#common garden peony

[ayanos-pl]

芍薬（シャクヤク）

[thebotanicalarcade]

n5_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: The Language of flowers : London :F. Warne,[18--?] biodiversitylibrary.org/page/60674408

[dabisbratz]

forget me not — knight!satosugu x male reader

warning: mdni, porn w/ plot, royalty au, prince!reader, knight!satosugu, historical inaccuracies, two ( 2 ) smut scenes: brat!reader, spanking, dirty talk, light feminization, praise / degradation, backshots, possessiveness, jealousy, breeding, overstim, dp, oral, rimming, snowballing, eiffel tower position, mocking, unprotected sex, creampie, arranged marriage ( ment ), full nelson, sub!bottom!reader

w.c: 8.1k

.˚｡♡୨୧ ꒰ sonny says…: this took sooo long t’write but m’actually very happy with the result, hehe !! hope you guys like it too!!

There’s been a disturbance in the force. A rude, sudden awakening plastered on village bulletin boards and hammered into the story-seeking minds of money hungry journalists. The Baron’s son has gone missing.

They say it happened in the midst of the day, unexpected and all too sudden. He was left under the care of Kento Nanami— whom you’ve met a few times, and if you’re being honest. . . You wouldn’t mind taking up the man’s services while the Baron’s son is still missing.

It has nothing to do with you, frankly, seeing as you’ve never been kidnapped. You’re certainly not the Baron’s son— oh, you have much more authority than that— and you’re nowhere near as reckless as he is. Was? In fact, had you been as reckless as to take up the hobby of carriage riding, you’d have taken a butler or two with you. Not that you doubt your abilities in combat— sure, you’ve never thrown an actual punch in your life— but it shouldn’t be too hard. Whatever the status of his stolen life, it has nothing to do with you.

Until it does.

“Satoru Gojo, at your service!” The words are stolen from your mouth before they can even rise, and your hands are being enveloped in the warmth of long, pale palms. His grip is firm, albeit bouncy with vigor as he jolts your hand up and down, nearly snapping your arm clean off.

Satoru. . . Is very pretty. It’s apparent before you even take in his features. It shows in his voice, rich and sweet— you can hear the lopsided smile in it. It shows in his stature: playful yet confident, as if he’s done this a million times before. He doesn’t need good posture to tower over the masses, but he has it anyway. His blazing white hair…Now that’s an anomaly.

Taking note of your strain to wiggle free, he huffs dramatically, swatting your hand away as if it was him who wanted free. He taps a clean fingernail against his bottom lip once, then twice, and leans over to place his face directly in front of your own— increasingly taller by the second. With zero comprehension of personal space, he tilts his gaze up from your hand to your lips. His breath smells faintly of custard tarts, but it’s the smell of his expensive cologne that curves your judgment. For a moment, you consider what it’d be like— being wrapped up in his honey-smooth scent. His voice lowers to a whisper as he tilts his head, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“You look a mess.” The voice behind him is just as smooth, rich and deep and accompanied by inky, dark hair that you’re sure is against the knightley regime. But you don’t mind it— it’s hard to, especially when it’s attached to someone so. . . beautiful. His eyes match his hair, sleek and sharp dark pools that you’re sure have maidens swooning. His earlobes are stretched, something not as common amongst those of a lower royal status, but it suits him. He’s Suguru Geto, you’ve learned— as Gojo introduces him without a thought, like they’ve known each other for years.

It’s quite evident they do, with the way the white-haired male swings a playful arm over his shoulders and a smile spreads across the brunette’s handsome face. It makes something in your stomach twist, and you’ve decided— just upon feeling it— that you don’t like it.

“He meant to say the pleasure’s ours.”

The garden is peaceful. Full of peonies and orchids, arrays of pink hues and periwinkle petals that dance in the breeze. Leaving little to the imagination sits green leaves of shrubs and berry bushes, lined up along the perimeter of the outstandingly large green-room. Gravel trails of small rocks and shiny pebbles leave a great walkway through the center of every row, bleeding into the rich soil that holds blush roses. You’d spent many sleepless nights here, bare feet digging into the pellets as you’d danced to the celebratory music of the crickets, joining fireflies in their soirée. Kissed by the setting sun, its glowing, orange-yellow rays beam down into the crisp air. You breathe in, deep and full, lungs expanding with rose seeds and baby’s breath. Running your fingertips along the dainty petals, droplets of rainwater tickle your skin. You wish you were a flower, self reliant and free. Devastatingly beautiful under every eye.

Smacked dead center of the garden is a large fountain, sculpted cherubs with gold leaking through the crevices of their wings. Baby cupid follows just behind, a smaller stream of water flowing from his bow and arrow. An extravagant spectacle that was much too flashy for your liking, but gorgeous nonetheless.

There are remnants of your childhood here, large overgrown trees that reach for the skyline holding a wooden swing, sole and lonely, worn down from the years. An unmistakably human dent in the freshly watered roses that fit you perfectly— have fit you perfectly. . . It’s yours.

Or, at least, it is now. After your mother died, you’d taken after her horticulturist nature. It was the last thing you had of her— her trees, her flowers, her soil. She planted the seeds and you nurtured the roots— just as she’d done for you. You used to imagine your life without her when she was around, so much so your throat would tighten and your vision would blur. But it never could’ve amounted to how it’d feel when it actually happened. When she was gone forever, in the midst of the night. Like she’d dissipated into thin air. She left you.

Your knees dig into the soil, a freshly installed pound of mulch to regulate the heat of the roots bound to the ground, scraped up and burning the further you kneel on its surface. You’re sure the fresh smell of grass and dirt will cling to the baby blue silk of your pajamas— especially the shorts— but you have only half the mind to care, shifting your weight ever so often as you spill your family secrets to the peonies. They’re great listeners.

The ground crackles beneath your knees, pebbles leaving behind thick remnants of dust as they’re kicked to the side beneath heavy shoes. It’s not hard to guess who it is, not when you’ve been around the same two idiots for the past several months, or so. There’s a bounce in his step, much bouncier than the other— so you know it’s Gojo.

“You’re so hard to find,” Exasperated and faintly out of breath, the high ranking knight pretends to gasp behind you. “Seriously! Like some kind of.. slippery.. snake.”

“Ugh,” You hear yourself groan, nearly planting your face into the roses to save yourself from facing the knight. “That was the point.”

The white-haired man hums, mumbling something akin to ‘pretty!’ under his breath as he crouches down on one knee beside you. The gesture makes your blood boil as much as your heart flutters, fast and hard as your shoulders inch closer and closer to your ears. Getting on his knees to face you like this. . . You’re a grown man! . . . Albeit on your knees.

Gojo sits the luminescent lantern down, appreciating the quiet sound it makes as it sinks into the gravel path. So dramatic, the moon has barely begun to show, and yet, he’s carrying around a damned lantern!

“Well,” His voice is soft and quiet, as if he’s trying not to wake the tulips. Gojo’s hand, long and thin, pushes down the strain of your shoulders and smooths them out until they’re lax and rested. “It’s time for bed! And I have to make sure you get to bed safe. You know that.”

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” You stand your ground, planting your knees further into the soil despite the jolt of pain shooting straight through them. It’s childish, really. The garden isn’t going anywhere, it’ll be here tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and after that, and so on and so forth. But it’s your safespace, if you could sleep here you would. “What’s my schedule like tomorrow?”

You’re buying time. Satoru knows he can’t object to answering your questions, he’s legally bound to you— legally bound to answer to you. And if that wasn’t enough, he was bound by an oath of blood.

“Between you and me,” Satoru leans forward, resting his hand atop his knee. His breath tickles the shell of your ear, and smells faintly of sugar cane. “Same thing as always. I don’t know how you do it! I mean, I went to school to be appointed knight. . .”

You’d meant to distract him, but really, you ended up distracting yourself. The knight’s voice is just so smooth, warm and buttery. So you listen as he explains your schedule— breakfast, fencing lessons, fitting for a new set of outerwear, more fencing lessons, lunch— it’s all the same. It’s the small peek into his life that leaves you interested, the implication that his family was wealthy enough to send him to school. That he chose the life of chivalry.

“. .I met Suguru . .We were the strongest in our division, y’know. . .”

“Satoru?” You don’t mean to cut him off, but his recurrent rambling slowly weighs down your eyelids. You turn to sit properly, gritting your teeth as you rest on your backside and dust off your scraped knees. Dirt clings anyway.

It’s clear the knight notices, but he doesn’t make an effort to say anything. Instead, he chirps in acknowledgment to your upcoming question, raising his pale hands to lightly dust away the remaining soil. He’ll have to inform someone of the infirmary division about it after you're safely asleep in bed.

“Can we— I want to sleep here tonight.” His face noticeably contorts, dimples creasing his pale, but still rosy, cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in thought.

“Knew you’d say that,” You nearly crash straight forward into the pale man’s chest, surprise etched across your features as Suguru’s voice rings behind you. How long had he been there? The trail crunches beneath his feet, slowly growing quiet as he stops adjacent to you and Gojo. He’s holding a quilt in his hands, sturdy and warm and large, accompanied by one of your expensive silk pillows in contrast to their strung together, straw cushions. “You took my lantern, Satoru.”

“Guilty!” The other responds, as if it were a question and not a proclamation of war— courtesy of Suguru.

If the three of you end up sleeping under the stars tonight, you only have half the heart to complain.

Tomorrow comes easy.

Though you suppose, that makes it today. You were left to your own devices, having clothed and groomed yourself accordingly. Your fencing uniform wasn’t entirely traditional, though it wasn’t as if you were doing traditional fencing in the first place. Satoru and Suguru preferred swordsmanship, the art of wielding and yielding a sword against their opponent. And, sure, fighting one against two wasn’t exactly fair, but it was realistic.

Or that’s what you tell yourself to get through it.

Satoru is relentless. The man looks like he’d fall apart after being struck with a particularly heavy gust of wind, but he’s sturdier than he looks. His lean nature only adds to his agility, and going against him is like learning to walk on your feet for the first time all over again.

“Don't think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re my favorite student.” You’re his only student, you want to add, but you’re too busy dodging his sparkling blade.

You haven’t been given the pleasure of using a real one, not like Geto and Gojo do, you’re stuck with a pathetic excuse of a wooden sword. It’s kiddie and cheap in your hand, almost as if you’re holding some sort of toy, but the two insist it’s for your safety. The two are masters at their craft, nothing but the best for the prince—you suppose—they have yet to knick you with their blades.

