew quieter, like she’d turned around. “but we need to be patient.”

“there’s an easier way to do this, you know.”

“after all that’s happened? there’s no easy solution to this.”

“that’s not what i…” he sighed. “can i show you something?”

“what is it?”

the air hissed, your pile broken by a blade of wind down the middle. the anemo curved around you, acting as a shield as the wood splintered and flew. you quickly pushed yourself up, sitting against the wall and looking between the two of them. nahida looked terrified, and the shock on wanderer’s face is comical. looks like he didn’t expect you to actually be in there.

he removed his hat from his head, quickly dropping to one knee, nahida doing the same barely a moment after. “my god.. i apologize for my haste.”

pardon?

nahida lifted her head, meeting your eyes with a hand to her chest. “and i’m sorry for invading your dream earlier. i just wanted to find you, and when i noticed you were in sumeru..”

wanderer is too prideful to apologize to anybody he doesn’t absolutely need to, even for a plan.. jut what’s going on here?

you fix your attention on nahida and hope she’s not a good liar. “don’t you already have a god you follow?”

nahida flinched, looking away. “that… was a mistake. i should have trusted my instincts, and for that i’m sorry. i had no idea that my silence would lead to this…”

either she’s a really convincing actor, or she means it. given the severity of the situation, you don’t want to assume.

“if it helps…” wanderer’s hands tighten on his hat, and he bows his head further. “my anemo protected you. even if i did mean to cause harm, that is more than enough proof of your identity.”

“…so i’m supposed to believe you? just like that?”

nahida shook her head. “i understand your apprehension. it’s hard to trust someone after everyone else has betrayed you, and i don’t expect you to come with me to the sanctuary right away. aaru village is close by, though, and i was hoping you would be willing to go there..?”

some part of you still thinks it’s a trick, that there would be a swarm of matra waiting for you. but honestly… running is tiring, and nahida is kind. you want to believe her, even if it does end up going poorly. what else do you have to lose, really?

you drop your poor excuse for a weapon, briefly checking your hands for splinters before standing up. you kick aside the remains of your dinner and dust yourself off, walking forward. “alright. i’ll go with you.”

nahida beams.

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

WRITING MASTERPOST

i saw a couple of these and decided to make this with my fics! (updates whenever i post one onto ao3)

SPIES ARE FOREVER

the room, it echoes clear (with words we choose not to hear - tatiana-centric angst

MCYT

take me by the hand (place it on your heart) - wild life creakblings (scott + bigb)

for the heart of it - secret life shadowmoon

dripping in gold - zombiewood fluff

rose-gold painted nails - lizzie painting mumbos nails

would things be easier if there was a right way? (honey, there is no right way) - treebark coffee shop au, multi-chapter

oh, cassiopeia, let your stars collide - redstone snap stargazing

that warmth an evening brings - zombiedogwood fluff

wait, you can see me? (ah, so it talks!) - dapper duo halloween fic; mumbo accidentally summons a spirit in a graveyard

i’ve got two left feet, so i just smile politely - mumpearl slow dancing

i’ve got kisses to soothe your soul - scottpulse fluff

i will ruin you (i’ve sworn by it) - post desert duo cacti ring, grian beating up scars corpse, set in third life

worth it - impdarity fluff, them spending the weekend hiking together

kiss them, you fool - lil drabble of treebarkb in a d&d au, martyn-centric

the sound of your own thoughts are what keep you up at night - zombiesymmetry hurt/comfort. cleo-centric, set during hermitcraft 10

steady, steady, you know when you’re ready - skizzscottpulse ice skating together, sorta modern au

‘cause all i’ve ever wanted is here - poly mounders eating breakfast together, set during secret life

slow dance under stormy skies - empires flower husbands slow dance in the rain

you take me in your arms, and suddenly there’s sunlight all around me - treebark hadestown au (ft ethubs and scar)

the last thing i want is to look like a fool - scottpulse hurt/comfort, set in secret life

sometimes all you can do is say goodnight (and tuck your demons into bed) - multi-chapter; set in limited life, pearl getting nightmares about the end of double life (ft. watcher lore)

among the wildflowers and the lilies sleeping by the way - third life flower husbands angst, scott missing his days with jimmy before he became a red life 

in the darkness and the howling, i’ve caused his drowning - an in-depth version of the treebark decapitation scene 

i love it when you look my way - flower husbands fluff, jimmy making a flower crown for scott in third life 

he wants me (to be loved) - ethubs hanahaki, set in last life; bdubs-centric

why don’t you sit right down and stay and make me smile? - gempearl on a picnic date 

it’s daunting to explore, but i want more - false joining last life 

we creep up on extinction - cleo-centric, hurt/comfort, set in secret life

kiss your fingers forevermore - femslash treebark fluff, set in third life 

meet the kids - martyn + clockers family dinner, zombiewood, set in limited life 

DOCTOR WHO

they’re right outside the door (and they don’t know) - tenrose + donna in a weeping angels situation, rose-centric

THE GLASS SCIENTISTS/J&H

“Oh, captain, let’s make a deal!” - jekyon mer au, multi-chapter

Suddenly Uncontrolled (Something is Taking Hold) - transformation scene for the jekyll and hyde musical, verryyyy old)

MY OCS

‘cause i’m six feet under nearly (and i don’t have anyone) - zombie apocalypse au

all these years without you (and your voice is still a symphony) - a crackfic filled with angst about sentient instruments that fall in love sometimes 

Adieu, My First and Last Love(s) - a songfic with its plot told by mitski songs, multi-chapter

SWEENEY TODD

Macabre - Swenett (one-sided, sweeney and mrs lovette sharing a dance after the former discovering the identity of the beggar woman; VERY old)

MISCELLANEOUS

It’s Like Slang…From England - crackship with some many fandoms that ive lost count of (fem johnlock helping regina george solve a murder mystery)

[bullet-prooflove]

Free - Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ask-a-bot]

Hmmm….activities for Megs……

Wait! What about a Bonsai Tree?

Bonsai trees take time to trim and maintain, but I’ve heard that taking time to trim/maintain them can be very relaxing and even soothing for people. The best part is that they can be kept indoors, and you shouldn’t react to them (since they’re not pine). Since Megs does keep a garden, I figured this suited him best. What do you think, Optimus?

That's a great idea! I'll see what I can find. Cacti! I might get some cacti, too. They don't take much care if they're given the right conditions and they'll give him something else to enjoy.

Sounds like he's moving around again. Poor Megatron! I know he hates being confined to berth, but it's for his own good. How can I persuade him?

[leebrontide]

Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 4

Here's this week's chapter!

For those of you just joining us, I'm posting a chapter a week of my free near future scifi/low neon cyberpunk YA/NA novel, Secondhand Origin Stories, which has been described as

"-a character driven, compelling story full of family, queerness, corruption, brain altering nanites, secretly teen parenting AIs, and taking aspects of the superhero genre to their very human and rarely-explored natural conclusions."

For content warnings, chapter index and more, check here:

You can follow along by following #SHOSweekly

Chapter 4

Jamie didn’t want to be awake at this hour. She’d tried repeatedly to go back to sleep. She’d puttered around her room for an hour. Carefully watered the entire tiny city of over 50 potted cacti lining her windowsills, shelves, and the stairs to her bed loft. She’d added dirt to the ones who’d lost some by getting knocked over the day of the attack. She made her bed. Failed at reading three different books. Stared blankly at the ASL app. Finally, she’d given up, showered and dressed, and switched to the living room for a change of pace.

The living room was full of cut flowers and gift baskets. By now, the whole world knew at least the basics of what had happened. The exact nature of Issac's injury wasn’t public yet, as far as she could tell, but people knew enough to send sympathy cards and flowers. They’d accumulated on the kitchen counter, filling the living room with a morbid perfume. Other superheroes, Mom’s business friends, even Dad’s army buddies from way back before the Vancouver Convention banned altereds from serving in any military on foreign soil. So many gifts. But so few phone calls.

Jamie’d gotten emails, though. Mostly from the other superheroes’ kids. None of them asked questions. None offered help they couldn’t provide. But they wished Jamie and her family well. Told her to send Issac their words, or hugs, or generic support. They offered to move the date of the next book club chat, but she’d decided to leave it where it was. She didn’t have anything better to do.

She sat on the living room floor, her back to the baskets and vases, watching her city. She lived too enclosed a life to feel like a real, true Chicagoan, and neither of her parents were from Illinois, but she loved this city anyways. Even if 24 stories and bulletproof glass separated her from the rest of Chicago. It was soothing to watch lights come on in windows of other high-rises. Points of yellow and white, amidst the slowly lightening blue of pre-dawn. Tens of thousands of lives unfolding all around her. No matter how oppressively still things inside this room had become, the rest of the world kept going. Even after the attack, she couldn’t help but think her dad and the team had the best job in the world, protecting all those people out there. All those points of light-- all those stories unfolding, every second of every day.

Jamie didn’t want anything to do with the fame of superheroing-- her few public interviews were painfully awkward. But she wanted so badly to do something for all those people. Especially when she couldn’t seem to do anything for anyone in here.

A soft shushing sound behind her, and Jamie turned sharply, just in time to startle her mom. Mom yelped, but recovered immediately. “Jamie!” Her voice was hushed, but relieved. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Jamie whispered back. There wasn’t any point in whispering, but it somehow felt appropriate. 

Mom sighed, scratching her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t realize you were having trouble sleeping, too.” Jamie shrugged. “Your brother’s still out.”

Nobody had interacted much with Issac in the three days since the attack, much less passed on words from acquaintances. He was mostly asleep, resurfacing now and then to ignore the sympathy gifts as he rummaged slowly through the kitchen for snacks. Mom checked on him about every 20 minutes.

Mom padded wearily towards the couch, also ignoring the flowers and baskets. Jamie was sure someone would get paid to write thank-you notes later. 

“Anyone find Skittles yet?” Mom asked around a yawn. Jamie shook her head. Yael’d run out of energy to be frantic about it, but xe still kept wandering around trying to find xyr hamster. It made that lost look on xyr face a little better if Jamie attributed it to Skittles.

There was a cigar sticking out of Mom’s robe pocket. Jamie’d estimated that Mom was smoking about three times as many cigars as normal. Which wasn’t actually that many cigars, but enough to be worth noting. Jamie liked the smell of mom’s cigars better than sympathy flowers, though she was also more allergic to them. Which was why Mom only smoked in the courtyard. She must have been on her way there, now. Instead, she sat on the huge white U-shaped couch. “Want to watch the news?”

Jamie felt a small smile appear. She used to watch the news streams with Mom when she was little and woke up far earlier than Issac could be dragged out of bed. She nodded, climbing up on the couch and resting her head on a throw pillow, sneaking her socked toes under Mom’s knee to stay warm. Mom directed MARTIN through her yawning, booting up a preferred stream. 

Jamie half-listened to the droning journalist talking about stocks. This, at least, was familiar. She tried to let go of the questions she shouldn’t ask. She’d only get told “we’ll have to wait and see” again. She knew that was the only available answer to most of the questions preying on her mind. Everyone in the tower was waiting, as if the whole family was holding their breaths together. It wasn’t clear what they were waiting for, what the signal to return to life would be.

Inevitably, the news turned to the attack on the tower. Mom gave an irritated “mmmph.” and forwarded through it. Jamie caught the supertitle, though, over a photo of a younger-looking man with resigned rage on his face. Altered Pilot Still Under Investigation -- Eustus Hamlin apprehended --

Jamie hadn’t given the attacker much thought since he’d been caught. She’d been focusing inside the apartments. For the first time, it occurred to her how weird it was, how she took for granted that someone wanted to blow up her house. She hadn’t even questioned it. After all, it’d happened before. She’d just assumed some people wanted to, and that other people would deal with it. “Mom, is that guy downstairs?” There were detention cells in the APB offices. Did they put the pilot in the same building he tried to blow up? The same one they lived in? 

Mom blew a hard breath out through her nose and scratched her fingers through her hair again, looking out the window. “He was altered. There wasn’t anywhere else to put him until they transfer him to Michigan.”

There was only one prison for altereds in the US, and that was the one in Detroit. It’d never annoyed Jamie before that her home was therefore the only spot you could detain an altered in Illinois. “Did they figure out yet why he did it?”

Mom flicked lint off the back of the couch with a hard click of her nails. “Nope. And since they’ve banned the team from the investigation, it’s probably going to take them a while.”

Jamie frowned. Banned the Sentinels from the investigation? Why?

Well, she’d watched enough crime procedurals to guess. It would be hard for them to be objective about someone who’d almost blown up their kids. But it still wasn’t fair to keep them in the dark about it. 

And, by extension, keep Jamie in the dark about it.

“So Dad hasn’t been down there investigating, all this time?”

Mom rubbed her face. “Jamie. Please. I just woke up.” That was normally the best time to ask Mom about things. Mom was a die-hard morning person. She wasn’t kidding about not sleeping, then.

“But I haven’t seen Dad since Issac came home--”

Mom groaned and leaned her head back against the couch. She didn’t want to look at Jamie. “I know.”

Dad’s absence was bad enough if he was out protecting the family. But if he wasn’t… “Where’s he been, then?” That didn’t make sense…Dad was only distant in the emotional sense. Physically speaking, incessant hovering was way more his style.

She noticed another out-of-place element. Mom’s nails. Jamie’d gone through a brief nail-biting period as a kid, and had been subjected to multiple lectures about the importance of your hands representing you well. Mom’s nails were a point of pride. She went to get them done weekly, and had a kit at home, just in case. And she was missing two of her gel nails. Another one was cracked and ripped. And one of Mom’s cuticles actually looked chewed on. It was a tiny detail, one she wouldn’t have cared about on anyone else. But Mom never took off her nails unless she was camping. The color was so dark, the damage was obvious. Jamie was sure she’d take them off rather than let them sit in a state like this.

Except that, obviously, that was exactly what she was doing. 

Mom drummed her out-of-character nails on the sofa, thinking hard. Trying to spin an answer for Jamie. At Jamie’s bristling, Mom’s shoulders drooped a hair, like she was giving up. She looked wearily at Jamie. “Catching your brother took a lot out of him. You know catching people mid-fall is hard.” Jamie nodded, not quite understanding, but feeling like Mom was trying to give her the truth. It matched what Solomon had said before. But Mom just shrugged. “He’s not feeling great.”

Jamie waited for her mom to elaborate, but Mom merely raised an eyebrow at Jamie’s waiting, giving her another shrug. “That’s it.”

That didn’t even make sense. Jamie’d seen her dad come home from missions her whole life. She knew what it took to take Dad down for multiple days. Things like “punctured organs” made that list. Things like “catching Issac” shouldn’t come close. Dad was a powerhouse. Issac’s weight was nothing to him, even in midair.

But while Mom was overprotective, and sometimes omitted information, Jamie hadn’t ever known her to outright lie. 

Nobody was making sense. 

It put her on edge. “I’ll go see if Yael’s awake.” 

Mom seemed relieved. “Good idea.”

“Breakfast at the normal time?”

“I think I’m just gonna graze this morning, if you don’t mind fending for yourself.”

“I can pour milk on my own cereal,” Jamie agreed, wondering whether she should be worried at Mom disrupting her favorite routine. She ended up retroactively feeling childish about the fact that her mom always did make breakfast for her.

Mom mumbled in thanks as Jamie slipped out into the courtyard. There was no mistaking the smell of outside air seeping under Jenna's locked front door. The courtyard was colder than Jamie could remember it being since back when the ceiling had been glass. The construction company wouldn’t arrive till 8. They made an incredible racket, but luckily, the noise couldn’t bother the person who needed rest the most.

She looked around the courtyard. No sign of Skittles. 

She had to figure out something productive to do, or she’d lose her mind. Every time she’d tried to do something in the last couple days, she started worrying that Issac would walk in, see her living her life normally, and feel…She wasn’t sure what he’d feel. But she didn’t want to be the reason he felt it.

She tried the handle to Dad’s door, experimentally. It was still locked. She’d never even thought about whether or not it had a lock. She’d never not been able to get in, before. She hesitated, glancing around, then pressed her ear to the door. She didn’t hear anything.

Jenna’s apartment was the one directly opposite hers, so Jamie took the long way to Yael’s door, following a subtle breeze and chill. With Jenna’s door closed, only the air hinted at a breach.

What if Skittles was in Jenna’s apartment, with all the construction workers and tools? 

She tried the handle. Locked. Home felt a lot smaller, more claustrophobic, even though she could feel and smell the outside world through the break.

She wished Jenna was still here. Jenna always knew what to do with Issac. Now even her stuff was gone.

Jamie was struck with an idea-- maybe it wasn’t much more than a gesture, but it was something. Jenna’s things had fallen. Something must have survived the fall. If she couldn’t bring Jenna back here from wherever she’d disappeared herself to after she got hurt, then at least Jamie could bring back something of Jenna’s memory. She headed back towards Yael’s door with new energy and a good excuse to get outside her shrinking home for a while.

* * *

On the ground floor of the Plaza, there was a little lobby. It was more of a wide hallway than anything, leading from the elevators to a discreet door to the outside. It was just black and white tile, some sconces, and a little side table with a mirror. Hardly anyone ever used it. Yael and Drew were the only ones who regularly left the building’s residential floors on foot, which meant the rest of the world mostly ignored the back door of the building. 

Which was good, because they’d get in trouble if they attracted attention right now.

Next to Yael, Jamie was doing that thing she did sometimes when she’d hold very very still and look very very serious. She was bundled in three layers of loose clothes, even though it was May. Yael was pretty sure the overshirt was an old hand-me-down of Issac's. Yael’d always seen Jamie’s swiping xyr and Issac's old clothes as lazy-- a way to avoid the clothes shopping expeditions she hated, or possibly a tiny act of rebellion against Melissa's attempts to cajole Jamie into clothing that actually fit. Today, it seemed more like a memorial. 

Yael made sure to get to the outside door before Jamie, and scanned the area. The APB had done a good job of keeping media scroungers and photography drones away. There was hardly anyone out on the street at all, and the sky was clear of cameras. Jamie ducked under Yael’s arm when Yael didn’t move fast enough for her. Yael rolled xyr eyes and followed.  

Xe slowed as they approached the taped-off rubble. Jamie took a few more steps forward before she noticed Yael lagging. She stopped and waited.

There was something painfully and unexpectedly final about seeing Jenna’s old paperbacks shredded on the ground. It hadn’t rained since the attack, but the air was humid enough to warp and curl the pages. Yael was suddenly a lot less excited about this plan. Nothing here seemed comforting or reassuring. None of it seemed like a good apology gift to bring Issac.

Xe looked around. Xe needed to stall. Xe couldn’t face that pile yet.

Just around the corner of the building, xe could see four men in APB uniforms and a security cart. Perfect. “You start, OK? I’m going to check in with the bureau. Thank them for protecting Jenna’s things.”

Jamie’s face twitched. She almost called Yael out on xyr cowardice-- Yael could tell. But her eyes flicked towards the rubble. Yael went outside alone all the time, to the comic book shop, the humane society, or just to go draw. Jamie was only allowed out if she had someone with her. For security reasons. The temptation of being outside, unpatrolled, and almost alone was enough. She trotted off, ducking under the caution tape. 

Yael used the short commute across the damp, dewy lawn as a chance to change xyr shape. Xe’d learned that people in uniforms or suits usually took xyr more seriously with a “male” presentation. 

Contrary to what xe’d always told the others, this was by far the most difficult shift xe could do. Xe’d practiced it in secret for months to get it right. And it hurt-- not so much that xe couldn’t make it look effortless. But it did hurt. 

But it was worth it, to avoid being trapped in a category that wouldn’t fit xyr. Xe changed as much as xe could without xyr pants falling off xyr hips. Xe really needed to get into the habit of wearing belts, or suspenders or something. Xe’d look good in suspenders. Maybe some nice, bright ones. 

Embarrassingly, one of the uniformed men watched Yael shift, studying the motion like Yael was performing a magic trick, and he was trying to figure out how xe did it. Xe realized too late that xe should have done that in the elevator, not out in the street. Jamie wouldn’t stare.

Xe knew it was a unique and pretty amazing ability-- to change even some of xyr shape at will. But somehow, having a stranger watch xyr do it was uncomfortable.

The APB knew about Yael’s powers, of course, Nodiah's sarcastic pretending aside. But out here, anybody might see. And there was a chance Nodiah was right about the public’s reaction to xyr.

Papa hardly ever talked about his six siblings, and he especially avoided talking about Yael’s birth parents. But when he did, his descriptions were serious and sentimental. When other superheroes discussed xyr birth parents, it was always as a cautionary tale of what could happen when superpowers weren’t contained. 

Yael xyrself knew them as much through 18-year-old news articles and modern textbooks as anything else. Ezekiel and Miriam of the Heavenly Rule Line. Just like Papa and Nodiah, they’d been built-- gene by gene-- to conquer the world. Unlike Papa and Nodiah, they’d never given it up. For a full year, the two of them terrorized South Dakota, killing hundreds. It’d taken that long for the team and the government to take them down. And that had been long enough for them to make Yael. But each of Papa’s siblings had unique superpowers. Which meant xyr powers marked xyr, immediately and irrevocably, as Ezekiel and Miriam’s. 

Thus, the staring.

They all turned their attention to Yael as xe approached. One of them paused in loading a crate onto the back of the cart.

Another of them-- an older man with a little bit of gray in his mustache and clear seniority by his uniform-- spoke first, and shoved his foot directly into his mouth. “Good morning, Ms--” He floundered. Scanned Yael. He knew who xe was, and his idea of xyr didn’t match the assumptions he was making about xyr body, now. He soldiered on, repeating his mistake. “Ms. Meade. If we’d expected to see any of the family we would’ve brought down the card we’ve sent around for the boys to sign.”

Yael gave him a tight smile. For a second, xe toyed with the thought of correcting him. But xe’d never done that before. Xe’d only ever even talked about it with Issac and Jamie. If Papa hadn’t caught on, how could xe expect a stranger to get it? And it was nice of them to have sent around a card. Melissa was ignoring them, but Yael was glad to see people cared. After the hospital had tossed Issac out so fast, xe hadn’t been sure. Xe bit xyr tongue and answered, “Hi. Jamie and I were just going to poke around a little bit for personal keepsakes. Thank you for looking out for everything this far.”

The guy who’d been loading the crate shut the hatch and came around towards them. “All loaded up, Kev.”

“Loaded up?” Yael echoed. The weapon had been on the jet-- that was already in custody. And the rooms hit were a storage room and Jenna’s apartment. There shouldn’t have been anything interesting enough left to warrant APB custody. Something angry and protective rustled inside xyr. Why were they taking Jenna’s things away? Her personal stuff didn’t belong to them-- Jenna had left it all with the family. So it should stay with the family. 

Xe didn’t realize xyr irritation had made it all the way to xyr face till xe noticed subtle shifting in all the officers’ posture. 

Yael was scary. Xe had to remember that. Had to be careful not to exploit it.

But dang it, why did they want Jenna’s stuff?

Oh. 

They weren’t looking for Jenna’s things. They were looking for Issac’s research. And they must have wanted it really badly, if they were still digging things up three days later. What would they do with his research if they found it? Was this a matter of keeping it out of the wrong hands, or was there an investigation at play?

“Jenna’s old stuff?” Yael asked, as guilelessly as possible. “I can bring it back upstairs. I can’t imagine there’s anything important left in there after three years. The labs weren’t even hit.”

The older man waved away xyr objection. “It’s tagged and boxed. Vault’s expecting it now.”

“But it was just-- I mean, it’s all Jenna’s stuff, it should be--”

“It should be not sitting outside,” he interrupted. “Dr. Tillman or anyone on the team can come pick it up whenever they want.”

“I can sign for it,” Yael suggested.

The older man laughed. “Kid, you know better. In fact, from what I hear, you could probably tell me the exact code that says you can’t sign for it.” Yael could, in fact. For someone with no official security clearance, xe knew a lot of procedures, and a lot of secrets. He smiled, looking up at xyr. “Besides, it’s just a bunch of Jenna’s old junk, right?”

He was studying xyr. Yael couldn’t be sure what all they had packed up and taken, but xe was suddenly sure he was trying to figure out what Yael knew about it. Which had to mean they were investigating Issac and his brain-altering nanites. What else could Yael possibly be complicit in?

Yael wasn’t the best liar out there, but xe had a few tricks up xyr sleeve. Xe pushed xyr form back to the “feminine” proportions the man in front of her insisted on connecting to xyr identity, trusting that the novelty of the shift would cover any flaws in xyr performance. “Yeah. I guess so.”

* * *

Opal couldn’t believe the bus had gotten here early. So early, in fact, that Aldis wasn’t awake, and the next connecting bus she needed wouldn’t start running for another half an hour. Sightseeing was more appealing than sitting at a bus stop, so she explored a little.

The difference between Detroit and Chicago was striking. They were both Midwestern cities that’d grown exponentially as the coastal cities either flooded or became too expensive, when fortifications against the ocean got bigger and pricier every year. Detroit was full of southern refugees who couldn’t afford to go…well…to Chicago, probably. Or Minneapolis. 

Chicago was cleaner, for a start. The new buildings were newer, and the old buildings were in better repair. The cars were nicer, and the roads had fewer holes, at least in this part of Chicago. The people repairing those roads and cleaning these streets had to live somewhere, too. But maybe it shouldn’t surprise her that they didn’t live this close to Sentinel Plaza.

By this point Opal’d been on a bus all night. She was sweaty, all cramped up, and she was starting to think her underwire might have it in for her. But Jane Eyre had gotten worn out and gross from travel, too. So it was OK. Opal didn’t quite feel like this was the moment she was starting her epic new life. Sweaty in Chicago was better than blacked out in a British moor.

She was in the middle of considering the chances that her bra's attempts to pierce her ribs were a sign that supervillains of the future sent it back in time to prevent her from becoming the greatest superhero ever known, when she rounded the corner and saw it.

A perfect view of Sentinel Plaza. The upper floors, where the heroes lived, were haloed in the first rays of dawn, casting the rest of the tower into silhouette. There was just enough light to glimpse the big, ragged hole, 20-odd stories up, almost hiding in the shadow of the darkened side. She looked down, and sure enough, much closer and easier to make out in the weird bluish glow of Chicago's eco-friendly algae streetlights, there was a heap of rubble, fenced off with much less poetic-looking yellow caution tape. She wondered which apartment had been hit. LodeStar's son had been the one to fall, so probably his.

Back home, the APB building was a plain red brick thing with narrow riot-glass windows, and an atmosphere somewhere between a low-cost medical clinic and a minor government building, which was exactly what it was. It was situated between a public library and a Walmart. 

The Chicago APB building, on the other hand, looked a lot like a literal ivory tower, with an elaborately engraved “New York Altered Persons Bureau” above brass and glass doors, all in cool art deco styling.

As she walked closer, she noticed movement in the expanse of wasted walls, floor, and furniture. She squinted, and saw it again. She looked around, but Sentinel Plaza was on its own plot of land, and nobody seemed to be paying much attention to it right now. 

No, not quite true. There were some white men in APB uniforms talking to the biggest man Opal had ever seen. She could just make them out on the far side of the rubble. None of them were looking this way.

But there was definitely movement within the rubble pile, too. Dreams of finding and stopping a bad guy who was trying to sneak into Sentinel Plaza flashed before her eyes, but it seemed a lot more likely to be someone from a tabloid, or just a gawker, taking advantage of distracted guards. They must have anything important out of there already, if they were this relaxed about it. Well, she’d still be doing them a favor if she shooed away a non-supervillainous trespasser, even if it wasn’t a thanks-and-welcome-to-the-team kind of favor. 

Once she got closer she found a new issue. The trespasser was a kid. Like, 14 years old, maybe. Just a little older than Shani. Skinny…probably a girl by the haircut, in baggy but clean flannel. She was digging through the rubble as if she was looking for something. Probably just a fan. Opal debated ignoring her, or maybe alerting the APB. After all, Opal was a lot more likely to get into real trouble if she got caught trespassing on private superhero territory. 

She looked at the precarious piles of building material. Ugh. No. This was not an OK place for a kid to be-- especially by herself. 

Opal ducked under some of the tape, praying that the big guy would keep the APB busy. Better make this quick and discreet.

She tucked her suitcase by the caution tape and darted over to the girl as quick as she could. She spoke as quietly as she could while still using her patented Babysitter Voice. “Hey, kid. I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”

The girl whirled to face Opal. She was the palest human being Opal had ever seen. She looked like a watercolor painting somebody had forgotten to finish. Guilt, fear and surprise flitted across her features. Ha. Caught. She knew she shouldn’t be down here.

But that only lasted a second before the girl straightened, her expression bizarrely serious for a fangirl digging around for trophies. Her voice didn’t quite make the trip, though. It was uneven and teetering on breathless. “I could say the same thing to you.”