“Or because you’re the handsomest,” His smile is smug, watching your eyes widen by the centimeter. “Isn’t that right?” It’s accompanied by a grunt, whether it’s frustration or flustered, it certainly has you wound up enough to send a wooden jab straight to his abdomen.

“Atta boy!” He chirps, charging forward to knock you over with a strong, hearty embrace. He’s warm, much thicker and plush than his training garments let on. Suguru pushes him away with a blunt elbow to the ribs, a chuckle parting his pink lips when the man scrambles to shield his side.

“Speak to me like I’m some sort of pet again and my father will have your head.” You grunt, though it’d be idiotic to say you don’t miss the warmth of his body.

That gets an unrestrained laugh out of Suguru, but it dies down before you can truly appreciate it, “My turn.” The air thickens with intensity, and suddenly the wooden sword in your hand is a brick.

“Aw, c’mon! But I’m so hungry,” Gojo’s back just as fast as he leaves, jumping on the two of you with the entirety of his mass. “Don’t tell me you want to pass up soba!”

The weight of Satoru’s body has all three of you toppling over, limbs wrapped around each other as you tumble down the small hill. Blades of grass tickle your back, through your clothing, but your face is protected by the cushiony warmth of Suguru’s chest. He cradles your head the whole way down with one hand, the other wrapped around Satoru’s waist.

You’re sandwiched between them, one heart beat for each ear as your eyes slowly crack open. Their cheeks are dusted a rosy shade of pink, featherlight and sweet as it seeps into the apples of their cheeks and travels up their cheekbones, and back to their lips. Kissable, biteable, your lips can’t help but part as you gaze at them.

There are warm palms pressing into your wrists besides your lack of resistance, and you can’t argue until it’s too late. Warm, your face prickles as a pair of lips press into the fleshiness of your cheeks. Soft like pillows and smooth like silk, it’s a tender kiss to both cheeks that you can barely register. It must look silly, you’re certain, being pinned to another while both press a ginger, heat-of-the-moment kiss to your cheeks.

(It’s scandalous to be caught kissing before marriage, let alone with your knights. But you’re to be crowned soon, and you never liked listening to your father anyway.)

So you can’t help but smile, lips upturned as a hearty, genuine laugh floats into the air and bursts like a freshly blown bubble. Just as transparent— you’re truly happy. This is yours.

They are yours.

You feel cold just from hearing it. The cool breeze of spring beating against the glass door separating your bedroom from your balcony. Large, sculpted and plated in gold handles that glint under your bedside lampshade. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with balled up fists, you’re quick to scramble out of bed. You slip off your thick blankets in favor of your robe, slipping your arms through the thin material that, really, doesn’t do much to aid your skin from the bitter cold that comes hand in hand with the midnight sky. You venture onward nonetheless, dragging the sheer, lace material behind you as you open the double doors with a quiet grunt.

“C’mon, don’t listen to him!” It’s Gojo, you can tell, the nervous smile in his voice is apparent. It echoes against the tall walls, loud and clear in comparison to the singing crickets and cicadas.

The silky tremor of his voice makes your shoulders relax in an instant, and you can’t help but peek over the sculpted balcony. The flooring is cement but the railings are cold metal, bent into flowery shapes and spiraling coils. You press your palms into the metal, leaning forward until the cold railing is pressed against your stomach.

Satoru stuffs his hands into his pockets, visibly deflating as he shakes his head. It’s hard to see his face from the angle you’re at, but you can tell his glossy lips are pulled into a tight lipped frown.

“I’m the Prince’s personal knight, all have you know!” He raises an accusatory finger toward the balcony at which you stand, and you nearly fall over when he lifts his blue-eyed gaze to meet your own. “Look! Look!”

You feel yourself leaning forward, chasing after Gojo’s dimpled smile until you’re falling fast and hard, but there’s a firm hand gripping the nape of your neck to prevent you from doing so. You nearly jump out of your skin, balling your hands into tight fists in preparation to swing, but the large hand is familiar. Warm, inviting, stern.

Suguru.

His long hair flows with the wind, blending into the inky black sky as he looks down at you through the bridge of his nose. Suguru is the scariest of the two, albeit just as goofy and sugar packed as Satoru, with narrowed eyes and knowing smirk. He’s always first to set things straight, and it’s as simple as a disapproving hum or shake of his head.

“Warn me next time,” Your voice crackles with disuse, but you swat away his guiding hand to emphasize your seriousness. Geto raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound all that convinced.

“Not of you anyway. For you,” You clear your throat, watching Geto stalk over to the edge of the railing. “. . .Since I’ve been training. I could’ve…Y’know, really knocked you out.”

You neglect to acknowledge that you’ve been training with him and Satoru, that they’re the reason why you know what you do.

“Right.” The stifled laugh in his voice is evident, but Suguru doesn’t bother arguing with the statement. His eyes have traveled to the box in Satoru’s pretty hands, wrapped in silky paper and tied together with a bow. Small enough to fit in his pocket, he must have fished for it when you weren’t looking. You don’t get to inspect it for long, as he’s being ushered back in before your eyes can really make-out the shape of whatever’s packaged inside.

When you see Satoru again, inside the castle this time— in your very own bedroom, he looks just as good as the day he’d left you. Though his expression is twisted— confusion (toward you) and agitation (toward Geto)—he continues to get you into your actual pajamas, laughing away the embarrassment of stripping you of your garments.

While he discards your shirt, Geto undoes your shorts from behind, eyes dancing down your thighs, your legs, your ankles, to the floor. Where your robe sits, pooling around your feet. Your back is caged against Suguru’s front, his chest pressing up against you as he leans down to press his chin into your shoulder. Warm and big, his arms snake around your waist as Satoru’s long, skinny fingers trail down your bare shoulders, your chest, your navel. . . back up.

Squirming in his hold, Satoru’s fingers circle around your nipples, watching as they harden and stiffen. Cute, soft sounds leave your lips and your head falls forward, lashes fluttering as your back slightly arches.

“I’m to be married next month,” You blurt it out before you can catch yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat as the air chills with silence. It’s thick, frozen like ice and prickles at your skin. “There’s— We’ll be holding a ball for it, and you two will come with me for my suit-fitting.” Suguru’s grip around your waist tightens, and Satoru finds himself rolling and pinching your sensitive buds with more aggression.

“Why?” It falls flat on Gojo’s heavy tongue, and Geto seems too busy burying his face in your neck to ask further questions.

“Guaranteed protection,” Your shoulders stiffen, Suguru pressing his thickening cock against your ass with a grunt of disapproval. Satoru’s face darkens, in a way that’s reserved and scary, like you’ve insulted him and his entire bloodline. “You two are. . . unfit.”

“Unfit.” It’s spoken in unison, steely and hard in a way that has your knees wobbling. You’re lucky to be between them, leaning against them for support as Suguru’s teeth sink into your shoulder. His gaze flickers upward, straight to Satoru, and before you know it, they’re pushing you into your soft bed.

“Ow!” You hiss, hands shooting to cover the area Suguru’s palm crashes against. “The fuck are you doing?!” Heat blooms beneath your fingers, but you’re not able to cover your ass for long, because Satoru’s pulling at your wrists and properly positioning your backside upward. His grip is strong, nearly bruising, as he manhandles you over both their laps and pushes your underwear to the side, fully exposing your ass.

“What your father couldn’t,” Is all you get in return, squirming and thrashing in their strong grip as Geto’s big hand strikes your ass. Your hips twitch and jolt, grinding against a hard knee that has whimpers rising in your throat. You can’t help it, they sound so good when they’re angry, so deep and gravelly. It makes you want to present, to spread your legs and stick out your tongue for their use. “It’s about time you learned some actual manners, boy.”

Satoru’s thumb rubs circles into your cheek as he coos, pretty lips parted and wet— eyelids heavy and his gaze dark as he smiles, “Goin’ floaty on us already?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow, a simple and sweet ‘shut up’ dying out on your tongue and cut short when Suguru spreads the globes of your ass with his fingertips, watching the plush skin spill and swell between his fingers. Your hole is so small, pretty and sweet as it twitches in contact with the cold air. He wants to run his tongue along it, feel it clench and pulse around his tongue until you’re crying on it, rocking your hips and pulling at his hair to feel it deeper.

“C’mere,” It’s not a request, not with the way you’re being dragged closer to the brunette. His nails dig into your soft skin, squeezing and groping until it starts to hurt, but in a way that has your voice squeaky and shaky. Satoru’s there the whole time, his hand wandering down to your throat. “ ‘Getting married’…’unfit’. . .Tch, that’s funny.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening as Gojo’s hand tightens around your throat, emphasizing Geto’s words. Your moans are strangled and tight, vision hazy around the edges as the sides of your neck are squeezed. He keeps contact with you the entire time, cerulean eyes intense and deep. You can’t help but rut your hips, pressing your front against the surface of Suguru’s thigh again and again as he lets out a series of smacks against each cheek of your ass.

“You’re not—” You whine, rolling your hips as Suguru’s fingers tap at your hole in warning, watching the cute muscle twitch. Cute, winking back at him and slick with spit. It sticks to his fingers, wet and sloppy “You’re not the boss of me!”

“Waah, waah, ‘you’re not the boss of me!’,” Satoru laughs, tacking on a nasally, prissy voice that rings in your ears and has heat pooling in your stomach. It’s hard to hide the embarrassment in your face, the twitch of your brows as you grit your teeth and roll your eyes— but it’s not like you can keep up the facade. Suguru delivers a particularly harsh slap to your sitspots, enough to make your breath stutter as tears well in your eyes.

“Geto—”

“Suguru.”

“Suguru, stop…!” You kick your legs, scrambling under their strong grip until they share a growl, rumbly and deep and demanding. It’s Gojo’s turn to paw at your ass now, squeezing the flesh as it spills between each finger and circling a slick (when did he grab lube?) digit over the sensitive, winking muscle of your rim.

His fingers slip into the mushy, warm heat with little resistance, and your face lights ablaze when the two groan at the sight, “Don’t tell me you’ve been givin’ our greedy hole attention without us?”