Opal didn’t really think about the annoyed flicker of green light that she knew, logically, she’d be showing right now. If she had, she probably would have suppressed it. Auntie was right. Nobody here knew her. Least of all the skinny strawberry blonde thing in front of her. 

The girl realized she was an altered, and stumbled backwards in alarm. She tripped on a beam, headed to fall onto some concrete spiked with twisted metal.

Opal jumped forward, making a grab for the girl as she fell. Which would have worked, if the kid hadn’t twisted to avoid her mid-fall. Opal still managed to grab her wrist. It must have jarred, but the girl’s feet slid out from under her where she was, instead of letting her fall back to get more seriously hurt.

There was a split second of frozen assessment. And then Opal got hit broadside by a bus.

At least, that was what it felt like. She was knocked the whole length of her side-- hard enough to lift her off the ground. The tiny wrist was torn out of her hand by the impact. 

As she hit the ground she got a better look at what had hit her-- it was the huge guy from before. Except now he was covered in a silver-black sheen, and instead of irritated, he looked like he was out for blood, white teeth bared and stark against the metallic darkness of his skin. 

Ezekiel.

The impact with the ground knocked her breath out from her for the briefest second, but she managed enough of a lungful for a good, loud “Kid, run!” while she brought her arms up to try and defend herself for whatever was coming next. She wasn’t worried about being caught now. She just wanted someone to get that kid out of here. 

Also, she’d really like to survive this. Please, God.

The blow she was expecting didn’t land. Ezekiel paused, scrutinizing her while her heart pounded. She considered trying to get in a hit of her own to push him off-- maybe a solid kick. She wasn’t going to worry about hurting some kind of zombie back-from-the-dead supervillain. 

Something told her not to. 

The huge guy didn’t take his eyes off Opal, but he pitched his voice to be heard. “Did she just tell you to run?”

The kid answered with resignation and the same growing embarrassment Opal was starting to feel. “Crap.”

Opal relaxed her fists, just a little. Then her stomach clenched, as she heard four men’s footsteps rushing towards them, shouting for them to freeze. 

The silver guy sat back with an apologetic grimace, them seamlessly stood. “I…guessed wrong here, didn’t I. I’m really sorry.” He looked in the direction of the shouting officers with a scowl. “Stand down. I made a mistake.” The silver-black seeped back under his skin, under his eyelids, and he was white again.

Opal didn’t dare move. Her heart was hammering in her chest. The man-- maybe not a man, actually? He was tall, but younger than she’d originally made him out to be-- actually turned his back to the officers, offering Opal a hand up. He whispered, “Quick. What’s your name?”

“Opal Flynn,” she whispered back automatically. She didn’t take his hand.

The skinny girl answered the officers wearily. “It’s fine! It’s fine. Yael made a mistake. We’re OK.”

The guy-- Yael, apparently, not Ezekiel-- grabbed Opal’s hand gently and hauled her to her feet. Opal numbly went along with the motion, heart continuing to hammer away at the sight of guns in the uniformed men’s hands. Opal should put her hands up, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t-- well, the other two weren’t, and she didn’t want to stand out. The tall guy, whose name apparently wasn’t Ezekiel but who just so happened to have Ezekiel’s powers, dusted off Opal’s pink, rose-decorated hoodie and put one huge hand on Opal’s shoulder, gesturing to her with his other hand, pointing her out to the armed men. His voice was annoyed. “This is Opal. It’s fine.”

One of the men looked more than skeptical. He hadn’t fully lowered his weapon yet. “Your friends usually come visit at this hour?”

Another of them snorted, looking far more relaxed. “They’re teenagers, Kev. They probably haven’t even gone to bed, yet.”

An older man glared sternly at the three of them. “You kids should be more careful. You could have ended up shot.” 

Opal was hyper-aware of her look now-- scuffed shoes, wrinkled hoodie, and a body that suggested to people that she had put effort into being strong. Being threatening. She was hyper-aware of her skin, dark enough to paint a target on her, and doubtless flickering with bioluminescence that told them, if they did want to attack her, they’d have to use a lot of force. Force those four guns would easily provide them. 

She looked down at her feet. She wondered what her fear looked like to them. If it looked like guilt. Like obedience. She didn’t know what the armed men thought of her being defended by the man who looked like Ezekiel. If that was helpful, or painting an even bigger, brighter target on her. There were mechanical clicks, and Opal didn’t know if that was a safety being turned on or off. Air locked in her chest and her eyes watered. Oh God, what do I do?

Yael chuffed a laugh. “None of you even made it over here by the time we resolved it.” He was taunting them. Fantastic. Opal managed to look up enough to stare at him in shock. “Now, we’re just going to look around for keepsakes, OK?”

Opal was ready to object, but the watercolor girl spoke up. “I’d like a few minutes of privacy, please.” Opal glanced back. The girl was quiet, but with a dignity to her, rather than the shyness Opal might have expected.  

The uniformed men grumbled, but moved off with just a few last admonishments, mostly to Yael.

The girl came closer as the big guy brushed off Opal’s hoodie again, his voice low. “Again, sorry. We’ve had…a bad week.” He gestured vaguely upwards. 

She glanced up, automatically. 

Oh. Oh. 

She stared at them, more openly than she should have. Neither of them looked anything like the Sentinels. 

So they had every right to be here. This was the wreckage of their own house. She’d been in town one hour, and she’d managed to get guns pointed at the children of the very small handful of people she really needed to impress in this huge-ass city. “I’m…sorry. I thought you were a trespasser. You know, someone rooting around looking for dirt on famous people. I would not have bugged you if I’d known it was your stuff.” That explained why they could get away with talking like that to the APB, despite one of them looking like one of the most notorious supervillains in American history. 

It didn’t explain why he looked like one of the most notorious supervillains in American history.

The girl smiled lopsidedly. “It’s fine. I hate tetanus shots. And we don’t really like people snooping around, either.”

Opal hurried to explain. “I wasn’t trying to snoop. Just, I saw you snooping and--“

Yael shook his head. “You were going to fight…me, to protect Jamie. That tells me everything I need to know about you. You don’t have to explain.”

The girl stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m Jamie, hi.” Her handshake was startlingly firm and she looked Opal straight in the eye. It was a bizarrely adult handshake. Like she was going to ask Opal to vote for her in the next Senate election. How old was she?

Yael patted at their hands, interrupting. “Shh. We’ve been friends for years, remember? Opal, my best friend, help us sort through this mess to find things that aren’t hopelessly smashed?”

Well, if she was going to spend her first day in Chicago as a conspirator, at least she was doing it with the kids of the Sentinels? She had come to help their family, after all. Opal glanced behind her, but the guards had moved along, and were ignoring them now. She nodded, and wandered over to the piles of debris. Now that the uniformed men were safely across the lawn, drinking some of the ludicrously expensive coffee she’d seen on her walk here, and the strange man was clearly known to the APB and clearly not an undead super villain, she could breathe properly again. Mostly. Opal sat on a beam for a second to catch her breath as the other two got started digging around.

They fell into their own groove, Yael flipping things over or lifting heavy stuff for Jamie to scrunch down and inspect. They started making a little pile. Looked like they were aiming for sentimental stuff-- pictures, old books, that kind of thing. Pretty obviously non-supervillainous. Opal got her pulse almost all the way under control, and stopped flashing purples. Nobody here knew her, but they might know Capricorn. He’d have the same language of lights that she did. They may be able to translate her anxiety. Her skin still prickled every time she had to put her back to the guards in the street. 

Within a few minutes, she felt safe tipping her hand a little. Nobody even looked her way when she casually knocked the twisted wreck of an iron support beam off a pile. Well, altereds would be common around Sentinel Plaza, right? With the clinic and APB offices here.

Opal flipped over some plywood to reveal a mess of smashed and bulky electronics. Huh. You’d think LodeStar would have the latest and greatest of everything. She couldn’t even identify what the machinery used to be. Something biggish.

Beside it was an old fashioned thumb drive. Again, weirdly anachronistic. She bent to pick it up. It wasn’t exactly a family photo album, but maybe there’d be something on it worth keeping? She didn’t know why anything like that wouldn’t just be in the cloud, but it could be a backup. It had a name handwritten on it-- Issac. That was LodeStar's son, wasn’t it? 

She rejoined the others. “I found an old flash drive labeled Issac. It doesn’t look broken. Do you think he’d want it?”

She was momentarily distracted from their answer by the fact that the huge guy was now-- she was pretty sure-- an equally huge girl. How had she missed that before? She’d been awake too long. 

Yael and Jamie exchanged looks. Yael set down the remains of an entertainment center. Jamie answered, a little too casually, “Yeah, maybe. Let’s go upstairs and start cleaning all this off. I’m hungry, and it’s time for Yael's second feeding.”

Yael seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the prospect of food. It sounded pretty good to Opal, too. She grabbed her suitcase, and followed. This wasn’t how she’d planned to get into Sentinel Plaza, but she’d take it. 

* * *

Issac wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at his own bedroom ceiling before he realized that his wandering thoughts were coherent. He wasn’t sure how far to trust this assessment, but he was definitely more with-it than he had been recently. He was also in more pain. He suspected the two facts were linked. 

He closed his eyes anyway. Let himself stay in bed. Let it look like he was sleeping to anyone who might check on him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and had no real urge to get out of bed. 

OK. There was one thing he could think of outside his bed that he wanted. Or at least, that his bladder was demanding. 

He levered himself up. Re-catalogued the dozen or so distinct twinges, stabs, and aches distributed over his body. He lifted his pajama leg to reveal a gross mottled camo pattern of purple, black and green. More green than yesterday, general lightening. Improvement, for what it was worth. 

He hobbled his way to his bathroom and dealt with nature’s demands. He avoided his reflection. Seeing injuries on his head was still more than he could cope with. The painkiller bottle caught his eye as he was washing up. Morphine. Geez. Well, that confirmed his suspicion about the link between increased pain and improved lucidity, anyway. He just hoped that was the only thing making him dazed, tired, and loopy.

He licked his lips, opening his mouth to address Martin for the first time since he’d gotten back.

He shut his mouth after what probably amounted to half a syllable. It was too weird. How had he never noticed before how disgusting the human mouth was? Without being able to hear his voice, he was hyper-aware of every drop of saliva, every ridge of his own tongue, each drying gust of air. He’d heard that your other senses got sharper if you lost one-- or had it taken away. Nobody’d ever told him how nasty it was. 

He hated not being able to hear his own voice. To know that anyone around him had more information about what he sounded like than he did. Did his voice sound gross after all that debris inhalation, or from not talking for several days? 

He dragged his carcass back towards the bed, and picked up his tablet off the nightstand. The screen lit up as soon as he reached for it. Martin was watching him, waiting. 

Issac stretched aching fingers and started typing, slowly. The screen was a little blurry. I’m not going to take the morphine today. I’m sick of being high.

The response was instant, but took him several minutes to read.

MARTIN: I was wondering when you would talk to me. From the medical records I got, the way you look, and the way you’re moving, I have to imagine you’re still in significant pain. 

Issac glared at the tablet, puzzling out the words, then glaring harder. He typed his answer with jabs of each finger. I don’t care. He had to get a better feel for what was going on with his family. With his brain. 

Losing his hearing hurt. It hurt a lot. Music was gone, now. The sounds of his family's voices were gone. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to handle synagogue again-- knowing the music was right there, and not being part of it. Even the sound of his own voice was lost to him. Those things hurt. 

But not nearly as much as everyone else’s reactions to the loss of his hearing. People in this family got hurt all the time. But even with Jenna, Dad had been around. People had cringed; the pained sidelong looks now bestowed on Issac were familiar. Mom’s distance was new. The total disappearance of his dad was unprecedented.

His vision blurred, and for a terrified second, he thought his brain might be more injured than he’d realized. Then the blur left his eye, and rolled down his cheek.

MARTIN: Please don’t do that.

Issac glared at the screen, gritting his teeth, furious over how slowly he was forced to type. Well some of us have bodies and don’t get to choose our every function and upgrade.

MARTIN: Yes, I understand that. Issac almost pitched the tablet onto the floor. The hell he did! Martin was infinitely upgradeable. All his parts were replaceable. Back-up-able. Functionally unbreakable. But I hate to see you upset.

He bent over the tablet, typing as fast as he could manage. He didn’t think he was topping 50 words per minute, but hopefully that was just because of his aching, scabby hands. Would you tell me if they knew I was permanently screwed up? More than my hearing-- my brain?

MARTIN: I’ve taken the liberty of examining your records myself. Your prognosis for everything outside the audio cortex is extremely good. It’s actually mostly the primary audio nerve that’s damaged, so even your sense of timing and balance should be mostly fine. 

Issac released a shaking breath, closing his eyes. His shoulders and neck relaxed as much as they could when they were so strained and bruised. He had parameters. He wasn’t going to be like Jenna.

But then, that meant that everyone was avoiding him because…just because he was deaf? Was that all it took for his dad to stop talking to him?

No, no. Issac was concussed. He couldn’t actually know if Dad had been by. He might have just forgotten, or been asleep. Maybe Issac was misunderstanding the situation. That prospect was a lot more approachable, now he knew his confusion would only be temporary.

He looked around his room, really looked at it, for the first time since the attack. The laundry hamper was empty. There were fewer empty mugs on the nightstand than there should be. Nothing was knocked over. At some point, someone had been in here.

OK. Either way, he needed to get up and make some changes, just to be safe. Get up and try to look functional. Clear his head and assess the situation. He definitely couldn’t have any morphine. He glanced at the clock. 5 AM. Mom would be in the shower. But plenty of people would be up by now. Maybe he’d find Jamie. She’d tell him what was really going on. Or Solomon. He could see if he was really as uncomfortable around Issac as Issac thought he was. Maybe that would settle down if Issac could show them he was still 90% himself.

He hobbled himself though the unreasonably bright living room, carrying the tablet in an arm that refused to swing normally. He was less worried about showing that he was physically injured. That would heal. He could ignore the pain in the meantime. He was the son of a superhero and a former pro ballet dancer, after all. He could push that pain to the back of his mind.

He froze the minute he got past his own front door. There in the courtyard was Jamie and Yael-- which was fine-- and some completely random girl he’d never seen before. 

Who, of course, turned around to look at him. The girl was maybe…160cm, built like an altered. Not dressed like anybody Issac would expect to see up here. Clearly not someone from the APB.

And Issac hadn’t brushed his teeth or combed his hair in four days. And, oh great, now he was hyper-aware of how he smelled. He actually tasted his own morning breath. His patchy, half-hearted stubble was grown in, and he was walking like bad Claymation. In front of some utter stranger. This had Jamie written all over it. Mom was gonna have a fit. This was not how Issac was supposed to represent the family. But it wasn’t his fault there were random strange girls around all of a sudden!

His entrance ground their conversation to a halt. Stranger-girl smiled at him, hesitantly, probably wondering who the flannel-clad hobo in Sentinel tower was. Then she started to talk. To him. He froze, confronted unexpectedly by the first person to talk to him that didn’t know what was wrong with him.

Yael interceded. Xe didn’t look at Issac, barely looked at the new girl. He could tell from here xe was mumbling xyr explanation. Jamie watched the girl carefully, then tilted her head in confusion as the girl brightened at Yael’s explanation. Issac blinked a few times when she seemed to glitter all of a sudden. Perceptual anomalies? 

No. No, he was right before. She was altered. From the Detroit line, just like Drew. 

He realized she was waving her arms at him while he was distracted. No, not waving. She was signing at him. And why would an altered know ASL? She could obviously hear.

He opened his mouth to say-- something, anyway-- but he crashed into the same problem from before. What would he sound like? His throat felt tight from anxiety and embarrassment. Did he need to add scratchy, high-pitched, obviously terrified words to this situation?

This time Jamie tried to save him, with a few earnest words at the new girl. She paused to listen. He watched concern, comprehension, then embarrassment and a fleeting spread of red-orange light over her face and hands. 

He considered bolting back into his room before anything else had a chance to happen. Except he couldn’t really bolt in this state. He’d land flat on his face. Not better.

He wasn’t fast enough. She turned back to look at him, with another apologetic smile. And oh crap, she was walking over to him. He did not want to interact with her. 

For her part, she had her chin up and her shoulders back, as if it was taking serious courage to get within smelling distance of him. 

Once she got in range, she thrust one hand out towards him, and he flinched again. But she stayed there. He looked down at her hand.

Issac might have to find a way to tolerate services after all. He was going to have to give thanks for this. 

This total stranger had brought him his backup data. Not all of it, but enough. Enough to make his research feasible again. And she was presenting it to him when there was no one associated with the APB, not even the adults of his own family, here to see it.

He grabbed it, faster than he’d thought he could move. This time she flinched. He looked over her shoulder at Jamie and Yael. They’d know what it was. Neither looked disapproving, and that was good enough for him. 

The girl looked startled, blinking at him owlishly, her skin still glittering. He should say thanks. His throat tightened again at the thought. Instead, he made himself stand as close to normal as he could manage, and tried for a grateful nod. 

She raised her eyebrows, but nodded back.

Close enough! He turned and headed back behind the safety of his own front door as fast as his dignity and throbbing knee could manage. 

Then he sagged against the closed door, and looked down at the treasure in his hands. After everything, he had one good thing happen. A bright spot to hold on to. Something to throw his attention on. Focus. Direction. A way to prove he was still himself. Still capable.

This would help.

[alumort]

Ao3

First - prev - next

Please dont kill me for this one sjsnns

At a first glance, the Hyuga Kingdom didn’t seem like something too impressive. Hidden between countless trees that acted like a barrier, it seemed smaller than it actually was from the outside– but soon, he found out that it was merely an illusion caused by the size of these woods.

His home was surrounded by sand, and this place was surrounded by foliage and leaves. Gaara had never seen such a nice variety of greens before that day, and he almost gasps in awe– but his father was attentive as always, and sent him a glare that made him shiver in his place, and his gaze focused on his hands once again.

“Don’t get distracted, Gaara. Remember what you have to do," Rasa ordered, his voice as cold as ice, his arms crossed over his chest. “You must do everything in your power to make sure this goes alright. Our country needs this alliance, son– don’t mess it up.”

If his father hadn’t been observing him, the younger man would have anxiously gulped. Instead he nodded, looking at the scenery without saying anything else, admiring the many plants he knew nothing about and had no time to investigate– instead, Gaara thought about what he was ought to do no matter what he really desired.

Lord Hizashi wanted to find a partner for his son, and he had summoned every young noble available to do that, no matter their gender or where they were from. His letter of invitation seemed written in a rush, with so much urgency that some words were almost unintelligible. It had a date for the prince of the Sand Kingdom to go, and nobody wanted to ignore the words of that king. He had many knights by his side, after all, and many more scattered around the world that wouldn’t fear to fight for the Hyuga.

They were received warmly, with many maids taking care of their things and helping them find the way towards the place in which he would meet the other prince. Lord Hizashi himself came forward to make sure everything went well.

And for the first time that day, Gaara was able to stay away from his father for a while, if only in order to woo the Hyuga prince and try to act like the perfect match for him– even though it was obvious neither of them didn’t really want to be there, the Sand prince had to hide that and force a gentle smile.

Neji had his own garden, filled with flowers of many kinds and colors on the sides and an empty spot in the middle, as if it were used for something like pacing around. Gaara would do that if he had some private spot all for himself, instead of hurriedly placing a couple of chairs and a table to cover it up. That disgusted him, but he shouldn’t anger the brunet in order to be chosen by him– he was already there, observing him without saying a word, and it was making Gaara’s neck start to itch.

Lord Hizashi left them on their own after making a woman with dark brown buns leave some tea and food prepared in case the young nobles got hungry, and then there was silence.

“... So, what do you like?” Neji asked after a while, sitting down on one of the chairs before pouring some tea on cups, offering one to his companion which was gladly taken.

It took him some seconds to answer, unsure about what he was going to say but still trying to seem charismatic, even though his expression became neutral.

“I like plants, looking at them. We only have cacti in my kingdom,” Gaara exclaimed, imitating the other man and sitting in front of him. His gaze was focused on his hands, not really willing to force himself to look up for long– he stirred up when he decided to add something else. “And gizzard. It’s delicious.”

“Oh, I never had it. I’ll trust you in that one.”

Neither man said anything once again, trying to keep to themselves while sharing tea and cookies, trying to not even look at each other as they let time pass by. It was… awkward to say the least, and neither of them were trying to soothe the tension in the air at all. The ‘date’ wasn’t going well, and if nothing happened, Gaara wouldn’t be chosen and father would get mad and–

There was a reason he had been chosen as the heir even if he was the youngest of his siblings. They had abandoned him, leaving him to suffer from Rasa’s wrath on his own without even being able to be in the castle on his own; his father feared that he would imitate his siblings and run away, forgetting everything that he had done for them at a moment’s notice.

Or so Rasa said. All Gaara knew is that there was nobody else to turn to, nothing to do except to obey. And if he didn’t listen to him, well, it would be better to drop dead. Probably.

“Hm… you said you liked plants, right? Would you like to know about my flowers?”

Gaara’s eyes brightened up for the first time in a while, and he nodded with his head without saying anything– he even smiled slightly at the suggestion, and soon the tension between the two started to fade. Neji got up with a gentle smile on his face, guiding the other prince through his garden and telling him all he knew about the different plants that he cared for.

One flower caught his attention in the end, after seeing it slowly moving what would be its face without leaving a trace of it ever happening. It was yellow with a dark brown center, and Gaara almost wanted to rip it from the ground and bring it to the desert, but– it probably wouldn’t survive the extreme heat, and Neji would get annoyed. That wasn’t worth it at all, for he had to be on the prince’s good side to follow his father’s orders.

“What are these?” the Sand prince asked in a mumble, not really expecting to be heard or get any kind of reply. His companion surprised him by actually giving him a response.

“Ah, my sunflowers. They’re my favorite– they follow the sunlight all day long, and look at each other when it’s dark,” he said calmly, pointing at the other flowers. “They’re cute, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

The air filled up with awkwardness once again, and Gaara felt like he had the need to gulp even if nothing particularly bad was happening. He wasn’t very keen on trying to charm the other prince, who was already very obviously disinterested in him (and possibly all the other candidates) from the moment they stepped into his castle– it would be hard to win his heart, more if the Sand prince had no idea or genuine interest in doing so.

His companion was the first one to break the silence.

“Look, Gaara. Neither of us want to be here, and we can’t keep acting like we do. I already have a partner– I’m only doing this because my father is forcing me to,” Neji finally admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s not a noble, and that’s the only reason you’re here right now. So… let’s just call it a day, shall we?”

Fuck, the plan was doomed from the start. Rasa would be enraged upon learning that there had been no actual chances of his orders being actually followed successfully– his kingdom needed the support from their neighbors, and this was one of the only chances of guaranteeing a stable alliance.

Before Gaara could even answer to the other prince, his father’s icy words invaded his thoughts.

‘You must do everything in your power to make sure this goes alright.’

And an idea was formed alongside an impulsive thought, that would work if everything went as planned. It was the only thing that his agitated brain could think of at that moment, even if he might end up regretting it in the not-so-distant future.

“Who is it? Surely they must be quite an interesting person to catch your keen eye,” the red haired man asked as both princes began leaving the garden behind, entering the castle once again. Neji smiled at the question, excited to gush about his lover.

His happiness would have been contagious had Gaara not been worried about how his father would retaliate regarding his doomed failure.

“Oh, he’s a cook– you see, Lee is the son of a knight, and he wants to be just like him. So I’ve been helping him train when I’m free,” the brunet exclaimed, playing with his hair as he talked. “He’s been progressing so much that I need to ask the knights to give us some tips.”

A fake smile that Neji believed, and soon the Sand prince was allowed to roam the castle on his own, in order to act as if their meeting lasted longer than it had.

He had learnt where everything was in that enormous castle before going to his ‘date’ with the Hyuga prince, as it was extremely possible that Neji would pick him over other candidates– and it was also a necessity in case something appeared to block off his mission.

An obstruction that had to be taken care of, no matter who or what it was. He would do whatever he could to guarantee that his father’s plan went alright, even if it meant using the dagger he hid on the back side of his belt, right under his mantle. It would work.

Some of the cooks eyed him when he entered the kitchen, but they didn’t say anything at all. Now, who was the man he was looking for?

“Lee, stop bouncing your damn leg! You’re distracting me!”

… Well, that didn’t take very long at all. The same woman that had brought the food for the princes was complaining to her companion, a man with black hair that seemed cut with the help of a bowl. He giggled at the other cook, and obeyed as he prepared something that Gaara wasn’t able to identify.

The prince approached him, and Lee tilted his head with curiosity in his eyes as he heard what the stranger had to say. After all, Gaara didn’t even try to hide his royal clothes.

“Neji sent me to pick you up. He needs to speak with you,” was all he said, to which Lee brightened up– surely he was an idiot, following a stranger without even confirming if what he was saying was the truth or not, leaving everything behind in hopes of seeing his partner.

It wasn’t hard to guide him to an empty place, somewhere where nobody would hear his shrieks, near the dungeons underneath the castle– nobody would suspect a thing if the other man screamed in pain if they were close to the prisoners.

“So, where is Neji?” Lee wondered, looking around the place without even knowing what would happen to him soon.

Gaara took his dagger while the other man was distracted, squinting his eyes before pushing him to the wall– and digging it deep in his left shoulder as he was still shocked by the surprise attack, letting out a scared shriek.

“He was never here to begin with.You are such a fool, Lee,” the prince exclaimed, feeling how his expression shifted into a blood-thirsty smile almost reflexively. Lee flinched when Gaara tried to punch him in the face, answering with a kick of his own in reflex.

God, he had forgotten an important detail; Neji himself had been training the cook to help him become a knight, he wasn’t going to stand there and let himself be hit, no matter how surprised he was.

“Stop! What did I do to you?!”

The red haired man didn’t answer, instead he tried to land more punches to his companion, trying to reach his neck with his bare hands in order to choke him and make his annoying voice disappear forever– but Lee had good reflexes, and dodged the attack, stopping only because of the pain from his injury.

Gaara managed to remove his dagger from his enemy’s body, receiving a pained scream in response and an attempt to push him to the ground; he tried slashing him, the blade falling on the cook’s arm before he decided to start running away, leaving a trail of blood behind him. This was too easy– slowly, Lee lost speed, and the other man was able to stab his leg in order to prevent him from escaping, where he screamed once again, asking for help without using words.

… For a terrifying moment, nobody came. But then Gaara felt himself being pinned to the ground by someone much taller than him, and he realized that his target hadn’t been actually running in circles; they were near the royal rooms, and it was then that Lee’s voice had been heard by someone willing to help.

“What have you done?!” Neji shouted at the red haired man, his voice filled with a mix of rage and desperation as he went to hold his injured partner, trying to stop his bleeding with his bare hands. He then proceeded to ignore Gaara, focused on the mundane cook as if he was yet another noble “Lee! Don’t close your eyes, please…”

But Lee was too tired to answer, too exhausted to even try to not fall asleep. He had lost too much blood and energy in the fight with the noble, who was only stopped on his tracks because Lord Hizashi himself had seen what had happened alongside his son– the king was the one to stop Gaara from finishing off his target, from following his father’s orders.

Oh, Rasa would be so mad. This wasn’t supposed to happen– he had to help the alliance with the Hyuga Kingdom flourish, not obstruct it! There wouldn’t be a second chance at that now, Gaara realized as Neji hurriedly carried his partner towards wherever a doctor might have been.

[athulyaaindia]

Thoughtful Return Gift Ideas for Ear Piercing Ceremony Celebrations

The tradition of ear piercing holds significant cultural and sentimental value in many communities around the world. As a gesture of appreciation for attending and sharing in this special moment, it's customary to offer return gifts to guests at the ear piercing ceremony. Let's explore some thoughtful and meaningful return gift ideas to make this occasion even more memorable.

1. Personalized Jewelry:

return gift for ear piercing ceremony with personalized jewelry pieces such as earrings, bracelets, or necklaces. You can have the jewelry customized with their initials, birthstones, or meaningful symbols to commemorate the occasion and serve as a lasting reminder of your appreciation.

2. Traditional Silver Items:

In many cultures, silver holds symbolic significance and is believed to bring good luck and prosperity. Consider gifting guests with traditional silver items such as silver coins, silver utensils, or silver-plated photo frames. These timeless gifts not only honor tradition but also serve as cherished keepsakes for years to come.

3. Scented Candles or Incense Sticks:

Scented candles or incense sticks make excellent return gifts as they create a soothing ambiance and promote relaxation. Choose fragrances that evoke pleasant memories or have symbolic meanings, such as lavender for calmness, jasmine for purity, or sandalwood for spiritual harmony.

4. Miniature Potted Plants:

Miniature potted plants symbolize growth, vitality, and new beginnings, making them meaningful gifts for an ear piercing ceremony. Opt for low-maintenance indoor plants such as succulents, cacti, or bonsai trees, which guests can easily nurture and enjoy in their homes or offices.