Theirs. Yes— you suppose— in a way it’s theirs. Strictly theirs, with the sleepless nights they’ve spent burying the thickness of their cocks deep inside, pumping one load after another deep inside so it’d really stick. Enough to feel them for days, leaking down your thighs when your needy fingers don’t stuff you a full.

You don’t have time to answer, gurgling over the moans caught in your throat as Gojo’s long fingers twist and stretch you out. You're wrapped up between them, the thickness of their bodies pressing against you as you buck your hips into nothing in particular. Satoru's long fingers feel slick with spit, only moistening as he drools down your crack. Spit falls from his tongue, slow and thick, pooling around your rim before he rubs it deeper in with his knuckles. It’s too much, tears spilling from your eyes as you whine, “S’deep, ‘Toru, go slow—”

“Oh, my prince, are you alright?” Suguru sounds almost smug, muscles in his forearm rippling as he readjusts himself in bed. His thick legs spread wide, clearly comfortable and relaxed. He has an obvious dickprint through his pants, almost shameless as your eyes pan up and down his body. “Do you need saving?”

You sniffle, wet and pathetic as you shake your head, wriggling so rest your face against your pillows, silky smooth as you soothe the burning in your cheeks. There’s a shared tutt behind you, not at all frustrated, but it has you blinking away the tears nonetheless. It goes in vain, peeking back from your shoulder you can see the two knights inching closer, their breaths fanning over your throbbing, aching hole until they share a fat lick, pink tongue lapping up at the lube and spit keeping you slick.

“I think he does, Suguru.”

Your cock leaps.

“It’s too bad we’re deemed unfit, Satoru.”

You’re greedy— and you know it. But once you’ve had both you can’t go back, not when their tongues fight to inch deeper and deeper inside your slutty hole, slick and wet and warm, impossibly deep in a way that has your toes curling and back arching. They eat you out like they’re starving, moaning vibratos through your skin until you're sobbing into your pillow. Even from here, you can feel drool and spit dripping from your sopping hole, past their chins and onto the silk sheets.

Your hands find themselves in their hair, curling into fists around soft bundles of locks as you push their faces in deeper, mewling. You can feel hot, open-mouthed kisses between each swirl and lick of their tongues, and it’s enough to make you squeal.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, wait—”

“No. This dick doesn’t get t’fuckin’ come unless it’s on our cocks, you hear me, Princey?” You can’t tell who’s talking— your brain is full of cotton and fog. Just like you can’t tell if you’re nodding or shaking your head, too busy focusing on the emptiness of your hole and tightening of your balls.

“No!” You hiss, trying your best to kick your feet despite the strong grip holding your thighs still. And, fuck, if you’re not a whitney mess. It’s just so good, the lewd sounds of them slurping at your hole and moaning into it, the messy sounds of their mouths on “It’s— M’so. . . achy, wanna cum! Please, Sugu? ‘Toru?”

“Alright.” It’s Gojo speaking, you can tell, because he’s got this saccharine lilt to his voice that makes your lashes flutter and heart skip. He’s moving— or moved, rather— seeing as he’s back to cupping your face with his big, pale hands. You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders drooping as you shimmy to palm at your cock, slick and weeping with pre. You’re sure your sheets are ruined.

“Aht, aht, aht!” Satoru chirps, and your heart plummets as your hand flinches away from your needy, dripping cock. He doesn’t look much better, pink fanning his cheeks as he looks down at you with heavy lids, lips shiny with spit that dribbles down his chin. From his angle his cock presses against your cheek, thick and throbbing as a patch of wetness grows through the fabric of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“We said you can cum,” It’s Suguru now, with a throaty voice that’s muffled as he keeps his tongue nestled in your warmth. He could sit there for hours. “Not when or how.”

Fuck. Them. Your whines are open-mouthed and pathetic, the perfect opportunity for Gojo to slip his pretty cock into your mouth and down the tight heat of your throat. Yeah, it’s tight, bulging around his cock as drool and spit spills from the seams of your lips and bubbles and froths around his balls and shaft. It’s tighter when he buries his cock to the hilt, pressing your nose into his crystal white pubes until you’re gagging for it.

There’s a particular vein by the underside of his shaft, pulsing and throbbing on your sloppy, wet tongue the more he uses your mouth, fast and rough like you’re nothing but a toy, just with extra steps and a few snarky remarks. He’s really shut you up now, his long cock leaving a bulge behind in your throat as he fills it with salty, bitter precum. His cock is heavy.

“Fuck,” Behind you shifts Geto, who frees his cock with the zip of his fly and the pop! of a bottle. They must’ve swapped before moving, you can hear the slick squelch of warm lube sliding along the length of his pretty dick, wet and loud as he eagerly thumbs his slit. You wish you could really see it, the veins in his hands pulsing as he squeezes his shaft, obscenely pulsing and weeping in his palm. “You’re so soft and warm. Gonna fuck this cute little hole full, till your sweet boycunt’s fucked stupid.”

You and your knights share a groan, loud and obscene as Suguru’s cock stretches your hole open. He’s so big, fucking you full until you feel it in your tummy. Your toes curl deliciously, vision hazy and white as you blink back tears. His fingers, his tongue, his spit, his cock. . . It’s all too good, too skilled and perfect as it angles just right into that special, sensitive bundle of nerves. He’s so deep, sliding in with ease as your puffy hole swallows him in full.

“Look at that,” He’s rambling now, slamming his balls against your thighs as he watches his cock disappear inside. Your hole clamps down around him, convulsing and spasming along his shaft just enough to make wet, sticky sounds. “Took me in so easy, so messy. . . Sure you’re not better suited to be free-use stress relief for the people than their prince? Take what we give you and say thank you, Princey.”

“Thmmph. . .” You can’t speak with a mouthful of cock, and your eyes roll back, stuffed to the brim from both sides. Suguru’s thrusts bounce you forward, whereas Satoru’s pulls you back. You can’t think like this, full and fucked stupid as you hollow out your cheeks with hot pants and wiggle your hips. You really are easy.

“S’a good boy, sugar. Don’t think, just keep fuckin’ yourself full of cock. Muuuuch sweeter this way.” It’s the vibrations that send Gojo over the edge, his head falling forward as he whines high in his throat. His balls clench and pulse against your chin, smearing more pre and spit along your face until he’s cumming, hard and without warning. It’s thick and hot, bitter and salty, as his dick throbs in your throat and slides along your tongue, like he’s milking himself with your mouth. The white-haired man uses you like a toy, keeping you still with a hand at the back of your head as he ruts and grinds his hips, moaning with each sloppy, sticky sound of your mixed fluids getting bullied by his dick.

Your nod is mindless, completely thought free as Satoru pops the pretty head of his cock in and out your wet mouth, “M’a good boy, ‘Toru.”

You can feel Suguru’s cock twitch inside you.

“That’s right! Now say ahh!” He makes an effort to stick out his tongue, slipping free from your mouth as his cum leaks around his cock and leaves behind a trail of white. It’s mostly decorating your tongue, though, thick and creamy ropes resting on the muscle and slowly cooling.

“Ah! Ahhh!” You can’t imagine how stupid you must look, staring up at Satoru with your mouth full of his cum and threatening to dribble down your chin. With the way you bounce with each deep, heavy thrust of Geto’s fat, girthy cock. But he kisses you anyway, slow and sensual as his tongue swirls the cum around in your mouth, keeping it warm and wet.

“That’s it, good boy, princeling,” Suguru moans, hips stuttering and pupils blown wide as he watches cum froth between your lips. He can’t wait anymore, snaking his arm around your waist to grip your cock and run his slick fist along it with feverish strokes, fast enough to have you wailing. His other hand grabs Satoru by the hair, white tufts in his fist as he pulls him forward and swaps his saliva for cum, still warm. “Cum on my cock, fuck it into that pretty hole while I taste ‘Toru’. Fuckin’ earn it.”

For once in your life, you don’t have to be told twice.

You take initiative, bouncing back on the long length of Suguru’s dick with tiny gasps and moans, eyes fluttering shut as he works your cock with the twist of his fist. You’re drooling, dribbling down your neck and chin and mixing with the tears rolling down your handsome face, “Pleaseplease, give it t’me!”

“Right there? Yeah? Rolling your hips, you’re a natural.” It doesn’t take much, not when Geto’s angling his hips just right and slamming into your prostate. Not when you’re watching the two kiss, swapping your spit and Satoru’s cum around like a sweet treat. Not when you’re being fucked deep, deeper than your fingers or any other toy could reach. Not when they pause for air and take the opportunity to ramble filth into your ears.

When Geto pulls out you can’t help but wail, pushing your ass back against his shaft. Though you can’t tell if it’s because you’re close or because you’re empty, but you do know thick, sticky ropes are starting to paint the expanse of your back and ass.

You’re marked territory.

The ballroom. . . Is packed, to say the least. It’s hard to see under your mask, the eye cutouts just barely cutting off into your porcelain mask before your pupils. There’s a distinct flash of gowns, all in many different shades— periwinkle, mauve, violet, ice—glittering and gleaming beneath the candle lit chandeliers. You suppose you look no different, the material of your intricately sewn and handcrafted suit looks jaw dropping in the limelight. Golden stitches and embroidery along the pattern of your suit, draped in lace ruffles to keep you warm. Though you’re already burning from the inside out, blazing with nervousness as your trembling legs carry you into the hall.

There’s a long, intricate table that holds just as intricate gifts and snacks— custards, cookies, cakes— chocolate covered strawberries. They remind you of your knights in a way, they’ve always tasted similar. Though you suppose it’s because they’ve shared more than a couple kisses in their lifetime. Whatever the matter, you expect them to have been gone by now, with Satoru’s sweet tooth and Suguru’s unpredictable appetite.

Everyone knows who you are, but it’s hard for you to pinpoint the others in the room. Your father sits on his throne, ridiculously large and cushiony as he oversees the ballroom. It’s gorgeous, admittedly, flashy and beaming with wealth and pride. Your nervous eyes wander, scouring over the smiling, lipstick stained faces until your eyes settle on your knights, who remain glued to the exits with only half a mask covering their faces. Their suits almost match yours, less intricate and not nearly as vibrant or high quality, but the implication that you’re sharing something is enough.

Suguru stands with his arms crossed, looking intimidatingly sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a flat line. His hair is in a bun, and when he turns you can see the diamonds adorning the clip holding it all in place. Handsome as always, you’re turning on your heels to face him before you know it.