5. Handcrafted Keepsakes:

Handcrafted keepsakes add a personal touch to your return gifts and showcase the artistry and craftsmanship of local artisans. Consider gifting guests with hand-painted trinket boxes, embroidered pouches, or ceramic figurines that reflect the cultural heritage of your community.

6. Gourmet Treats:

Delight your guests' taste buds with gourmet treats such as artisanal chocolates, gourmet cookies, or flavored nuts. Choose high-quality, locally sourced delicacies or specialty items that guests can savor and enjoy as a token of your appreciation.

7. Customized Thank You Notes:

Express your gratitude to guests with customized thank you notes or greeting cards. Include a heartfelt message or a meaningful quote that conveys your appreciation for their presence and support on this special occasion. Personalize each note with the guest's name for a thoughtful touch.

8. Donation in Their Name:

Consider making a charitable donation in honor of your guests to a cause or organization that holds special significance to you or aligns with your values. Include a personalized card or certificate acknowledging the donation made in their name, allowing guests to feel good about making a positive impact.

9. Practical Accessories:

Practical accessories such as keychains, tote bags, or travel pouches make useful and thoughtful return gifts for guests. Choose items that are durable, versatile, and stylish, ensuring they'll be appreciated and used in daily life.

10. DIY Craft Kits:

Encourage creativity and self-expression by gifting guests with DIY craft kits or art supplies. Whether it's painting, pottery, or knitting, provide guests with everything they need to unleash their artistic talents and create something beautiful.

In conclusion, selecting the perfect return gift for an ear piercing ceremony involves thoughtful consideration of your guests' preferences, cultural traditions, and the significance of the occasion. By choosing meaningful and heartfelt gifts, you can express your gratitude and create lasting memories for both you and your guests.

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[cbdpools]

7 Creative Swimming Pool Mural Ideas to Transform Your Backyard

Are you tired of staring at the same dull walls surrounding your swimming pool every day? Do you long for a refreshing change that can transport you to another world even while staying in your backyard? Look no further than these 7 creative swimming pool wall mural ideas that will turn your outdoor oasis into a stunning work of art. Whether you want to add tropical vibes, an underwater adventure, or a serene landscape, there is something for everyone in this list. So get ready to dive into the world of imagination and upgrade your pool area with these mesmerizing designs!

Tropical Oasis Mural ideas

A tropical oasis pool mural idea is the perfect place to escape the everyday hustle and bustle. Transform your backyard into a paradise with a creative swimming pool wall mural. Whether you want to add a touch of paradise to your pool area or create an entirely new look, these murals will do the trick.

Tropical-themed pool mural ideas are perfect for making a statement in your backyard. From palm trees and beaches to jungle scenes and waterfalls, there are endless possibilities for what you can create. These murals are also a great way to add some privacy to your pool area. If you live in an urban area or your backyard doesn’t have much privacy, a mural can be the perfect solution.

Whether you’re looking for something subtle or something bold, there’s a swimming pool wall mural out there that’s perfect for you. So take a dip into the deep end and check out these creative ideas!

Underwater Scene Pool Mural ideas

If you have an inground swimming pool, why not make a mural on the wall to add some extra personality and pizzazz? It's a great way to show off your creative side, and it can really transform the look of your backyard.

Here are some great pool mural ideas for underwater murals:   1. Underwater Scene: This is a classic choice for a swimming pool mural, and it can be as simple or complex as you want it to be. You could paint a tropical paradise, complete with coral reefs and colorful fish, or a more serene underwater scene with gentle waves and soothing blue hues.

2. Ocean Life: Another popular option is to paint ocean life scenes on your pool wall mural. This could include dolphins frolicking in the waves, turtles swimming through the coral reefs, or even sharks lurking in the depths. Whatever ocean life you choose to include, make sure it's brightly colored and eye-catching!

3. Beach Scene: If you're more of a beach bum than a pool person, then why not paint a mural of your favorite beach scene? Whether it's a sunset over the water or palm trees lining the shore, this type of mural is sure to please. Just don't forget the sand and sea creatures!

4. Personalized: One of the best things about painting your own pool wall mural is that you can personalize it however you want. Add your initials in the corner or spell out your family name

Desert Escape

If you're looking for a creative way to transform your backyard, consider adding a swimming pool mural idea. There are all sorts of different designs to choose from, so you're sure to find one that fits your style. Plus, it's a great way to add some personality to your pool area.

Here are a few ideas to get you started:

1. Desert Escape - If you live in a hot climate, why not turn your pool into an oasis with a desert-themed mural? You can even add some cacti and other desert plants around the edge of the pool for a truly authentic look.

2. Tropical Paradise - Create your own little slice of paradise with a tropical-themed mural. Think palm trees, sandy beaches, and crystal-clear waters. It's the perfect way to escape the everyday grind.

3. Underwater Adventure - Take your pool guests on an underwater adventure with a vibrant mural featuring sea creatures big and small. Kids will love swimming among colorful fish and other creatures.

4. Old Hollywood Glamour - Bring some classic Hollywood glamour to your backyard with an elegant poolside mural. Think palm trees, sparkling pools, and glamorous people lounging around in their swimsuits.

5. Fairytale Magic - Transform your backyard into a magical place with a fairytale-inspired mural. This is especially perfect if you have young kids who love make believe and pretend play.

Beach Paradise

Imagine a place where the sun shines bright and the sand is soft and warm. Crystal-clear turquoise waters meet the white sandy beaches, and gentle waves provide the perfect soundtrack to your relaxation. The salty ocean breeze carries the scent of tropical flowers and palm trees sway in the warm breeze. Colorful fish swim beneath the surface, and you can feel the warmth of the sun on your skin as you sip a refreshing drink. This is paradise, and you are living the dream at the beach, surrounded by nothing but natural beauty and tranquility.

Winter Wonderland

Winter Wonderland is a magical place filled with snow-covered trees, glistening icicles, and sparkling snowflakes. The air is crisp and cold, but the warmth of hot cocoa and cozy blankets make it all worthwhile. Children build snowmen and have snowball fights, while adults lace up their skates and glide across the frozen pond. The sound of laughter and holiday music fills the air, creating a joyful atmosphere. As the sun sets, the twinkling lights illuminate the winter landscape, making it a truly enchanting experience for all who visit.

Historic Mansion

A historic mansion is a large and opulent residence that was typically built in the 18th or 19th century. These mansions were often owned by wealthy families or aristocrats and were designed to showcase their wealth and status. They typically feature grand entrances, large reception rooms, ornate furnishings, and extensive grounds. Many historic mansions have now been converted into museums or event spaces, offering visitors a glimpse into the opulent lifestyle of the past. Some famous examples of historic mansions include the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina and the Hearst Castle in California.

Modern Art Gallery

A modern art gallery is a space that exhibits contemporary works of art created by living artists. It showcases a diverse range of art forms including painting, sculpture, photography, video, and installations. Modern art galleries strive to create a dynamic and engaging environment that challenges traditional notions of art and promotes new and innovative perspectives.

[h1meyo]

Random headcanons for the ToT men because why not?

Artem Wing:

-Has a couple of plants and cacti he tends to

-Probably has Twitter, replies to thirst comments made to him with really polite answers

-Can’t sneak up to people because his presence is unwillingly imposing

-He only really listens to podcasts. He’s not picky, true crime or Reddit posts and he’ll be fine

-Loves to study outside, in cafes or in the library. Why? Nostalgia, maybe

Marius von Hagen

-You CANNOT tell me this man doesn’t listen to Doja Cat, it suits him so well (favourite is either Woman or Need to Know)

-When he gets a text/call, the MC has a different ringtone, and will go off any time. This has lead to awkward conversations with really big CEO’s and lack of sleep due to them ranting about something stupid. He can’t turn it off, he’s too scared

-Took dance lessons when he was a kid, doesn’t want to admit he liked it

-He’s slightly chilly, he’s so used to always having his warm ass suit

Vyn Richter

-Can’t tell me otherwise, this man has hundreds of mugs. Cats, dogs, colour changing, boring, extravagant, singing, he’s got them all. Same thing with tea cups

-Favourite tea is rose, flowers and tea are his favourite things after all

-House is full of plants, hanging, on the floor, on shelves, you name it

-Has crystals, they look cool!

-Listens to classical music, but enjoys a bit of old pop once in a while. Hates people who blast music on their speakers. Strict rule on no speakers in class

Luke Pearce

-He has so many plushies, although they’re currently in a trash bag at the MC’s parents’ house. You know he had a tiny depression episode when he learned he couldn’t bring them all to college

-When he gets a text/call from the MC, he drops literally everything in hand and answers immediately

-I get Marvel vibes from him, he’d enjoy Venom. Also Teen Beach Movie, this is just young me loving that movie and pairing him with the song ‘falling for ya’

-Has above average body heat, he’s everyone’s personal heater (especially MC). Enjoys and hates this

-Surprisingly good at singing and soothing. He’s a blessing when someone is scared or cold honestly

-Likes Rex Orange County, sad/happy songs :D their vibes match

[minaslittleone]

The Sarahs as plant mums (AHS & Ratched)

Like many people I've become an avid plant mum over the course of the pandemic (much to the chagrin of those in my life who have to hear every time one of my babies sprouts a new leaf), which got me thinking - what kind of plant mum would each of the Sarahs be?

GIF: illuminated-blue

Billie-Dean Howard

Image: winterkindfotographie

Billie-Dean is much more partial to flowers than she is to caring for a whole plant. She is definitely the kind of person who always has fresh flowers in her home but also takes the time to trim and rearrange the bouquet as she places it in a vase, rather than merely unceremoniously compacting the existing arrangement into a vessel. She also definitely has a secret cut flower food recipe (passed down to her by the ghost of a Victorian housekeeper whom she met while filming a special of her show at a mansion in the UK) which keeps her cut flowers looking immaculate for a full week. If her schedule permits it, her favourite thing to do on a Sunday morning is to stroll the farmers markets and choose individual types of flowers and foliage to bring home and arrange herself from scratch. She finds the process of trimming each of the stems and finding the perfect position for each individual bloom incredibly cathartic.

Her favourite flowers are bright and cheerful. She is particularly drawn to things like tulips, gerberas and lillies, but finds softer more delicate blooms like carnations frustrating and overly dramatic, she definitely appreciates a bit of tenacity in her flowers. She also has no time for strongly scented blooms, and particularly despises the way roses seem to emit a sickly sweet odor after only a few days. Billie finds scents and perfumes in general to be quite cloying and overwhelming as smell is one of the ways she is often viscerally affected when she makes contact with ghosts. She unfortunately associates most strong smells with encounters and so sweet smelling blooms hold little appeal to her, she much prefers fresh neutral scents. The one exception is lavender which she does find soothing. After a particularly taxing week it is not uncommon for her usual bright cheerful blooms to be replaced by simple posies of lavender and rosemary as she recenters herself.

Lana Winters

Image: toms-cacti

Lana is undoubtedly a plant serial killer. Which is totally unsurprising since whenever she gets fixated on a new story she often forgets to feed herself, let alone feed and water her plants. That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate them though. She loves the way little office plants bring life and vitality to her workspace, that is until they inevitably whither and die from lack of water, or from being burried under piles of paper but that doesn't stop her trying.

Eventually Lana discovers that she and succulents are well suited. It actually makes a lot of sense when she thinks about it - they're both a little prickly on the outside (but only to protect the softness underneath) and both are stubborn to a fault. Lana is particularly fond of the slightly larger cactus she keeps on her desk (which is incidentally the first plant she managed not to kill) and often finds herself talking to him to help work through the flow of her ideas or to overcome writer's block. Spike (as she creatively named him) really is a very good listener and a talented editor to boot.

Still there are times when Lana wishes she had a greener thumb and could expand her collection beyond succulents. As much as she loves Spike and his prickly friends, she really wishes they would grow just a bit quicker so she could experience that new leaf joy even just once. She completely dissuades herself of those feelings though when she returns from a week long book tour to find a weird bump on the top of Spike. Her first thought is that after all this time she's finally managed to kill him and that she really is as terrible a plant parent as she had feared. However, those fears completely dissolved the following morning when she returned to her office to find that Spike's bump had begun to open into the beginnings of a beautiful pink flower. For a minute she could only stare on disbelief, not quite comprehending what was going on however, that quickly gave way to a giddy childlike grin when she realised that she must be doing something right. That, and her little man really did look very cute with his flower top hat.

Cordelia Goode

Image: chickadeegreen

Cordelia doesn't just have a green thumb, she has ten green fingers. She absolutely adores plants and having living things around her, especially since the greenhouse has always been her place of peace and sanctuary. She finds it incredibly cathartic pottering around the greenhouse when she gets a few spare moments away from all her duties as supreme/headmistress/mother to a house full of girls. Most of the plants she keeps in the greenhouse are solely for practical/ medicinal purposes but she does keep a few plants in her room and office which she finds soothing. She is particularly fond of philodendrons and pothos with their easy going nature and relaxed growth pattern. She loves the way they seem to make themselves at home anywhere and every time she spots new leaves unfurling it makes her smile. She tries to make an effort to see the beauty in their imperfections and use them to remind herself that everything doesn't always have to be perfect.

Since her supremacy the plants in her personal spaces have thrived unlike anything anyone has ever seen, seemingly feeding off Cordelia's magical aura. Any time any of the plants in the greenhouse are waning she will take them to her office for a few days of rehabilitation after which they will always be positively bursting with life. It is not uncommon for her to find new additions appearing in her little infirmary if Mallory or Misty have noticed that a particular plant is in need of a little TLC.

The flip side to this is that any time Cordelia over taxes herself, while she may be an expert at schooling her features and hiding it from her girls, it will show in her plants. After too many late nights dealing with running the academy or too many days spent funneling all of her energy into everyone around her (and subsequently completely neglecting herself) the plants in her office (and room) will start to lose their vibrancy as well. The first victim is usually the heartleaf philodendron on Cordelia's office bookshelf (the first plant she allowed herself to bring into the space after ascending to the supremacy) which seems to be particularly attune to her moods, especially when it is feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy sapping her magic. Conversely it's the monstera deliciosa in the corner of her office that seems to be the first to wilt when its physical stress or exhaustion plaguing the supreme. Zoe now automatically takes stock of the plants in Cordelia's office every time she enters, knowing it's the only true indication she's likely to get that the supreme herself might be in need of some TLC.