Satoru is all legs, standing absurdly tall in his fitted suit. His tie is a striking shade of blue, just like his eyes, and you remember having picked it out specially for him. You can’t help but smile, floating in his general direction as soon as your eyes land on him, but. . .

“His Highness,” Your vision is obstructed for the millionth time tonight, and you can’t help the growl threatening to rip through your throat. “Could I introduce you to my daughter? Really, she’s a sweetheart, and—”

“Sorry to cut this short,” The agitation leaves your body, and glancing back up to where your knights once resided, you find the spots empty. They’re behind you, stealthy as ever, and you can’t help the smile etching away at your features. “We have very. . . important matters to discuss with our prince.”

Subtle as ever, Suguru.

You’re sure he’s glaring daggers into the women in front of you, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he pulls them apart with his eyes— dissects them to their bare essentials, leaves them feeling uncomfortable in their own skin.

There’s a hand atop yours that doesn’t belong to your knights, instead it’s much smaller and not nearly as warm. Your fingers twitch, and your smile falters just slightly as the woman’s daughter presses onward. Nearly tripping over his glass heels, her face swims through your vision until you’re backing up into the solid chest of— Satoru? It must be, it’s still soft despite the solidity, and you can see Suguru’s inky black hair in your peripherals.

“My Majesty—”

“That’s enough,” It’s straight venom, and the choice of tone reminds you of that fateful night your knights spent making sure you knew just who owned you. “Hands off.”

Their arms loop around your own, strong and firm as they pull you away. You’re thankful for the loud music, symphonies and harps dancing in the air that cover the sound of slamming doors and frantic, high pitched apologies. Your damned knights, so possessive and jealous. They know what this ball was meant for, and yet. . .

And yet they’re stripping you naked, ripping the mask free from their faces as they corners you against a wall. The party is almost as loud as it’d be had you stood in the center of the ballroom, just muffled by the locked doors Suguru kept secured with the sheath of his sword. You don’t have much time, and for once the two are happy you’d spent the previous night fucking yourself silly on your fingers, because they’ve got one goal in mind.

Marking their territory.

You’re not sure what this position is— but it makes you feel full and properly owned. Gojo's strong arms looped around the back of your knees as he holds you open on display. Suguru looks ravenous. eyes dark and steely as he watches Gojo’s cock pulse and twitch against your hole.

“S’is our fuckhole,” Satoru smiles down at you, feral and manic as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. He doesn’t seem eager to stop, lifting you off his cock and chasing that feeling of you clamping down on him— even when you’re almost too sensitive to take it. Even when you’ve barely adjusted to the stretch of his fat dick, fluttering and wailing around his pretty, veiny shaft. “Our job. . . our job, takin’ care of our boy’s pussy.”

“Think about this, boy,” Suguru groans, deep and rumbly in his throat as you’re made to watch him fist his slippery, squelching cock. “Whenever someone tries to court you. You’re owned. Your holes are owned.” He grips his cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head as your own bounces along your tummy. Precum dribbles along the lace embroidery of your unbuttoned undershirt, ruining the bunched up fabric. He can’t help but jerk off watching the two of you, heavy pants leaving his lips as he fucks up into his fist, twisting his fist the closer it gets to the gland of his cock, slipping and sliding as he uses his own hand. Yours are much softer, less calloused, but you’re preoccupied. You’d have to use both hands anyway, struggling to wrap them around his cock.

“Whose are you?” And, oh, that’s an easy question. Gojo’s voice is so loud in your ear, even as you eagerly bounce on and off his cock like a sex doll.

“Yours, m’yours, belong t’you!” He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, groans and pants joining your moans when he speeds up, his slow and deep strokes becoming fast and hollow, pounding that sensitive spot deep inside you over and over and over. You’re fucked-out and borderline crosseyed as he pounds his dick into you, keeps you steady with his fingers locked behind your head. A string of precum connects you together, pooling at your ass and Satoru’s balls, and his hips crash down, yours convulsing upward to meet him halfway.

“Again.”

“M’yours, m’yours! ‘Toru, Sugu, m’yours! My mouth, my cock, my holes. S’yours.”

“That’s it, let me in,” He blows air out through his mouth, hot and warm as he sinks into your heat. Still tight, as if you haven’t been thoroughly fucked full of Satoru’s cock. His head falls forward, long hair falling from its bun and framing his handsome face. Your gummy walls are unmatched, and he swears he’ll blow his load if you keep squeezing down on him like this. “I know, it’s so big, just keep moaning for me, and I’ll keep pounding this hole, s’all your pretty little head can tell you to do, huh princeling?”

“Uh. . . Uh huh!”

Your crying sounds so cute, and for a moment they forget you’re a prince— not a slut. It’s pitchy in your throat and dragged out as your pretty hole eagerly takes in cock, clamping around it and sucking him deeper into your velvety walls. So good, you can’t help but rock back against it, shameless and devoid of any other thoughts as Satoru keeps his arms looped around your knees. There’s a chant of cockcockcock blaring in your head, Gojo’s cock pressed against your ass and dripping. He’d left behind thick ropes of cum, and as Suguru’s dick reaches deep inside you can hear it froth between the tiny rim of your hole and his shaft.

Your crown tips off your head, threatening to fall as you watch Satoru’s cock join alongside Suguru’s. You’ve never felt more full in your life, stretched and achy— when one pulls out the other pushes in, and you’ve got nowhere to go. The white-haired male behind you manages to grab it before it can fall, lifting your knees higher up for just a moment, and places it atop his head. You can’t protest, all you can do is drool and whine, eyes fluttering shut and hole spasming as the two take turns wearing your crown.

In a way, it’s theirs too.

“S’your favorite part, pretty!” Gojo purrs, shifting to lift your ass to and fro with each respective thrust, groaning as his shaft slides along Suguru’s veins pulsing and head weeping. He keens, high in his throat as his balls tighten for the second time tonight. You’re just too good, who’s gonna sue him for breeding you? “You get to feel our cum shoot deeeep inside! You want that, honey? To be full n’ claimed? Maybe we should walk out and show everyone how slutty you are. Those poor princesses, they have no idea the man they want likes his wet holes fucked too.”

Fuck.

“Jesus. . . Fuck, ‘Toru,” Geto groans, his balls tightening against your own as your cock spurts out rope after rope of cum, sticky and thick as it sprays along your face and unbuttoned shirt. “Never know when to shut up. Look— nngh—look at what you did.”

Satoru pulls out sloooow, and their cum gushes right out your creamy hole. They moan in unison, shaky and unstable, and the tight fit of your small hole has them both following soon after with choked up groans and whines, “Good boy, gooood boy. You take it so well.”

Your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired as you squeal. You can feel each rope shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy pooling around their cocks and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Your knights huff, panting into your damp skin with sick, satisfied smiles. You’ve made a real mess of yourself— they’ve made a real mess out of you, and when you walk back into the ballroom they’re sure the smell of sex will cling to your skin. You’re claimed, thoroughly. Inside and out, and they’ll fuck you as many times as they need for others to realize it.

Satoru lets you down slowly, Suguru’s hands on your waist keeping you stable on your wobbly, jelly-like legs. Blinking away unshed tears, the two free you of your soiled garments in favor of something else, conveniently placed clothing that just happens to fit you perfectly. Had you the energy, you’d roll your eyes— they’ve planned this, in one way or another. But you don’t have the energy, not when your eyelids are heavy and drooping as you cling to their strong biceps and allow them to wipe you clean with their own sleeves.

Chivalrous as ever.

“I notified the King, my liege,” Satoru says, satirically proper as Suguru chokes on a laugh beside you. “Before leaving. Of your. . .”

“Predicament,” Suguru chimes in, the smile in his voice audible. You make an extra effort to shimmy free of their hold, face souring as they pretend they didn’t just ruin you from the inside-out. Your chest floods with warmth when they jolt forward, palms hovering over your sweaty body to catch you— just in case, “Looks like you’ll be stuck with us for the rest of the night.”

“But there’s one more thing!” Satoru scrambles to correctly zip up his pants, buttoning them back up with nimble fingers. Then, he fishes into his pockets, pulling out a small box— the one you’d seen quite some time ago— the one you’d forgotten about. Still as pristine as ever, like he’d kept it somewhere safe, he gingerly drops it into your hand.

“We got something for you,” Your eyebrows furrow. They don’t technically make money— sure, enough to keep their pockets open, but they have no need to spend it. They live with you, after all, and will continue to do so once you’re appointed king. Satoru urges you with a “shush!” before you can even speak, but you take the hint. You’re not dumb. “We couldn’t— it's not exactly a ring, but. . .”

Opening the gift— it flips open, you don’t need to unravel the bow at all— it’s a necklace. A thin, gold plated necklace with a small charm dangling from its center. The charm. . . Their coat of arms, shiny and intricate despite its small size. It glimmers in the light, sparkly like a diamond, and there are letters engraved on the flat underside of the pendant, curvy and cursive with hearts for periods. Your thumb traces the initials, the loops and curls of the letters until its shape is indented into the pad of your finger. It’s more than initials to you, it’s officiality, they are yours and you are theirs. You have the necklace to prove it, now.

‘S.G.’

If your mother were here to see this now, you’re sure she’d be jumping for joy. Happy her only child has finally found his match, has finally found something of his own. Happy her only child is marrying for love. Your father will just have to deal with it, you’ve never felt safer in your life. You don’t need a princess, you don’t need a stronger monarchy. You need your knights.

“We thought it’d suit you.” Geto finishes for his white-haired counterpart, a rosy hue painting the height of his cheeks.

It does.

[lethalchiralium]

Can you please do more Taylor Swift?? 🥰🫡

You Belong With Me | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: THIS IS LITERALLY ONLY FOR MY FRIENDS LOL 🫶 ( @peachesofteal @as-is-above-so-below ) i love him i love him i love him

warnings: hnng bad boyfriend!

summary: It’s your 21st birthday, yet you sit in a nice restaurant in a beautiful dress and tears in your eyes - until someone comes to your rescue, like a knight on a white horse.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

The clinking of dinner plates was mocking you.

Sat in a pretty light purple dress, the one you had saved for a special birthday you were supposed to be spending at home with your friends - your 21st. But here you were, waiting in a Manchester restaurant with your phone against your ear.

It’s an hour after you had sat down for your reservations and your boyfriend hadn’t even bothered to answer your calls. It seemed it was becoming a common occurrence, the brown haired lawyer named Calvin would call in reservations, you would arrive, sit down, order a water, wait, then he wouldn’t show. It was embarrassing, humiliating - sitting alone at a fancy restaurant in a dress you were now rethinking, your fingers drummed against the side of the wine glass stem with distress.

YOU: Calvin

YOU: Please just call me

YOU: This is the last time. I mean it this time.

YOU: Calvin answer me

Ten calls down the drain, and at this point, you were ready to pay the small bill for the wine and a small plate of bread you barely ate. Your silverware sat out on the nice table cloth, the cloth napkin discarded on the table as you sent one last message.

YOU: I’m going home. Don’t text me that you’re sorry, since you’re apparently not.

How did it all go wrong so fast? You really liked Calvin, he was the right amount of quirky that made you laugh, he was a little standoffish but easy to warm up to. He was incredibly intelligent, just not emotionally connected to himself. It really felt like you were babysitting him sometimes, but other moments made you feel like you were always sitting under starlight. Always the man to bring your favorite candy but forgets to open the door for you, almost always had you cover the bill but he would pay you back by buying you little trinkets. Most were cheap little things like necklaces that broke within a week, rings that would lose their color immediately. Now it really made sense - he didn’t really care.

It seemed every romantic relationship you tried to make work ended up with you, crying alone in a room full of people. Your first boyfriend broke up with you at homecoming, your second had broken up with you two weeks before prom, your third was about ten years too old for you and always made you cry by the end of the day. Was it so bad to just talk things out? To answer phone calls, texts, to let you know that it wasn’t working out and that why it wasn’t. Not because you wanted to keep them, it was to learn how to be better for the next one.

Always the people pleaser, yet no one ever took the time to please you.

A couple tears found their new home on the tablecloth, you were quick to dab at the inner corner of your eyes with your napkin. You turned off your phone, eyes still full of tears as you raised your head to look for your waiter when someone familiar came into view.

“Hope I’m not too late.”

Shock settled into your body, eyes gazing at the beautiful bouquet of red roses, peonies, red tulips, and pink dahlias - all flowers your mother grew in her garden your whole life, but you had only told a few people that. Your eyes trailed up to a nice black three piece tux, the tie a little wonky but you knew he tried his best, then you saw his balaclava in all its glory - meeting his eyes with tears in your own.

“Mr. Riley?” You sniffled, putting your napkin down on the table. “Wh-What are you doing here? Where’s Winnie?”

He sat himself down, settling the bouquet of flowers down on the side of the table. He gently pulled out the silverware from their hold in the cloth napkin, placing the napkin on his lap and he spoke calmly, “With her uncles.” His eyes looked up from the table to meet yours. “I’m sorry it took me so long, I had saw you sitting here when I was driving earlier and I went home to get changed.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking out of the window you were sat next to. Of course he could’ve seen you, everyone could see you in this dress that you loved so much, ready to cry all the way home. You felt foolish, waiting for a man who made it clear that he wouldn’t play his games with a twenty year old, a girl who loved him so.

“We’re past formalities, Y/N.” Simon’s voice pulled you out of your head, tears fell down your face as you looked back at your employer - no, friend. Would it be wrong to say friend? You live in his house and take care of his daughter, it would be weird to say ‘employer’.

He had taken off his suit jacket, settled it on the back of his chair while you had stared out the window, he was now fixing his… very nice cufflinks. You looked back to his face, muttering a soft, “Huh?”

“It’s Simon.” His hands settled on the table, you noticed the bruises on his knuckles and felt a pang of sadness. He had just gotten home from deployment and came to see how miserable you were. More tears welled in your eyes, your hands grabbed your napkin and you dabbed them away.

“Well thank you, Simon, but I don’t need you to pity me. I’m just a damn fool.” You muttered, your hands settled in your lap. “A lovesick little fool who always ends up with the broken heart.”

He scoffed. Your eyes flicked upwards immediately, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes were narrowed, staring at you as he stated, “You’re everything but foolish.” He gently moved the cuff around his wrist forwards without even looking at it, he kept his gaze with you. “Kindness is taken for granted more often than not. He’s a daft cunt for standing up a kind woman like you.”

It honestly scared you just how much you began to appreciate Simon Riley in that moment. A man who you assumed always overlooked everyone else’s emotions and needs that weren’t his daughter’s, a man who you thought wouldn’t give you a second look - yet, here he is. Sitting across from you in a suit you haven’t seen, expensive cufflinks fixed and tie sort-of crooked. He took the time to get dressed in a fancy suit and sit down with you.

“Thank you, Simon.” You whispered, the shakiness of your hands on your lap almost made you want to stand. You wanted to leave, you wanted to go home and sleep away your birthday that was supposed to be fun.

Your eyes turned down to your lap, your hands pressed against each other to try and stop the shaking, you could hear Simon settle in his seat.

“We don’t have to stay here, ya know.”

Your fingers fiddled with the ring on your middle finger, twirling the little gem around as you spoke quietly, “What?” Your eyes met Simon’s again, his hands on the table.

“We don’t have to stay here. We can leave whenever.” He pulled out his wallet but your hand moved towards him.

“No no, it was just a couple glasses of wine. I’ll get it.” Your fingertips grazed the side of his wallet, but his hand plucked your touch from it. He pulled out fifty quid and placed it on the nice tablecloth.

His hand then turned upwards, a gentle glint in his eye as he whispered, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Simon hadn’t driven to the restaurant, he had taken the tram like you. Sure, it was only seven stops from his home, but heels are a nuisance. Night had fallen, the street lights casted a warm glow on the sidewalk you walked on with Simon. The river was beside the walkway, a large concrete wall separated you and the flowing water but you wanted to see it. You had come to walk this road almost every day with Winnie in her little stroller, the almost two year old hated walking as much as you hated the England rain.

You were only a couple feet apart from him, his suit jacket back on his shoulders as you tried to not shiver. It was stupid not to bring a jacket, but you were expecting to have been home by now - boyfriend sent home after a nice dinner, but everything had flipped on his head. Instead of Calvin walking you home, it was Simon Riley - the Lieutenant who seemed to not know how to handle emotions, yet he still held the bouquet of flowers for you.

“Cold?”

You came to a stop and Simon followed suit. You shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes narrowed before he held out the bouquet of flowers for you, you took them in his hand before he began to peel off his suit jacket. “Simon, it’s okay-“

He moved his arms around your front to drape the jacket over your shoulders, you were suddenly enveloped with the scent of him. It smelled like bourbon, sandalwood, and the faint musk of cigarette smoke. He took the flowers from your hands so you could put your arms through the sleeves. It (fit snug / was barely oversized / was larger) on your frame compared to Simon, since it seemed tailored to fit him perfectly. His eyes were focused on the jacket, helping you tug it forwards as your eyes gazed up at his masked face. “Warm now?”

You nodded just a little, mesmerized by how beautiful his eyelashes were. His gaze met yours and you looked away to the river, hands coming to pull the jacket closed over your body. “Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, he only looked out to where he hoped you were looking too. Beautiful trees lined the cold river, warm lights hung from the branches - a brick wall he used to walk by alone, but not at that moment. You cleared your throat, causing Simon to be launched back into reality where you began to slow down.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, only taking another step forward to come stand in front of you. You had stopped between two street lamps, the smaller lights hung from the trees illuminated you like you were made of magic. Simon noted how your hair was straightened and curled, some pieces tucked into pins near your ears and the effort you must have gone through to make yourself more presentable to a man who didn’t seem to care. You had turned to the river, taking the few steps and hopping onto the wall to sit. Simon instantly darted towards you, hands out in case you toppled back into the river, but you were fine - you flashed him a smile. He let out a nervous sigh but it wouldn’t have been noticeable to you.

“Sit with me.” Patting the wall beside you, Simon merely shook his head. “Why not?”

He moved to stand a couple feet from you, close. “Easier to protect you if I’m already up.”

“Ah.” A mumble from your lipstick painted lips, head turning to look out onto the river. “It’s really beautiful here.”

“Sure.”

You laughed in response. “I like the city more than home. It got lonely in the mountains.” Tugging a neat curl behind your ear, your hands moved to settle around your middle, pulling his suit jacket tight to conserve warmth. That’s when your hand tapped against something leather - you looked into the suit, and digging out a leather flask. You laughed a little bit as you held it up for Simon to see. “Always prepared?”

Simon flushed underneath his balaclava, completely forgetting that his only suit still had the flask he had tucked in it. He goes to a few funerals every few years, the flask was either half-full or empty, but knowing that there was a formal event a few months ago he had to attend, that meant it was at least half-empty. “Uh- Yeah. Events get boring. But I wouldn’t-“

You unscrewed the flask and quickly taking a swig, only to make a sour face as you then held it out to Simon. He laughed a little, taking the flash as you sputtered, “Jesus, this shit is- God. Ew.”

“Sorry,” Pulling up his balaclava to above his lips, he took a swig himself, feeling the bitter burn of a whiskey that’s sat too long. “it’s not my best whiskey.” He tugged the balaclava back down, giving the flask a good look.

A laugh escaped your lips. “You’ll have to let me try your good stuff then.”

His eyes flickered up to you, and it was that moment where he could’ve sworn Heaven had brought you. He cleared his throat, handing it back to you. “I will, it won’t be from a flask in a suit that’s never used.” He nodded to the suit jacket before looking down the street to his right, watching the traffic pass by with a watchful eye.

The smile on your lips faded a little, seeing how easily Simon could return to Ghost. It wasn’t often you saw the façade, but it still made your heart grow cold. How could such a loving father become something so heartless?

You shook the thought away. Winnie was a wonderful girl with a father who showed no end to his love for her, making sure she had everything she needed and more. It wasn’t right to judge him because of what he does. You looked back out to waving river, feeling the inky sludge of abandonment claw its way through your chest. He shouldn’t have to be here, you should be silently crying on the tram - walking home barefoot since your feet hurt in those stupid heels. He should be at home with his daughter, the little girl who loved him so much and always waited for him to come home. “Sorry you have to babysit me.”

He gave you a bewildered look before answering, “I’m not babysitting you. It’s your birthday, yeah?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Babysitting makes it sound like I’m a creepy old man. I’m not that much older.” He shrugged, looking back to you.