Bette and Dot Tattler

Image: geopsych

Bette has always been drawn to flowers, she thinks they're terribly romantic. From bouquets of flowers from gentleman callers to sweet cottage gardens behind white picket fences, teeming with blooms of assorted colours, Bette thinks flowers are a beautiful symbol of normality. She desperately wants to have a garden or even a window box that she can tend to, however that particular desire is not entirely compatible with living in a trailer.

What she does have though is a small collection of African Violets sitting on their kitchen windowsill. They were a present from Jimmy after Bette's first performance singing in the freakshow. Though she might be completely tone deaf she is fiercely determined, so after months of practice she had finally managed to learn "dream a little dream of me" enough to hold the tune (with Dot gently humming it alongside her to keep her in pitch). A few days before Bette was due to perform Jimmy had quietly pressed a note into Dot's palm after dinner asking which type of flowers Bette preferred so that he could get her a bouquet for her first performance. Dot's heart warmed at that, seeing the man that she loved so tenderly care for her sister. Later that evening she had pressed a note back in reply that Bette loved anything pink, cheerful and romantic, however she also ached for flowers the she could keep beyond the length of time a bouquet would last. So maybe a flowering plant would be better. Jimmy of course bought both, handing Bette a beautiful posie of assorted pink coloured carnations along with a terracotta pot of African Violets. Bette had thrown her arm around Jimmy's neck and squeeled with excitement at the sight of her flowers while Dot had offered him the warmest, proudest smile as she mouthed "thank you" against the backdrop of her sister's excited ramblings.

Given how long Bette had pined for flowers and how excited she had been to receive them it is unsurprising that she is a devoted plant parent. She waters her flowers once a week like clockwork, adding water to a saucer underneath the pot and letting them drink the water up through their roots just like Paul had shown her. Apparently African Violets don't like to get their leaves wet. Bette would even go as far as to take her flowers out for some sun if she felt the conditions on their windowsill weren't right at their current campsite. Her little pot of flowers really did bring her so much joy.

Dot may not have shared her sister's passion for flowers (finding them mostly to be needless and frivolous) but in the end she was the one who responsible for the expansion of her sister's flower garden. When Paul had originally shown Bette how to care for her flowers he had also mentioned that they could be propagated which had fascinated Dot. The idea you could just take a leaf and it would grow roots and become a completely new plant was amazing to her. But convincing Bette to let her try it out for herself definitely proved to be battle. Bette certainly wasn't keen on allowing her sister to chop into her precious flowers while Dot couldn't see why her sister was being so protective, the little plant certainly had plenty of leaves to spare, especially if it could give a whole new plant. Unsurprisingly the disagreement escalated to a pair of very raised voices which is what ultimately drew Jimmy into the argument. After managing to calm down both sisters Jimmy revealed to Bette that the tiny pot plant had originally been her sister's idea because she knew how much she wanted to have flowers of her own. Dot confirmed that she does know how important the flowers are to Bette and that she would never want to hurt them, she was just excited at the possibility of being to make more of them for her sister and be able to give her the windowsill full of flowers that she had always dreamed of. Bette couldn't help but relent after that. A few months later and Dot has become quite the propagation expert, to the point where their windowsill is beggining to fill up with juvenile plants as well as fresh cuttings just beginning to take root. Bette smiles every time they catch her eye, not just at the beauty of the flowers that she spent so long pining for but also for how they symbolise her sister's love for her. While they may still bicker bitterly from time to time, Bette knows that no one will ever love her as much or as fiercely as her sister does. Dot still has no real interest in the flowers themselves. She does still find propagating rewarding, especially watching her little babies start to grow and flourish. But mostly she just enjoys watching the way they make her sister smile.

Sally McKenna

Image: jeremiahsplants

Sally is obsessed with carnivorous plants and you can't convince me otherwise. She definitely discovered them on Instagram and loves all the funny shapes and crazy colours that they come in. Sally would never be content with a plant that looks like a plant - no her plants need to look like vicious little aliens. The fact that they're natural born killers is also a nice little bonus. She loves how they subvert the natural order of things - insects should eat plants not the other way around.

When she first discovered plants online Sally got really upset that she'd never be able to go out and buy any of her own. It was Iris who mentioned that maybe she would be able to order some online - big mistake. Sally is nothing if not obsessive and her room now rivals Poison Ivy's lair with the number of plants she has crammed in there. The sheer number of babies in her collection doesn't mean that she neglects them though, no Sally is absolutely an A level obsessive plant mum - only the best for her babies. When she discovered that carnivorous plants prefer distilled water to tap water she started ordering it by the gallon, and as the best lit positions in her room started to fill up she definitely ordered grow lights so that none of her babies suffer. The grow lights also give off a slight purple glow which makes her room look like a rave which is absolutely a feature and not a bug.

Sally has also been known to go hunting for food for her babies, especially since her collection has grown and she worries there isn't enough to go around. Iris and Liz frequently find her collecting dead flies from window ledges to take back to her growing brood. She offers them to her babies with tweezers as a mother bird would to her chicks. The last time Iris had an exterminator spray the Cortez Sally accused her of trying to murder her babies with poison and absolutely ordered fruit flies online (intended for feeding pet reptiles rather than pet plants but meh) to keep her collection going until she could be absolutely sure that the offending toxins had dissipated.

It goes without saying that Sally has a separate plant Instagram account which she updates on nearly a daily basis with photos of new growth or just progress on her collection. She definitely has a great eye for plant photography and for making her babies come to life on the screen. One of her favourite things to do is film feeding videos with her largest Venus Flytrap "Fang" (who incidentally has his own Instagram account: @Fangstagram). Watching plants move so quickly will never get old to Sally and she has definitely been known to tease some of her smaller flytraps into snapping shut just for her enjoyment. She tries not tease them too much though, they are her babies after all.

Audrey Tindall

Image: savannahs-succulent-garden

Like Lana, Audrey is another serial plant killer, but for complete different reasons. Audrey, bless her, kills her plants with far too much kindness (and water). She so desperately wants a house full of the beautiful lush plants she sees all over Instagram so she tries her darnedest to be the best plant parent ever. Her problem is that every time she sees leaves starting to yellow or wilt she assumes it must be from lack of water (rather than the fact that their roots are already rotting from far too much).

Initially she fell into the trap of picking up plants she thought looked cute on Instagram or in the garden centre, without really knowing much about caring for them. Needless to say this didn't end well (multiple times). She thought she had cracked it when discovered the subset of house plants refered to as "hard to kill". Unfortunately, most of those plants are very resistant to neglect but not to Audrey's smothering type of plant parenting. Finally she discovered peace lillies which do actually like to have wet feet and appreciate all of her affection. She's slowly collecting other spathiphyllums in all shapes and sizes now that she's feels confident she's got the hang of them. She gets so excited every time one of them grows a new leaf or flowers - such a proud plant mum.

Now that she's growing a little more confident with at least a subset of house plants she will occasionally post photos to her Instagram. She's still pretty insecure about her plant parent abilities though and it doesn't help that she will occasionally get haters telling her she's doing it all completely wrong. She tries not to let them get to her but sometimes they really do get her down - all she wanted to do was share the joy that her plant babies bring her and she's doing her best to do right by them. After one particularly brutal bout of trolling it's actually Sally who defends her. Audrey has been following Sally's plantstagram since she first started getting interested in plants so the fact that Sally even acknowledged her kinda blows her mind. Sally tells people in no uncertain terms to back off Audrey or she will set her carnivorous babies on them. The two strike up a fast friendship after this and through Sally's guidance Audrey eventually begins to grow more confident as a plant mum. For her birthday Sally definitely sends Audrey her first baby Venus Flytrap with the absolute insistence that it be named "Audrey II".

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Image: swordsintheforest

Ally has never really seen the appeal of house plants nor does she have the time (or the headspace) to look after them. She does however have a fully stocked herb garden growing in window boxes in the kitchen to have everything within easy reach for cooking. She also loves the fresh clean smell of the basil and rosemary wafting through the house on the breeze if she leaves the windows open, particularly if it has rained. She may even admit that she's beginning to see the appeal of having the greenery around the place from an aesthetic standpoint as well.

Given how busy Ally is juggling being a senator, running a restaurant and being a single mum (plus whatever wink wink nudge nudge cult stuff she's up to on the side) it's not really surprising that it's Ozzie who's taken to caring for the herb garden most of the time. He's always been such an inquisitive kid and Ally loves watching the way his face lights up over simple things like flowers and new growth. Ozzie is particularly obsessed with propagation and there is always at least a handfull of his experiments on the windowsill. Whether it's an avocado seed he's trying to get to sprout or basil cuttings he's trying to root, he always has some new scheme in the works. Ally usually just smiles and ruffles his hair (so proud and glad that she has such an amazing and we'll rounded kid after everything that he's been through). As long as he leaves her enough basil to make pesto with, she's happy for him to play to his heart's content.

Wilhemina Venable

Image: leafyleafs

Plants have never been of any interest to Wilhemina, she considers them to be unnecessary sources of dirt and clutter. They serve no practical purpose so she has no time for them. At least until she becomes the somewhat unwilling recipient of one. As far as office secret Santa presents go, she supposes, the lilac coloured orchid is actually quite inoffensive. However she can't shake the feeling that it must have been bought for her as some kind of challenge, that someone at Kineros is secretly watching to see how quickly she will kill it because someone like the imperious Ms Venable is obviously incapable of the kindness or tenderness necessary to keep something as beautiful and delicate as an orchid. What she doesn't know is that it was actually from Mutt, because while he is usually too coked out of his mind to show it, he is actually quite fond of her. And he knows her well enough to know that she would never accept a gift from him directly so each Christmas he rigs the office Secret Santa to get her name so he can her something (and also partly because he doesn't trust some of the interns not to get her something crude on a dare given the anonymous nature of the gift). He also knows her well enough to realise that she would appreciate the elegant beauty (and obviously the colour) of the orchid but would never cede to the frivolity of buying something like it for herself.

Despite the good intentions of the gift, Wilhemina can not fathom the idea that it was genuinely meant for her enjoyment. Obviously someone is toying with her but she will not be beaten. Wilhemina Venable may not know the first thing about orchids but she will be damned if whoever gave her the wretched thing manages to get a laugh out of it at her expense. So she learns. Mina is nothing if not fiercely independent and resourceful so she scours the internet for information on orchid care and reads everything she can find. And of course she succeeds (because anything else would be unacceptable to her).

After six months her little orchid is still alive and thriving in her office and privately she would have to admit that she has grown quite attached to it. Compared to other plants she finds it to be quite neat and tidy, and there is something elegant and refined about its arching growth habit which she finds quite beautiful. Over the course of her research she has of course come across the tremendous variety of orchids available. She of course is drawn to all of the different tones of purple blooms but also finds herself unexpectedly drawn to some of the darker, more gothic varieties. She tries to tell herself that it is merely an aesthetic appreciation, that they hold no actual allure to her, but she keeps finding herself drawn back to them. She almost buys herself one on *so many* occasions but the idea of doing something so frivolous just for her own pleasure and enjoyment is so terrifying to her that she always chickens out. Eventually she caves though, buying an indigo coloured orchid on sale at the grocery store, abruptly rushing home with it before she can change her mind again. She spends the entire rest of the day second guessing the decision but the next morning when she opens her eyes to the delicate purple blooms tenderly placed on her night stand she can't help the gentle smile it brings to her face or the warmth that settles in her chest.

After that her collection slowly grows. She still struggles with buying things for herself simply for pleasure but she is getting better, and the sick guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach seems to appear less and less each time she does it. So her collection of orchids grows, mostly including those with particularly dark blooms or interesting and unusual shapes (though there are definitely a couple of lilac and lavender coloured blooms in there as well). She also begins to expand to other dark leaved plants as well, like certain begonias and definitely a ZZ raven. Like with the orchids, all of her new acquisitions are thoroughly researched and she is determined to succeed in their care.

Mutt will sometimes catch her glance fondly at her little desk orchid as he passes her office. He is genuinely glad to have given her something that seems to bring her such contentment. If only he knew the true extent of the gift he had given her.

Mildred Ratched

Image: bidoctor

Mildred has no idea about plants of any kind. Or at least she didn't before Gwen. Her childhood certainly wasn't filled with simple pleasures like planting flowers or playing in a vegetable patch, and any indoor plants or flower arrangements were merely things she was forbidden to touch and harshly punished if she damaged. So inevitably these things inspired a far greater degree of anxiety and tension in Mildred than they did joy or contentment.

But Gwen loves gardening. She had memories as a young child of helping her father in their backyard, returning of an evening covered in mud, much to her mother's dismay. Gwen's strong nurturing nature made her a very capable gardener and she derived a great sense of contentment from it. On some level Mildred wished she could help Gwen as she pottered through their garden of a weekend but she wouldn't have a clue where to start. In fact, the nasty voice in Mildred's head whispered, she would be so much better off without you, you'll just ruin everything, you're far too useless to be of any help. So as Gwen worked Mildred would watch, pretending to pay attention to her novel but really trying to find the pattern and reason to Gwen's actions so that maybe, someday, she wouldn't be quite so useless.

Mildred did, however, enjoy accompanying Gwen to the nursery when she went to collect supplies for their garden. Mildred may not have the faintest idea what any of the plants were called or how to care for them but she did find it peaceful to walk through the rows upon rows of different shades of green. She was continually fascinated by how many different shapes, sizes and colours they seemed to come in. Sometimes Gwen would catch her staring curiously at a particular plant but Mildred would always decline when Gwen offered that they could take it home with them.

One particular Saturday in spring Gwen found Mildred tenderly righting a small yellow marigold which had been knocked over by other nursery-goers as they riffled through the display to choose the brightest and most beautiful blooms. The poor little plant was somewhat lopsided and some of its leaves were slightly crushed from where it had lain, still there were the beginnings of golden yellow petals starting to peak from within the confines of its buds. Gwen watched as Mildred delicately unkinked the worst of the damaged leaves, fingers ghosting over the flowers that had yet to bloom. This time when Gwen suggested that they take the battered little plant home with them Mildred suddenly became very interested in a thread dangling from the cuff of her blouse as she muttered "Wouldn't it be easier to just choose one that isn't crushed? One without so much damage?". Gwen gently reached out, linking her pinkie with Mildred's, cursing that anything more would have been unacceptable in public. She gently squeezed Mildred's slender finger in her own until her gaze lifted to meet Gwendolyn's. "Never" she breathed. "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all". She felt her throat tighten and eyes begin to burn as she watched Mildred's eyes begin to glisten and that *damn* dimple on her chin begin to quiver. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to look after it", Mildred's gaze dropping again to the poor bruised little plant. Gwen squeezed their intertwined fingers once more, coaxing Mildred's eyes to meet her own. "I can show you, if you'd like?" Mildred's teeth began to worry her bottom lip as she considered. "What if I can't? What if I kill it?" "Sweetheart, you won't and I'll be there with you every step of the way. We can do it together." Mildred seemed to consider this offer, turning back to gaze tenderly at their little friend, before meeting Gwen's eyes. "Ok" she murmured, "together".