“Oh? How old are you?”

“25.”

A noise of surprise left your lips, followed by a fit of giggles. “And I thought you were 29.”

“Ah.” He laughed a little to himself, looking up to the sky to see the small tremor of lightning in the sky. “It might start raining soon.”

Your eyes followed, seeing the darkening sky and feeling the breeze grow colder. “Yeah.”

“Sorry you have to spend your birthday with me, I’m not fun company.”

Shaking your head, you spoke softly, “Sure you are. There’s no one I’d want more to walk me home.”

He looked back down the road, but you didn’t miss the movement in his cheeks. An invisible string in your chest was plucked, humming a sweet note in your head as you looked at him - really looked at him.

“Simon.”

And even without seeing his face, you knew he was beautiful.

“Mmhmm.” He looked back to you.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say a word, only held out his hands - helping you down from the wall. He then held out his arm, and with a smile on your face, you curled your arm around his. With the sleeves of his suit jacket hanging off your hands, you clutched to his arm as you continued the walk home.

Simon could keep his eyes on a target for hours at a time, keep his focus forward and stay on task with a clear mind - yet, while he slowly walked home in comfortable silence, all his mind was full of was how warm you were, and with every bump of your arm made electricity run through his body like he had been struck by lightning.

It had started to rain by the time you two reached the porch of his home, but before he could unlock the door, you gripped his arm. Looking down at you again, he watched you wobble as you peeled off your heels. A groan of relief left your lips as you chucked them beside the door, letting them flop onto their sides. You, now a few inches shorter, glanced at Simon.

“What?”

He didn’t even respond, seeing your pretty eyes and lips close to his face made him feel that electricity again, flowing through his chest in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Thank you again.” With a tug on his sleeve, he moved down and before he knew it, your lips pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. Leaning back and letting him stand again, you gave him a smile before turning to the door - letting go of his arm before you entered his home, closing the door behind yourself.

Simon’s hand reached up to touch his cheek, the chill of the rain did nothing to change how warm he felt then. Something in his heart clenched, and he wanted to go inside and have you kiss his cheek again, but without the mask. Was it bad he wanted to feel your lips against his skin?

Thunder clapped, his hand still settled on his cheek as he felt the blossom of feelings he had nipped at the bud a year ago. But you were young, he was four years older than you and he was a fucked up mess. Yet, he had seen how other men had destroyed your sweet heart, something you always seemed to glue together for his daughter.

I would treat you right.

I wouldn’t ever leave you sitting in a restaurant alone.

I would never let you walk home alone.

You don’t belong with someone who wouldn’t treat you right.

You belong with me.

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[thebibliosphere]

What ever happened to Darles Charwin?

Ah, yes, Darles Charwin. The naturalist, biologist, botanist, and would-be supernaturalist Twitch chat wanted Vlad to have a fling with.

After an illustrious career in advancing the studies of demonic fungi, and a brief and thoroughly intensive study of vampiric physiology, Darles Charwin has retired to his country estate on the west coast of Nevrond where he lives with his life partner and a menagerie of animals.

The pair pass infrequent letters (usually when something exciting happens in the world of botany) with the cordial politeness of those who have seen each other naked but who are far better suited as like-minded colleagues who prefer it that way.

(Sure, sex is fun, but have you ever studied the effects of crossbreeding the carnivorous midnight peony with the common climbing rose? Good. You shouldn't. Don't... don't do that. And don't look in the greenhouse right now. Not until the gardeners wrangle the axe back.)

[talonabraxas]

The Flower Moon Talon Abraxas

Flower Moon Meaning

The Flower Moon’s name isn’t much of a mystery given the time of year it graces the sky. Gardens and landscapes are in full bloom with perennials such as primrose, bleeding heart, bloodroot, iris, violet, hellebore, peony, et cetera; flower trees such as pear, crape myrtle, crabapple, magnolia, redbud, dogwood, and others; and spring bulbs including bluebell, hyacinth, lily of the valley, tulip, daffodil, crocus, and more.

As for the May full moon’s other names, this is the time of year when the tribes and farmers plant corn. The frogs are singing their mating songs, and milk-producing livestock such as sheep, goats, and cows now have lush green pastures to fill their bellies and produce more milk.

Flower Moon Spiritual Meaning

The May full moon embodies the spirit of Beltane and all the energy of new life, passion, fire, and rebirth. It brings creativity, inspiration, and a sense of purpose with it.

The Flower Moon in May is a spiritual reminder that our goals should be manifesting. This is the blooming season, but it’s also the planting season. Tap into the energy for growth and fertility. Take some time to think about your intentions and what needs to be done in order to reach your goals come harvest season. This may mean asking yourself some hard questions and reevaluating your priorities and plans.

Don’t feel overwhelmed if you feel like the goals you set at the beginning of the year are still far away. We can’t magically leap to the top of the staircase in a single jump; the journey happens one step at a time. If you feel like you aren’t progressing, take a moment to focus. What do you need to prioritize? What is the next step forward that needs to be taken? What is holding you back (and therefore needs to be released)?

Let the spiritual energy of the Flower Moon inspire you to continue growing, even though it comes with a reminder that we can’t move forward until we let go of what’s inhibiting our ability to fully blossom.

Flower Moon Altar Tips, Colors, & Crystals

The most common altar colors for the Flower Moon are yellow, red, orange, and green. Freshly cut flowers make a perfect altar decoration.

In fact, you can go even further and find many more ways to incorporate flowers on this special night. Arrange them in vases to decorate your home. Integrate them into your tea and cooking. Add them to your bath. Press blossoms that you can later use in your book of shadows, journal, artwork, or even a thoughtful surprise tucked in a card for a loved one.

Crystals that work well with the Flower Moon include:

Moonstone – new beginnings, fertility, intuition, lunar/feminine energy

Selenite – purification, cleansing, protection, a symbol of light, ties to the moon

Labradorite – connect with the psyche, dreams, creative muses, spiritual awakening

Amethyst – spiritual protection, insight, self-reflection, shadow work

Rose Quartz – love, friendship, romance, self-love

Rhodonite – “stone of love,” passion, fertility, grounding energy, healing emotional scars

Flower Agate – new beginnings, self-growth, restores emotional balance

Moss Agate – restoration, healing, rebirth, a connection with earth and plants

Black Tourmaline – strength, stabilization, grounding, alleviating fear (onyx and obsidian are also good alternatives)

Smoky quartz – grounding, emotional calmness, stress relief

Clear quartz – healing, peace, cleansing the mind and aura, divination

[gatheringbones]

[“The reason I have begun to shy away from the Divine Feminine and the Sacred Masculine is their unfortunate identification with gender and, more importantly, their overidentification with humans and their myopic classifications generally.

Animacy is plushier. Springier. More mosslike. It seems a soft spot to rest on while I try to understand and explain how very sentient the world is to me these days. I am attracted to the constellations of meaning that sparkle like distant stars inside the word anima: breath, spirit, soul. And animate: to give vigor or life, to ensoul. I enjoy the animal itself, furred, horned, hoofed, clawed, scaled, and indeterminate, that bucks and bays and howls inside the word. I enjoy how philosophers try to clip it grammatically, like a twitchy nerve, and it keeps flinching away. It is a term I think most closely related to the original meaning of the word spell: the performative utterance. To summon magic. To myth. To story. To make happen.

Animacy is the degree to which the referent of a noun is sentient. It is the “soul” that invigorates syntax with something very much beyond language. Ultimately, I am a poet, and my choices often originate from a darker soil than common sense. Animacy, to my poet self, seems the “everything” of my actual lived ecosystem. The bright-blue darning needles weaving through thimbleweed and clover. The vultures wheeling through a hazy sky. The microbes in my gut, keeping me alive and nourished. The mycelium below my feet, holding the soil together.

The opposite of anthropocentrism is not any Divine Gender. The opposite of anthropocentrism is Everything. And what a tender beautiful thing it is to walk outside on a bright spring morning. Swathes of clementine light wash the pollen from the bricks of a nearby building. The robin’s song is like the key turning in a lock. A handful of doves float down from the red-green cloud of a newly foliated maple tree. What a relief to realize that, unlike Adam and Eve, we haven’t been severed from the Garden. The Everything still includes us. The Everything is us, but it needs something in return. It needs us to melt our ideas of sentience as a purely human property. Or as a purely animal property. Or as a purely individual property. Relationships are sentient. Anima is the inhalation, carrying molecules and spores and pheromones into our bodies from the landscape. And then we exhale, sharing cells that have clung to our deepest cells, slept inside the pith of our blood. With every exhalation we decant ourselves back into the world.

How could we be one, or two, or three? We are more gerund than cold, hard noun. More animacy than strictly animal. We ensoul the world and are ensouled in return. Our myths about individuation and linearity no longer hold all the trouble. And all the love. We need to stop sticking out our two hands like it proves everything comes in oppositional dualisms. How many hands does the tree have? The peony? The pileated woodpecker? How many hands is the mycelium using to crochet intimacy from plant to tree to plant through the soil?

Divine Feminine just isn’t big enough for all the relationships holding and constituting me these days. She thins my language into a one-toone relationship. Even if she includes saints and “mother earth” and all women, it’s easy to slip into the language of the singular. One mother. One relationship. One sacred gender expression. One temporality. One thinking animal. One species. I’m not throwing her out, the Divine Feminine. I’m throwing her in. Melting her down. Mixing her into the messier, polytemporal animacy of everything I touch, change, and become.

The animate earth is a verb. An assemblage of verbs. A mycorrhizal system sewing together a whole forest. A shared breath. A midsummer celebration where everyone is invited.”]

Sophie Strand, from The Flowering Wand: Rewilding the Sacred Masculine

[project-sekai-facts]

any chance you happen to have a list of flowers in everyones 1st year birthday cards?

i just got these off the wiki so apologies if any of this is wrong

Virtual Singer

Miku: sunflowers, gentians, hibiscus, chinese milk-vetch (on her dress)

Rin & Len: pansies, lady slipper orchid (on blazer)

Luka: grape hyacinth, sagebrush buttercups, society garlic flowers

MEIKO: egyptian star cluster, moss roses

KAITO: hyacinths, snowflake flowers

Leo/need

Ichika: geraniums, creeping zinnias (also some small flowers I couldn't identify)

Saki: dogwood flowers, white clovers

Honami: gerberas, chocolate cosmos, multiflora rose

Shiho: magnolias, violets (on her accessories)

MORE MORE JUMP!

Minori: daisy fleabanes, scotch broom, blue milkweed

Haruka: yellow cosmos, spider flowers

Airi: star jasmines

Shizuku: strawberry begonias, blossoms (the wiki said this was firethorn but imo it looks closer to some sort of blossom. the leaves aren't the right shape)

Vivid BAD SQUAD

Kohane: persian buttercup/ranunculus, iceland poppies

An: larkspur, tickseed

Akito: elatior begonias, lemon flowers

Toya: persian buttercup/ranunculus, yuzu flower (on blazer), pansies, wisteria (in the background)

WonderlandsxShowtime

Tsukasa: yellow tulips, persian violets, peonies

Emu: sea asters, skunkvine, chrysanthemum (ogiku style)

Nene: bougainvilleas/paperflowers, sunflowers, prairie gentians

Rui: common vervains/verbena, astrantia/great masterwort, hypericum erectum (a type of St John's Wort native to Japan, China and Korea. It doesn't have a common name)

25-ji, Nightcord de.

Kanade: crocuses, winter daphne

Mafuyu: cape marguerite, japanese rowan flowers, and i believe plumeria rubra

Ena: mountain laurels, baby blue eyes

Mizuki: bottle gourd flower, st john's wort, garden balsams. i'm not sure what the flower in their hair is, possibly some sort of lily?

the flowers are mostly the same on the second set of cards, though some are changed (notably Len who now has different flowers to Rin), and a few others gain or lose a flower or two. Tsukasa has fuchsias, An has paperflowers, airi i think has blossom and ena i think has yellow lupins now and that's as far as my flower knowledge goes.

[bonefall]

Trying to translate my ocs in clanmew!

Nyok beof- ravenfeather 

fharrl shai - stormstar

Both pretty simple translations 

Flower is called ponma, but cats call her karrurrska because they don’t like her and she definitely murdered the last leader. She then came in and was granted sanctuary because of her kits, but idk what name they’d call her because of her actions. Very entitled and demanding.

Peonyblossom - no translation for peony, but suffix would be -mwaron

Fawnkit and honeykit - niaa mew for fawn, I couldn’t find a translation for fawn, and hohorrl mew for honeykit

Hmm... an entitled cat with a flower-based name? Here's two new words for you! These are invasive species that Clan cats attack ON-SIGHT, and perfect for dishonor titles!

Giant Hogweed (Heracleum mantegazzianum) = Nipswa (Tainted + Flower + Spread-of-fire) AWFUL weed, NOXIOUS NASTY WEED. Actively noxious, even just to touch, spreading across fields and contributing absolutely nothing of value. This would be a very strong word in a dishonor title.

Rhododendron (Rhododendron ponticum) = Fsaferrl (Swarm + Honeysuckle) A tough, hardy bush that takes over wide areas VERY easily, much be uprooted as soon as it's discovered else it becomes extremely difficult to manage. Could work very well for your cat having an entitled sort of personality, but still "gentle" enough to not be a dishonor title. Rhododendron is pretty at least!

Also huh, I guess we forgot to add some deer-words to the lexi! That's been fixed; "Myaa" now means Fawn;Lamb;Baby Deer, and we added Yearling Deer (Mween).

You can also check out the whole Clan Culture entry we made on deer if you'd like.

For Peony, unfortunately, Clan cats have no words for it. It's a garden plant.... BUT THEY DO HAVE A WORD FOR MARIGOLD

Marsh Marigold/Gowan (Caltha palustris) = Chwee Has a ton of names in English, so I picked "Gowan" because it makes a nice prefix. Feel free to translate it however you'd like. Sometimes called a "kingcup" because it looks like a huge buttercup. This is the word used in Marigoldkit's name-- Chweemew.

Corn Marigold (Glebionis segetum) = Wimpa The more common type of marigold, grows in dryer territories. It can grow wild, unlike pot marigold, which I'm currently not giving the Clan cats a name for since that is a domestic flower... but I'm still doing research to find out if it's naturalized in this area or not.

And lastly Honey is a new word since I made it for Honeysnake! It's Mla.

Honey = Mla

[idololivine]

TEA CARNIVAL

from the view of the herbalist biased tea drinker, for ur consideration yakumo: the 1st thought i had was of some gentle white tea like White Peony bc of the whole "minimally processed, pretty mild, a lil flowery and please dont subject it to extreme temperatures lol" but then i slapped the honeymoon eyes off my face and tried to think deeper bc genmaicha ALSO makes sense and wouldn't yakumo be like. a more common tea like that. something that is generally inoffensive and pairs well with food? some nuts or grains for that extra level of nourishment? ? then i went spiralling out of control and was like WHY NOT MUSHROOM TEA TOO??? do he got the range?? (i'm stopping myself now bc making decisions is Pain)

edmond: big agree. earl grey with heavy cream and 53 sugars. would u like some tea with your sugar

olivine: i can def see chamomile. olivine seems like the tea that would be comforting across multiple cultures. like the upset tummy tea u reach for in times of mild distress. stuff like valerian root, chamomile, chrysanthemum... that whole class of sleepytime teas. maybe some ginger sometimes for um. digestive and anti-inflammatory reasons, obviously. it's not bc olivine is secretly spicy . or anything like that. for some reason i can't associate one group of common sleepytime teas (mint, lemon balm etc.) with olivine very well. i may just be haunted by the aggressive behaviour of mint family in IRL gardens 😂 and i;m like "olivine would never destroy everything in his path and take everyone else's resources just so he could live" but that ventures outside the tea classification and into the plant/garden classification so uhhhh bye

quincy: i defer to everyone else bc i rly know nothing of him in comparison. for some reason i instantly thought of yerba mate, which i didn't like originally bc it tasted like dirt LOL but then the stealth caffeine came at me with a folding chair when i least expected ,so . i dont think that's very quincy of it. violent bursts of energy and all

kuya: nods along with hojicha bc i also don't know as much of kuya. at first i thought that kuya would have to be some rare type of tea that was also super finicky so if u messed up the prep at any point, the drink would be unpalatable. i thought back to my early days of dealing with matcha, when info was not readily accessible. u think "how could anyone like this???" but rly u just botched it and it's too expensive for u to try making more. and now that ppl KNOW how to deal with it, they put it on everything. desserts, foods u never thought of. it's prolific. but the innate matcha-snobbery instilled within me gives it that hoity-toity aura (flashback: only use the HIGHEST QUALITY MATCHA IMPORTED FROM THIS REGION AT THIS TIME AT THIS ALTITUDE or else u are TRASH) for some reason, add butterfly pea flowers to whatever tea infusion kuya may end up being. the flowers themselves dont taste like much but the PURPLE and BLUE of it all!!!!

morvay: THIS was the man that i was like. his is a tea that must always be served with milk. something heavily spiced. Something so weighty and filling that if u drink it, u won't be able to drink anything else for the rest of the day. something like masala chai, served in an industrial sized pot, with 4x the black pepper.

aster: i struggled with him bc he is a tea connoisseur but does that mean he's a snob about adding milk to his tea? for the sake of being opposite to morv, i just assume he's some purely water tea. Something simple with history like lapsang souchong? Or maybe he likes light flowery drinks like Rose or Lavender on his whimsical days.

garu: once again i was trying to search my brain for a tea that could taste drastically different depending on how u prepared it. like it could be super sweet and mellow if brewed at 185 but it's bitter and punchy at hothothot. i couldn't think of a specific one. personal experience however is dandelion. ppl sleep on dandelion. i had a low-processed dandelion tea for a while that i rly liked bc it was grassy like green tea but also kinda warming and smoky without any caffeine. but.... then i tried a Roasted dandelion tea at my friend's house and it tasted nothing like mine. was it trying to be coffee? idk. but now i have extra respect for dandelions. they feed bees, they're resilient as heck, and they get an unnecessarily bad rep

dante: for some reason a drink called Qishr came to mind, but that one kinda bridges coffee and tea. i remember reading about it, thinking :"oh! spiced coffee husks! maybe it'll be like a mild coffee" then i drank it and thought "this is way mellower than i thought it would be. it barely tastes like coffee. it tastes more like.... spiced tea. cardamom. cinnamon. ginger. huh. weirdly comforting." but once again i shook the cobwebs from my floaty mind and went "no!! we are talking tea! not tea inbetweens! maybe!! also, dante is the OPPOSITE of mellow!!!" so. ultimately, a strong black tea. something like rize.

blade: this bot is fruity. at least, nowadays he is. i want him to be those ridiculous tea blends with the silly images on the canisters and sleek fonts. maybe in the Rusted Nation days he would be a more ominous solemn tea. but now, i imagine iced tea infusions perfect for your summer party with the little flamingo inflatables. passionfruit! hibiscus! honey! berries! ...pineapple? coconut???

rei: ok, excellent point brought up about the servability both hot and cold... and that brain never turns off so he needs his caffeine... maybe something that is easily toxic or unhealthy in moderate doses. this goes out of my personal experience so (rapidly ckalick clacks on the keyboard) the internet says something like comfrey or old school licorice tea. until i get more character knowledge on owlboy, he gets assigned monochrome and danger

eiden: boba. he is just bubble tea. all of it. every kind. the taiwanese origin is especially 👌 he's got.........texture, he's a funky lil guy, and was frequently unappreciated in his time bc the world was simply not ready for him. tsk. when times caught up to eiden however, he exploded onto the international stage and is now justifiably well-liked (i spin this tale completely from my own experience. bubble tea was just like a lowkey thing for half my life until. idk. something caught on. suddenly asian stuff cool? bubble tea super delicious? let's put a store on every corner? so it felt like boba was around for a while but at least ppl in the western zone didn't appreciate it until waaaay later. makes me wonder what would happen if a switch protag like eiden was introduced before DMMD. would he have been shunned? would he have been as well liked as today? WE JUST DONT KNOW)

my god tumblr really lets you send HUGE asks now. we live in the future

Yakumo: it's funny to me to see genmaicha be referred to as a more common tea because I live in Hong Kong and listen, I can walk into just about any tea shop and come away with armfuls of white tea. any Japanese tea I have to hunt down a more specialized vendor. but that's me and the reality of importing stuff.