After that, every time Mildred and Gwen returned to the nursery Mildred would inevitably leave with a battered looking plant that she was determined to rehabilitate. Gwen, true to her word, patiently guided Mildred through the basics of plant care and Mildred, unsurprisingly, quickly became very proficient. Her tiny, dextrous fingers, used to dealing with needles and surgical instruments, were incredibly adept at staking and repositioning bent and battered plants as she helped them to heal. Soon enough, one end of their porch became entirely dedicated to Mildred's patients, so much so that Gwen began affectionately referring to it as Mildred's ward. And in spite of her initial fears Mildred had become quite the proficient gardener, with her little rag-tag bunch of plants, all twisted and pointing in slightly odd directions, forming the most beautiful and beloved garden Gwendolyn had ever seen.

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

ccccan i ahve ethubs yuri or treebark yuri since ao3 is down

whoops ao3 isn’t down anymore…but take treebark yuri anyway!!!!

—

Martyn sits on the kingdom’s walls.

This far up, she’s above everything—the wheat farm steadily growing surrounded by water, the spruce saplings scattered across the fields, the oak hut that contains the Enchanting Table.

Below her is the running waterway that courses to the valley. If Martyn squints hard enough, she could see a clique of minnows shifting their tails and bestriding the currents.

As she looks up, Martyn marvels at the Sun. She awakens from her slumber, leaving the server in tangerine highlights.  The blonde practically finds her a blessing.

Martyn is in her armor like she typically is. (unless it’s while she sleeps—vaulting out of bed to kill a stray phantom while covered in metal isn’t ideal) She runs her hand over her iron-clad legs, a loose attempt to soothe her nerves, she supposes.

It isn’t too long before weapons are drawn.

Her and the rest of the Red Army will trail on a path to the desert, filled with cacti and a sea of lava that heats the sand.

They’ll stand in front of a sandstone tower, egging those inside to come outside and face them. Then, when the time is right, Martyn will brandish her sword.

It’s the inhumane thing to do, she knows, but after the Siege on Dogwarts that tore the land in two, Martyn’s moral compass points far south.

She hears something behind her, and Martyn barely has time to turn around before she’s joined on the ledge.

“G’mornin’,” Ren slurs as she scrubs her face with the back of her hand. From the repeated blinks and slow movement of dangling her legs over the edge, Martyn guesses she woke up minutes ago.

”Morning, my Queen,” she hums back.

Ren arches her back to stretch, and the blonde hears a faint crack resound from it. Before she knows it, a yawn follows.

”Excuse my manners, me Hand,” Ren sighs, rubbing away faint tears from the prior movement. “I found myself awake last night, reviewing our plans and whatnot.”

Martyn grins. “I’d expect nothing less from you. Everything in motion?”

Ren hums back, “You better believe it.”

They fall into comfortable silence. Ren watches the view ahead, but Martyn doesn’t return to watching the sunrise.

She looks to what’s next to her, taking everything in.

Ren’s hair is slung over her shoulder, tousled curls a telltale of laying in bed moments before. It’s a dark chestnut color Martyn finds herself getting lost in.

She’s wearing a crimson nightgown, silk pooling around her thighs. One of its thin straps hang off of Ren’s shoulder, revealing a freckled shoulder, and she wants nothing more than to trace the constellations they hold.

Martyn’s eyes find her’s, and Void, she could go on about them.

They match her gown, dark as netherrack and deep as a plume of embers. They burn like the latter as well, leaving you alight as hold gazes across the battleground.

And like embers, they leave you with nothing but warmth. There’s never a time that Martyn’s stomach isn’t heated when she looks Ren in the eyes. She doesn’t think there ever will be.

Right now they watch the Sun, which is almost at the point in the sky where everything is colored golden. Early mornings have them soft, and yet Her rays don’t fail to make them even softer.

Martyn is a woman of many words, but right now? She’s rendered speechless.

Her Queen is gorgeous.

Even more so as she turns to face her with tired eyes, a smirk spread and an eyebrow lifted, asking, “See something you like?”

Martyn’s face grows warmer. “You better believe it.”

Ren only laughs, the sound rumbling in open air. She sidles closed to Martyn, just enough for their shoulders to make contact.

As the tips of their fingers meet and her Queen rests her head on her own, Martyn  forgets her worries.

—

(also on ao3!!)

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 2

part 1

Queer Eye for the Cacti by silentsaebyeok

summary: He bought one-hundred cacti on Amazon! Pepper was going to kill him!

What had possessed him to do such a thing? He never went on shopping sprees when drunk. That just wasn’t a Tony Stark type of thing to do. And in all honesty, he was astonished he even remembered the Amazon password.

--

Tony makes an interesting purchase while drunk. What he doesn’t expect is for said purchase to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Tumblr Posts by Jen27ny

summary:   Literally what the title says. All the prompts and one-shots I post on tumblr.

pairings: pepperony, spideychelle

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warnings:

It Lasts for Always by YellowDistress

summary:  Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Cursed Christmas by sahiya

summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.

It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Keeping your head up by frostysunflowers

summary: It’s been a while, a long while, since Tony felt this defenceless. He’s without a suit, the manacle around his ankle is solid steel, and he can’t see a single way out.

 He’s been here before, but back then there had been tools, resources, options.

Here, there’s just the walls, his missing kid and the water. 

The water.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: kidnapping

Young, Dumb and Suffering by wordscorrupt

summary: In a moment of desperation, Peter decides to take Steve's pain medication to relieve a migraine.

or

Peter accidentally overdoses on pain medication.

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings:

Midnight Oil by JolinarJackson

summary:  After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Love Will Remind Us Who We Are by blondsak

summary: There had been many times in Tony’s life when he’d known the piercing clarity that separated a Good Day from a Bad Day. Had known the ways in which, upon first waking, one’s soul would strike a balance between agony and relief either in your favor, or not.

But none of his earlier Good and Bad times had prepared him for his reality now.

//

Nine months after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony is still reckoning with the toll the final snap took on his body. Between grueling physical therapy, near-constant pain, and the inability to so much as tie his own shoes, well-- things aren’t exactly like Tony had imagined.

Luckily for him, there’s a certain kid from Queens who won’t let Tony give up so easily.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Summertime Sickness by Spideysickfics

summary: "Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

OR

An Irondad camping trip and sickfic to soothe your soul

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

to break in these bones by searchingforstars

summary: “We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

--

or, Peter doesn't listen to Tony, pisses off someone dangerous and ends up on the wrong end of a baseball bat.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

5 Times Peter Gave Tony Something by impravidus

summary:  and the 1 time Tony gave him something back

pairings:  none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

You'll Be Here (in My Heart) by seekrest

summary:  The morning that Tony’s life changed forever began as his days usually began now — shuffling into the kitchen half asleep, going through the motions as he searched for Pepper’s favorite coffee mug.

Tony stifled a yawn, grabbing the Black Panther novelty mug she adored while he grabbed one that Morgan had made them years ago - one that made her now cringe with embarrassment anytime she saw him use it, the childish scribbles that made him laugh.

  He sets Morgan’s creation down on the countertop as he reaches for the Black Panther mug, it being just barely out of reach for when Pepper has put it last.

“Damn thing.” Tony mutters to himself, fingers barely brushing against it before he grabs it - going to set it down on the counter only to be surprised when Pepper walks in from the bedroom, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Morning. You know, you and I need to have a talk about about your choice of mugs. I know T’Challa somehow perfected the cup warmer thing here but you could at least show a little—“

“Michelle’s in labor.”

pairings: spideychelle

tags: angst

warnings: none

the little things we don't say out loud by JBS_Forever

summary: “It's not funny,” Peter says, voice catching as he whines, “This is life or death, Ned. I'm actually dying.”

On the other end of the line, Ned sighs, amused and not at all concerned. “So you're Mr. Stark's secret Santa. It's not that bad.”

- - -

In which Peter is Tony's secret Santa, and it is, in fact, that bad.

pairings: none

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: none

Hiking Essentials: A backpack, plenty of water, and a Spider-kid by kiwifeather

summary:  Morgan, Peter, and Tony enjoy each other's company on a hike through the woods while Peter is staying with them for the weekend. Father-and-son bonding ensues

(Takes place after the snap but Tony survives because this is the good timeline and we know that Tony deserved a happy ending)

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

In Case of Emergency by Bowtiez

summary: Babysitting his little sister at the Stark's lakeside cabin seems like quite the gig for 17-year-old Peter. Of course he's got that covered- he's a mature individual and he can watch over a five-year-old for forty-eight hours.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone know that super-healing doesn't really work on bacterial infections? It's a good thing Morgan knows what to do. Well... it's probably a good thing?

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Three Times Tony Stark Used Italian Nicknames and One Time He Received One by MCUsic_to_my_ears

summary:   Tony can't help but slip into his Italian when with his children.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

More Ancient Than Magic by ironfamjam

summary: Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: torture

Peaches by peterparkr

summary: There’s no response, not even a faint twinge of muscle. Peter tries to listen for a heartbeat, but he can’t seem to focus enough to pinpoint it. Another bubble of thought starts to rise. This could be the reason his spidey-sense is going haywire. Tony could be—

He pushes the bubble down.

OR

Peter and Tony find themselves stranded in the woods after an Avengers mission

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Snowflakes by Jen27ny

summary:  Tony just wants to see his kids happy - which means letting Morgan stick as many snowflakes to the window as she likes, and making Peter talk about his nightmares.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies by baloobird

summary: Tony is spending a fun afternoon baking cookies with his kids, but his older one isn't acting like himself.

Whatever the problem is, it's up to the now-retired hero to figure it out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: bullying, acephobia

An MIT Halloween by bethy_277

summary: Coming to MIT had been difficult, having almost lost his mentor when he had snapped to save the entire universe, and Peter had really struggled. If it hadn’t been for Ned and Harley- who he had met shortly after he came back and become good friends with- he didn’t think he would have made it past the first few weeks at school. He had called both May and Tony that first week, hysterical and begging to come back to New York. May had been patient, Tony had been ready to get in his car to drive to him to help him through it, and Harley and Ned had been there and talked him down both times.  

** Peter is a college student at MIT and Tony brings Morgan up for some trick-or-treating.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Someone Take Me Home by GallagherHunter

summary:  More than a month since May's death Peter is having a less than stellar day at school in the hopes of making it through the day so he can get to the apartment where he's been living with Tony since his world came crashing around him. Meanwhile, Tony has been advised to adopt Peter to assure him he won't leave him.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

It’s Gonna Be Lit by Pawprinter

summary: What Christmas gift does one get for the man who seemingly has everything?

Peter is struggling to find out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I'll Be Home For Christmas by snarkymuch

summary:  May gets called away for work, and Tony steps in to make sure Peter isn't alone for Christmas. Harley, Morgan, and Peter being adorable kids, and Tony being a great dad.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The power of makeup by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter shows up to a prestigious awards ceremony with a black eye and a whole lot of regret.

Tony raids Pepper's purse and decides to improvise.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky by ftmpeter

summary: There are two things Tony learns about Peter after Morgan is born.

The first thing is that when it comes to kids, he's a natural.

The second thing is that he's a self-sacrificing little shit.

(Tony already knew that. He has the gray hairs to prove it. But. Still.)

It isn't the kind of self-sacrificing that will get him killed or seriously injured - thank God - but it's just as annoying. Maybe even more, because while he can ground Peter from Spider-Man, he can't exactly ground him from staying up all night to make sure Morgan sleeps through it.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

give the cookies a miss by searchingforstars

summary: “Surprise!” Morgan exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She gestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

--

or, Peter is poisoned by the ones he trusts most.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

i want to be with you 'til the whole world ends by searchingforstars

summary: The last thing he does as his eyes slip shut is wrap his arms tighter around Peter, as tight as he can manage when it feels like the life is draining from him.

Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but please, please, someone look after this kid for me.

Tony would give anything to make sure that Peter Parker is safe.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much left to give. He’s about to have nothing left to give.

The world goes dark.

He drifts away.

--

Or, Peter and Tony nearly lose each other.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Of bright autumn days and things that go bump in the night by frostysunflowers

summary: Halloween/fall themed fics featuring plenty of fluff, feels and seasonal shenanigans!

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings: none

Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection by seekrest

summary:

pairings: spideychelle

tags: 

warnings: 

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Whispered Praises and a Soft Touch

Stiles is super nervous about getting a tattoo and it doesn’t help that his tattoo artist is an incredibly gorgeous man called Derek.

 12 Days of Kink-mas – Day 9 (20th December): Praise Kink

   [insp]

     Stiles walked up to the front door of the tattoo studio, looking at the sign that hung on the glass panel that read ‘OPEN’.

He drew in a deep breath, letting the rush of cool air fill his lungs smother out the burning embers of anxiety that had settled in his chest. He let the tension in his body subside, his shoulders dropping as he pushed open the studio door.

A small bell chimed and a man stepped around the corner. He stepped in, closing the door behind him.

The sound of footsteps filled the space as a man came down from upstairs.

He was handsome, with thick black hair and a short, neat beard that cast a soft shadow across his jaw. His eyes were pale aventurine, the colour of his irises shifting in the light; from hazel to jade green, to a shade of light blue. He was dressed in a grey Henley with long sleeves hat were bunched up around his elbows, leaving his firm forearms bared. There were tattoos across his skin; one arm had the silhouettes of trees on his forearm—pine trees, elm trees, and the silhouettes of spindly trees that had lost their leaves—the roots and the ground faded into dots around his wrist. His other forearm had two roses on the underside of his arm, the delicate petals tattooed in black and white. The fine cursive script of names peeked out from beneath the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

A kind smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he met Stiles’ gaze.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm Stiles, I have an appointment," Stiles managed to say around the lump in his throat.

The man nodded.

“I’m Derek. Come on through,” he said, nodding towards the small sectioned-off rooms of the studio.

Stiles followed him, taking in his surroundings. The shop was quite modern, the plastered walls painted a soothing grey with black framed photos of tattoo designs and portraits of past customers—most of them printed in black and white—showcasing the incredible details and fine line work of their tattoos. On the counters were little cacti potted in white or concrete pots.