I'm biased against fresh white teas also because I had a bag of shou mei and by god it was FLORAL. cloyingly floral. it actually made me feel a little ill. I had to cold brew the rest of it because I couldn't stand it otherwise (it was fucking delicious cold brewed though). I love a good aged white, but it also doesn't feel like a Yakumo Tea. he is a Young Man. a fragile maiden. I think a savory sort of green feels right for him - treat him delicately and you get a lot of depth and complexity. (I don't know anything about mushroom tea... I also don't actually drink that much green tea because I like teas that are a bit more idiot-proof.)

Edmond: I'm proud of the line "an egg short of being a pudding".

Olivine: sleepytime Olivine... a nice cup of herbal tea for when he's working late nights... add a little honey for sweetness...

i may just be haunted by the aggressive behaviour of mint family in IRL gardens 😂 and i;m like "olivine would never destroy everything in his path and take everyone else's resources just so he could live"

may I present to you chapter 4 of the main story. he did in fact try to do exactly that actually,

but I do think mint tea isn't Olivine because mint to me feels very "bright" and "lively" in flavor, if that makes sense. Olivine's more mild mannered. chamomile and ginger feel right.

Quincy: I've also not had yerba mate... my tea experiences are regionally limited because my region of the world has a fuckton of tea and I haven't even tried all my regional tea. but I think anything with a violent burst of caffeine is definitely not Quincy lol. some people swear that puer has lower caffeine content but I don't think that's scientifically true? anyway. caffeine aside I'm convinced that puer, specifically shou puer, is the Quincy category of tea because A) it's aged B) it tastes like dirt. and puer enthusiasts LIKE that it tastes like dirt. I don't have a lot of experience with puer either mostly because I was gifted a huge stash of oolong and I promised myself I'd make a dent in it before I bought any more tea, but now I have made that dent and I'm going to go shop for puer this weekend :>

Kuya: the extent of my experience with matcha is like, sushi restaurant matcha. you know when you dump some dark green power in a cup and add hot water and don't whisk it. yeah. but I think GOOD matcha has a fanciness to it that does fit Kuya! I initially thought hojicha because I like roasty tea and something darker felt right for Kuya. I've also had a Japanese oolong before and that also fits... rare. special. woody.

more puer propaganda: really old puer is EXPENSIVE. puer cakes from the 70s can sell for 20k+ USD. and also specifically young sheng puer can be bitter and astringent, but when aged it'll mellow out and become sweeter. it's like the wine of tea. Kuyacore tea.

I wonder what would happen if you add butterfly pea flowers to a darker tea. does it just become more brown...

Morvay: masala chai. yes. no notes.

Aster: he would be a tea snob, but he feels very Western snobby to me. this man is not sitting down to brew tea himself in a gaiwan, he's having it in a teapot with the best tiny cakes in the kingdom. Darjeeling all the way. he has Opinions about estates and flushes.

Garu: I agree with your assessment! I also have not tried dandelion tea! my mind goes to fresh white tea... sweet and floral with a gentler hand, very bold if you push it. maybe it's the specific white tea I had and how I brewed it, but it felt like the talk about white tea being super delicate was kind of overblown. you CAN push it, it'll just turn out in a way that might not be what you're looking for in a white tea.

Dante: maybe a Kenyan black tea... strong and brisk and no nonsense. can be tempered with milk. I'm vaguely tempted to also suggest rooibos, but I think that's purely because it's red. I'm not sure if rooibos is just always mild or if I've broken my sense of taste or if I'm brewing it wrong, but until I'm told otherwise I think rooibos isn't punchy enough for Dante.

Blade: yes, fruity iced tea. the silly flavored ones with fruit bits in them and turn out bright fucking red because there's ALWAYS hibiscus in them.

alternatively, Adagio has this user made blend called Cursed Tea that contains all the most controversial teas. lapsang. puer. hibiscus. bergamot. rooibos. rose. my friend said it tasted like bacon. it feels like a tea Blade would make.

Rei: I also don't know anything about licorice tea. I'm still on aged white because it's old and monochrome. there's vague claims about aged white tea having medicinal properties, but also, I just like it.

Eiden: yes, boba tea! Taiwanese and compatible with every kind of base tea. A+.

I've seen NuCa fans who are dead convinced that the game would be better if Eiden wasn't a switch. Even now some people are not ready to stop being boring... I would like to believe he would still be loved but. we just don't know............

[ayanos-pl]

芍薬

[thebotanicalarcade]

n148_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Choix des plus belles fleurs :. Paris :Ernest Panckoucke,[1833?].. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/12695549

[shefaniquotes]

“Everything's changed a lot – my whole world – when you have love and find your best friend, it's just been such an incredible chapter of my life and the greatest thing that's ever happened. So [I’m] just having a blast. It's weird because he's from Oklahoma, I'm from Anaheim California, it's like completely different worlds, but the fact that we have so much in common and one common thing is gardening.”

BBC The One Show, June 2023

“I do it with my fingernails. Just dig the dirt. You know what, just Oklahoma in general [is calming]. I didn't know I needed that. I didn't know anything about nature, really, because I grew up at the beach, well, not at the beach, but at Disneyland in Anaheim, that's where I grew up. So for me, I just didn't have that experience to go and just be in nature and to garden. Gardening, for me, is just this super amazing middle ground for me and Blake where we come together and we’re so into it! It's like, ‘'I'm gonna win!, I'm gonna make flowers and be rich and have all these peonies!’ It's so incredible. And we're doing it at such a large level with tractors and millions of seeds and so it's really fun.”

Lorraine, June 2023

Gwen on Blake and gardening, various sources, (see also 1, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, 7)

[myriadium]

If you can't read the notes, I'll write them here:

terrible eyesight

shoulder length hair (naturally black)

modern hanfu (w/ pockets!)

roots growing in

1 mole below right eye

flower hairclip (gifted by jo)

Chan Lee's appearance in the original show pissed me off; the writers went crazy with the stereotypes (Trope Bingo), I half expected them to make a dog eating joke in the show. Also the way her name is so similar to Chun-Li? Her name is so unnatural and I think I'm gonna go crazy if I talk about it any more.

Anyway here is her character info: Chansheng Li, she/her, 20, pan, 5'2'', chinese.

Since her Bakugan is based off of the Asura in Buddhism, I think it'd be cool if she was Buddhist. I have yet to do research on the Buddhism religion so I won't say anything about that right now.

I know I mentioned martial arts as a negative for Chan, but I really really want Shun and Chan to fight, so I'm gonna have her know martial arts, but I'll have to do the research to make it a well fleshed out character trait, rather than a nebulous "she knows kung fu" kinda trait. Imma have her know Southern Praying Mantis style, which you might also know as Toph Bei Fong's bending style in Avatar: the Last Airbender. I also don't know anything about martial arts, but mark my words, Shun and Chan will fight!

I haven't given much thought on her job but someone who becomes one of the top international players probably don't have a life, so I'm making her a trust fund baby who spends her free time playing Bakugan and gardening.

SO! I've decided to do some more research and rework her character. Chan wears a qi pao in the original show, which is mostly to accentuate her curves. Sexism in Bakugan strikes again. I prefer hanfus anyway, so because I want to maintain the modern and traditional vibe, she's getting a plain button up with a hanfu dress. I wanted to give her a flower motif, and I had initially decided on a peony, but since her surname, 李, means plum, I might change into a plum blossom.

I stole the outfit wholesale from this amazing photo:

Speaking of her name, buckle up because I spent way too long nitpicking different characters for her name.

Chan's name is Chansheng Li. Written as 李婵胜, pronounced lǐ chán shèng (In Chinese, the surname is said first).

李 is a very common surname. I think Li is a more common romanization of the character in mainland China, while Lee used in places that don't really abide by pinyin rules (in Canto speaking places you can also write her name as 李嬋勝). So if you write Chansheng Lee it is also correct!

婵 (chán) is what's known as a "meaningless bound form", which means it doesn't mean a specific word by itself, only when it's paired with other characters. The sign on the left, 女, means girl, so this character is very feminine, and anyone reading this name would know that she's a girl. General vibes mean "graceful" or "lovely".

胜 (shèng) means victory. It's quite a masculine name, but paired with 婵 it provides a nice balance, I think. Due to this, just by hearing her name, you would have no idea that Chan is a woman.

婵胜 (chán shèng) sounds like 常胜 (cháng shèng), which loosely translates to "often suceeds". Chinese parents like naming kids like good luck charms, so I think this is a realistic thing to name Chan.

A fun side note, I had originally considered 嫦 (cháng), which is the same first character as the Chinese moon goddess Chang'e (嫦娥). Funnily enough, 胜 (shèng)'s left character, 月, means moon! Additionally, 嫦's right character, 常, also means "often", which is what I used in the previous point!

With a name as long as Chansheng, some people might shorten it and call her Chan, but I remember the original show only referring her with her full name, and also Chan sounds kinda weird on its own. As such, I will refer to her as Chan, but realistically the characters would call her her full given name.

I'd also like to add a disclaimer that, even though I did my best with research, I'm not very connected to Chinese culture, so please let me know if any of these things are inaccurate (I would love to see sources as well lmao)! Also note that China is a very diverse place, so do not take my characterization of Chan as a representation of the whole country!!

[flowerishness]

Papaver somniferum var. paeoniflorum  (’peony poppy’)

Let’s make that a double!

Doubling is a genetic mutation in flowers in which there are at least twice as may petals as would normally be found. Doubling is particularly common in roses, carnations and camelias. In nature all flowers are ‘singles’ unless something goes terribly wrong in the DNA department. Mother Nature, I’d like you to meet Lady Luck.

Although it’s an attractive feature in our garden flowers doubling is usually bad news for the species. In some double-flowered varieties, all of the reproductive organs are converted to petals and, as a result, they are sterile and must be propagated from cuttings. Even if the reproductive parts are retained, double-flowered plants are often so full of petals that pollinating insects can’t reach them and few seeds are produced. 

This poppy cultivar has been modified by plant breeders in a number of directions. Papaver somniferum is also known as the opium poppy but these cultivars produce only trace amounts of opium. This particular subspecies, Papaver somniferum var. paeoniflorum, is highly doubled and comes in a variety of colors. It can be grown from seed and matures in a hundred days. The original species has four petals but as you can see, this doubled ‘peony poppy’ is absolutely crammed with petals.

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