Derek was quick to get everything ready; showing Stiles a printed copy of the design to check the font and the spelling before transferring it to a stencil.

“You wanted it on your ribs, right?” Derek asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied. He shifted slightly, feeling a little self-conscious.

“You don’t have to take your shirt completely off,” Derek assured him. “You can just pull it up enough that I work.”

Stiles nodded, pulling up the side of his shirt.

"How are you with needles?" Derek asked as he cleaned Stiles' side and positioned the stencil. 

"Honestly? Terrible," Stiles admitted. "But this is something I want; something I need."

"I promise I'll be gentle with you," Derek said with a soft smile. He pressed the stencil to Stiles' skin and pulled it back, leaving the outline from which he was going to work. "How's that?"

Stiles looked up at the mirror on the wall. A small smile crept up the corners of his lips as he looked at it.

The design was somewhat simple, a few lines of script in a solid text with roman numerals at the bottom—a date—positioned on his left side over his ribs.

 In one of the stars I shall be living.

In one of them I shall be laughing.

And so it will be as if all the stars

were laughing, when you look at the sky at night

And so you will love to watch all the stars…

You–only you–will have stars that can laugh.

I shall not leave you.

 Stiles nodded. "Yeah, that's perfect."

"Alright, let’s get started.”

Stiles nodded as he lay down on the bench.

There was something about this man—something about his glittering eyes and his sweet smile—that just made Stiles feel calm.

Derek started.

Stiles tensed for a moment, exhaling heavily and relaxing. He shut his eyes and felt something press against his skin, a small prick, and then nothing.

"How was that?" Derek asked.

"Was that it?" Stiles replied, stunned. "That didn't hurt at all."

Derek chuckled. "Good."

He set to work and Stiles relaxed, his eyes slowly drifting shut as he felt Derek's fingers brush across his skin.

Time passed quickly as Stiles drifted into a peaceful oblivion, still somehow remaining completely aware of Derek's tender touch, of the warmth of his hands and of his glittering eyes that were focused solely on his work.

“You still with me?” Derek asked, his quiet voice gently shaking Stiles from his wandering thoughts.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied.

“Haven’t passed out yet?” he teased.

“Not yet,” Stiles said with a slight chuckle.

Derek chuckled in return, the deep sound rolling through Stiles’ chest and igniting every nerve.

“I like the quote,” he said, reading the tattoo.

“It’s from The Little Prince,” Stiles explained. “My mum used to read it to me every night when I was younger.”

“And the date?” Derek asked.

Stiles’ voice went quiet. “That’s the day she died.”

Derek paused for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said; he didn’t want to admit how much I hurt to say it.

Derek was quiet for a moment.

“2004,” he read. “I lost my family the same year.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles replied, wishing he had more to say.

“Thanks,” Derek said. “I hope this tattoo gives you some kind of closure.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said quietly. “I hope so too.”

They settled back into a comfortable quiet, the only sound was the buzzing of the machine and the even rhythm of Stiles’ breaths.

The needle hit a sensitive spot, a jolt of pain shooting through his body and burning his veins.

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, fighting the urge to flinch. He let out a measured breath, calming his heart and breathing through it as the pain subsided.

“That’s it. Good boy,” Derek whispered, gently brushing a finger over the sore spot before continuing.

Stiles blinked in shock as a wave of warmth crashed over him, stirring something inside of him. He tried his best to keep his breathing even as his mind began to wander; imagining what it would be like to have Derek whisper those words in his deep voice as he lay with his body pressed against Stiles’. He wandered what it would be like to look up into Derek’s aventurine eyes and hear him say those words as Stiles took his length in his mouth, or to hear him whisper it as he gently stroked Stiles cheek as they lay in the sheets together, breathless and ragged.

The thoughts and images swirled around in his head, making it harder and harder to sit still. But there was something about the firmness of Derek’s hand and his gentle touch that grounded Stiles.

“All done,” Derek said, shaking Stiles from his thoughts.

He gently wiped down Stiles’ side and cleaned up the tattoo, setting everything aside before pushing his stool back.

“Have a look in the mirror if you want.”

Stiles sat up and rose to his feet, stepping over to the mirror and turning slightly to look at the tattoo. The fine black lines stood boldly against his pale skin.

"It's perfect," Stiles said breathlessly. "Thank you."

Derek cleaned up the rest of the tattoo, spread gel over it and wrapped it up. He gave Stiles instructions on how to care for his tattoo.

“You didn’t pass out,” Derek congratulated.

Stiles chuckled, pulling down his shirt.

“Funnily enough, you’re actually one of the best customers that has ever sat for me,” Derek told him.

“You’re kidding,” Stiles scoffed.

“You were,” Derek said.

"I mean it, Derek," Stiles said. "Thank you. I don't know if I'd have ever been able to do this if I didn't have you as my artist.”

Derek smiled.

Stiles' heart skipped a beat.

“Look, this might seem out of line slightly, but I know how hard it is to deal with losing your family, and if you ever want to talk or just want someone to spend time with…” Derek wrote something down on a piece of paper before handing it to Stiles. “Just give me a call. Any time.”

"Thanks," Stiles said, returning Derek’s smile.

“Oh, and for the record, you have nothing to be shy about,” Derek said, eyeing Stiles up and down.

[sunwoocloud]

sunflower

↳ pairing: jacob x reader ↳ genre: fluff ↳ word count: 1538

A series of small coincidences attracted you to Jacob Bae just like sunflowers are drawn to the sun.

It had started on a bright sunday morning, birds chirping and fresh air coming through the balcony’s open doors, the gentle breeze swaying the lace curtains that did nothing to filter the sunlight. There were still a few boxes to be unloaded and piles of things to be organized in your new apartment, but independence felt good nonetheless. You had woken up earlier than usual to try and tidy up what you now called home, eyes still heavy with sleep while you did it.

You were so focused on your task that you almost missed the soft, soothing voice that came from your next door neighbor’s porch. Even though you were busy and had a long day of unpacking ahead, curiosity got the best of you — there was no hesitation in the way you lifted yourself off the cold floor and made your way to the balcony. You stopped right before you stepped outside, listening attentively to the calming melody being sung by the nameless neighbour. When you finally decided to look, being as quiet as possible to go unnoticed, you found yourself immediately smiling.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could see your neighbour’s brown messy hair while he watered his plants and sung them calming melodies. He’d gently lift their leaves before carefully watering them, so concentrated at the task that he didn’t even notice you were looking at him. He remained like that for a few minutes, blissfully unaware of your stare to the point where you almost felt bad for witnessing such a pure and loving moment. When he finished nurturing his plants, you quickly went back to the living room - out of his sight, but still unable to forget his pretty voice and caring nature.

Thanks to the stranger, the next day you found yourself searching for flower shops in your new neighbourhood, taking a sudden interest for plants. You had already pictured your own apartment filled with them, plants of different sizes and shapes adorning the small space with splashes of green. You had even pictured yourself singing for them, just like your neighbor did – although your terrible singing skills couldn’t compare to his soothing voice when serenading his flowers with sweet melodies.

You left your apartment on a mission, the afternoon sky blue and cloudless as you made your way to the closest flower shop. You arrived after a 10-minute walk, the discreet storefront adorned with a few flower vases. Since you knew nothing about plants — except for the fact that you were terrible taking care of them —, you made your way to the counter on the back of the tiny store right after walking in. By the time you had reached it, the only employee on sight had a full smile on display, both arms braced on the white desk decorated with rose bouquets of multiple colors.

“Hello, welcome to our shop!” the boy had greeted you sweetly, eyes crinkling. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi!” you paused to look at the tag attached to his apron, the name Jacob written in cursive letters. “I wanted to get some plants for my apartment, but I’m terrible at taking care of living things.”

He had laughed at your attempt to be funny, making you feel a little better.

“Don’t worry, I can help you find something that is easy to take care of,” his voice sounded as gentle as he looked, so you immediately felt like you could trust him — and not just for plant recommendations.

Jacob circled the counter in order to help, and you suddenly felt a little nervous of the sudden approximation. Having him so close to you made you realize he smelled like flowers and looked like sunny days. You almost forgot the initial reason you’d came to this shop, but he had gently signalized for you to follow him until you had reached a wooden shelf storage full of pots of plants.

“Are your plants going to stay indoors?” he asked, stopping right next to you. “If they are, succulents and cacti are always safe options. Lavender and peace lilies as well, you don’t need a green thumb to grow any of them,” he added, a small smile adorning his rosy lips.

“Some of them are, but I also have a porch. It’s not spacious but I can definitely squeeze some pots in there,” you said thoughtfully, your curious fingers gently touching some leaves to feel their texture.

“Wave petunias and marigolds just love to soak up some sun. Ferns and begonias prefer shade,” he pointed at them while explaining it so you could see the ones he was talking about.

Jacob spoke about flowers and plants with so much passion that you just wanted to keep listening to him for hours and hours — which apparently you did, because the sun had already set when you had finally picked which plants you wanted to take with you. You had obviously bought way more than what you’d originally expected, so much that you wouldn’t even be able to carry all of them at once to your apartment. Jacob looked at you with an apologetic smile when he realized that.

“I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t even notice we’d been here for hours,” he bunched his eyebrows, looking remorseful. “And don’t worry about taking the plants, I’ll deliver them for you for free. You know... Since I kept you here for so long.”

“Oh please, as if I was being held captive,” you had waved the air dismissively. “I actually really enjoyed listening to you talk about it, otherwise I wouldn’t have stayed.”

The sentence had sounded different when you said it out loud, cheeks already burning with embarrassment right after the words had left your mouth. Jacob’s thousand watt smile when you said it made your self-consciousness worth it, though. He had walked you back to the counter so you could pay for your new green friends, and even made sure to give you a decent discount despite your attempts to convince him it wasn’t necessary.

He had guaranteed you the plants would be delivered the next day first thing in the morning before giving you your receipt — but when your hand had reached for it, he didn’t let go of the piece of paper. You had looked at him, confused for a second, and he stared back at you with a blush on his cheeks.

“You know what... Maybe I could give you a ride and take them now?” Jacob had said softly, biting his pouty lip in expectation.

You still remembered how the butterflies in your stomach had felt so real.

You had obviously agreed immediately, so he closed the store a little earlier than usual and the both of you loaded his car with the half dozen plants you had picked. You wished you lived a little farther away from the flower shop so you could spend more time with Jacob, but also thought about how grateful you were for your new neighbor — otherwise you wouldn’t have found your new interest in plants or cute boys that knew everything about flowers.

On the way to your apartment, the car was filled with some calm music and the melodious sound of Jacob’s voice as he talked to you some more about his job at the store. You had guided him through the streets until you reached the front of your building, but when you pointed at the entrance he smiled like you had just told him the happiest thing in the world.

“You’re not gonna believe this, but,” he had started, a smile so big that made you mirror his expression without even realizing. “We’re actually neighbors. I live here as well.”

“Oh.”

Only then you recognized his soft brown hair, soothing voice and particular interest in plants, everything connecting in a very fortunate and unexpected coincidence. You had laughed wholeheartedly, something like the most authentic happiness blossoming in your chest — just like the flowers he loved so much.

“Well... You’re not gonna believe this, but,” you had begun, drunk in contentment. “I actually only went to the flower shop because I have just moved here and accidentally witnessed my next door neighbor singing to his plants. I thought it was the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in my life, so I suddenly felt like I needed some plants as well. Turns out it was you.”

His surprised expression had caused more butterflies to fly around your belly, like the most beautiful garden had started to grow inside of you. Oh how you had wished he could also sing you some beautiful melodies while cultivating you, mellifluous voice pouring out of his velvety lips.

He had said, in the softest voice, that he felt like that wasn’t just a coincidence, but more like serendipity and fate intertwined. And while you admired him, lips upturned into a small smile and crescent shaped eyes, you had a feeling that Jacob indeed looked and felt like sunny days — so much warmth emanating from him that you had now bloomed into a little sunflower, drawn to his luminescence.

[xenoredux]

Yesterdaisy is not Fluttershy an earth pony equipped with flora magic. She lives in a deliberately overgrown greenhouse nearby Starwish Dreamer’s stable. All of her furniture is plants, and she is friend to all those plants. You don’t get to be much more of a tree hugger then this girl, and she’s very proud of that. She’s a really groovy gal who thinks everything is too much, and yes, she actually talks like that. Far out, mare.

Daisy is incredibly skilled at what she does, and she’s humble about it to boot. Her ability to literally talk to plants makes it easy to give them what they need to thrive, and in return all sorts of legendary, mystical plantlife offer her their magical powers in turn. This can mean anything from a flower offering up its pollen to save the life of a terminally sick companion, to a tree taking a bow to so as to be a bridge for her. What Whilderbee is to animals, Yesterdaisy is to plants.

Unfortunately, Daisy’s not perfect. She’s also insanely stubborn, one track minded, and disorganized. Her passion for plants knows no bounds, which means her work/gardening ethic is good and her everything-else-ethic sucks horribly. She’s prone to bouts of laziness when things don’t interest her, and she is often scatterbrained, untimely, and unwilling to leave her comfort zone. Lucky for her she’s a gentle, empathetic soul, so she’s quick to trust that her friends want to help her better herself instead of change her when they begin encouraging healthier habits.

As one can imagine, Everlast Valley is filled to bursting with exotic (and intelligent!) flora. It’s not just that Daisy’s furniture and house are made of plants. All of her floral decor are willing volunteers who enjoy her company. She sleeps in a literal flowerbed, her ceiling lights are bioluminescent bulbs and ‘shrooms, and where some people collect stamps or toys or designer mittens, she collects and names tiny cacti which she calls “her babies”. It’s not uncommon for her to bring some of them along with her on an adventure in case they come in handy.

When she’s not trotting around in deserts, rainforests, mountain ranges, and all the other stuff weirdly close by, she’s probably meditating. That or tie-dying, flying a kite, exchanging wildass life stories with her herd (nobody can top her bizarro life experiences), painting abstract art, or enjoying some elicit substances that wouldn’t actually be mentioned in a children’s cartoon. She’s surprisingly well rounded for someone so uncomfortable with change, but this is only adds to her realization that maybe responsibility isn’t so scary after all. That and all the monster fighting.

Most of Yesterdaisy’s expressions are subtle to meager depending on when in her sleep schedule you catch her. The main emotion that gets her tail in a twist is any form of fear. This chick cannot for the life of her handle anxiety - it wracks her to her core and can literally paralyze her. Why else do you think most of her hobbies are soothing? It’s because she’s THIS CLOSE to panic shrieking anytime something disconcerting happens, and when you’re a hero, well...