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tiny-vermin · 2 months

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I want to know more about the m9 artist au!! I remember reading a post or two about it a billion years ago (and would love to read them again) 💜

hi jess!!!! thank u for being interested hehe :")

so ever since i drew that lil thing of essek painting a frank stella inspired painting (or even before), ive been thinking of what kinds of art each of the m9 would do. essek ofc is inspired by a minimalist show that i went to here, all the big names from that movement were shown, but those really dark, sinkhole-like paintings are speaking to me. another artwork of boxes made of mirrors also seems like the thing he would do too

there's a kiln here that we visited which was huge, and surrounding it were artists' studios and some other ceramic sellers, i imagine the clay family having a place like this in the middle of nowhere amongst the trees, and caleb would do his work there

anyways because at heart im a shadowgast luver its centred around them,, they meet at an artist residency or something like that and its an incredibly slow burn that involves talking and not-talking and looking and not-looking. in the end i am but a simple wong kar wai fan so. that kinda vibes would definitely influence this, i would describe it as a quiet burning i guess?? time skipy and words that are not said

i think im gonna rant a bit more about their different mediums and styles so i'll keep it under the cut

i think caleb sculpts figures and portraits, but in a sad, kathe kollwitz charcoal vibe. maybe some funky looking animals, perhaps some pots and vases to look at the pretty glazes. he's interested in using fire to burn texture into different mediums, like ive seen it being used on shellac to make a really cool net of ink looking structure.. but yknow, just seeing the aftermath of glazed ceramic from the kiln is enough, and probably better for him to keep his distance anyways

the clay family produces most of the ceramic to sell, vases, pots, plates, cups, teapots, yknow just a whole array. and its really colourful too, depicting every family members different style. i think caduceus would do some matte glazes with a lot of different colours, theyre all a little wonky but theyre better off that way anyways. he does some really mean ink calligraphy and painting though

jester definitely does,, everything, whatever her heart desires kinda thang. she makes pastel textile installations and lighthearted cute paintings, but theyre always so contemplative and soothing. she gets m9 a lot of work cus her mom has connections, etc etc. i really love the idea of jester creating works that talk about the female body and femininity (definitely not projecting no)

beau is a printmaker and photographer who's really experimental, she loves cyanotypes and printing flowers (for yasha), idk she seems like she would put fabric and rocks into the washing machine to see what would happen. u would probably catch her in someone elses studio learning about what they do or in the library learning about what old people did

veth works in a museum as a curator, getting beau to help her sometimes with gathering artworks and artists etc. she probably organises community art projects for kids and public art installations. her house is full of m9's artworks and various other artists shes worked with.

yasha does bouquets as her post-retirement part time job, prior to that no one really knows what she did ("she probably murdered a bunch of people and is now hiding from the government"). fjord draws comics for fun but is also not a job for him, molly is a question mark for me. but these guys probably wont be in it as much anyways

im still not sure what format i wanna do this in, im actually having fun just writing it in my notebook now (digital does not facilitate the creative juices) but i do want to do some visuals like fake movie stills or storyboards. maybe they will work together well???? dunno. working on the other shadowgasty thing im doing made me realise how much easier it is to draw when there's a script already there, so im writing the script for myself

im definitely not as practiced in writing as i am in drawing, but idk im just gonna have some fun and see where that takes me, meanwhile try not to feel too bad that its fanart HAHA (very bad habit)

edit: i just saw my previous thoughts on beau being an art journalist, but i kinda like this better.. but maybe she can do both muah

#working tag for this ->#the kiln #honestly if u had any tips for writing #i'd love to hear..#i was insulted once on my writing and never wrote again HADHSFHF #oh and also emo smoking #that is somethng i want to draw more of

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yikes-em · 1 month

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Green Houses, Pincushions, and a Wedding

For @astrangersummer week 3: flowers

steddie | 3426 words | gen/no warnings | see tags below or on ao3

Three things you can find at Steve and Eddie's first date. Or: Robin sends "Maid of Honor" and very single Steve to pick up the flower arrangements for their wedding. Just so happens that Chrissy asks "Best Man" and also very single florist Eddie to arrange said flowers for their wedding. Somehow in their three years, Steve and Eddie haven't met until now.

Read also on ao3

“Okay, make sure that he’s just done it right, I mean I trust Eddie- Chrissy trusts the guy, and I trust Chris, but please, Steve, for the love of God, I will lose my goddamn mind if the flowers are wrong, I will just- I’ll-I’ll-!”

“Robin!” Steve shouts over the phone the second he gets the chance. “Robin, Jesus, breathe. I’ve got the pictures you sent me. I will inspect the arrangements. I will not harass him, he’s just a flower guy.”

“Well, he’s not just- you know what, I’ll do that later. Okay, thank you, dingus.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’ve got this handled. You go get back to your nails, okay? I’ll see you later tonight. Bye, Robbie, love you!” Steve says, yanking open the door to the flower shop, the sign flashing Your Bedroom’s Garden, and entering as he hangs up on Robin.

The shop isn’t what he’d been expecting. The neon sign outside is hot pink with a few little yellow sparkles. Inside is a different story. It’s a long room, two walls are sage green and the other two are black like the floors and ceiling. Vines drape down the black walls while the green are covered in little shelves with examples and decorations for bouquets. Every other surface in the building is covered in water buckets of cuttings, planted pots, pots for sale themselves. Steve is overwhelmed by the amount of clean air in one room.

“Hi, welcome in! Be right with you!” Someone from deeper in the shop calls out so Steve idles by the desk. There’s a small commotion before a man appears, dressed in a cut off tank and ripped skinny jeans with a small horseshoe ring hanging from his nose. More of what Steve had not been expecting. “Hey! What can I do for ya?”

“Hello, uh I’m picking up an order for Buckley- might be under Harrington if she listed an alternate- yeah,” Steve says with a light smile.

“Ah, so you’re the hottie that she said would be coming,” the man laughs, the high ponytail of curls perched atop his head swaying a little. Steve can’t help the flush that heats his cheeks. “Follow me, I’ve got it all organized in the back.”

Steve does as he’s told, shuffling behind the guy and into a bright room with a garage door on the far end. He doesn’t notice he’s twisting his hands together until the pressure starts to hurt.

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Nice to meet you, Harrington.”

“Steve,” he corrects, watching Eddie stall in his approach to the buckets of flowers.

“Alright, Steve,” Eddie grins. “Well, everything’s here if you want to give it a once over. We’ve got the centerpieces over here in the light blue buckets. Bouquets for the party in the white ones. The smaller one there is for the boutonnières, there’s a package inside with the little glass vial pins for them. And then that pink vase has the flowers for the bridal hair.”

Steve can hardly keep up with everything Eddie’s saying, he also hadn’t expected for Robin and Chrissy to be so thorough with their floral choices. Nevertheless he pulls out his phone and starts matching things up to the trial photos they’d went with. “Sorry, Robin would kill me if the flowers were wrong.”

“I understand, I’ve had my fair share of assholes because they themselves didn’t confirm with me so I prefer a second opinion. When you’ve got it all checked out you can pull your car around to the door here and I’ll help you load them up.”

“They’re beautiful,” Steve says as he works mindlessly, pulling at a periwinkle blue bloom shaped like a firework.

“Yeah, that one’s got a funky name. One of my favorites. Called scabiosa. Or a pincushion flower if you wanna be a little less fun,” Eddie says.

It takes just another two minutes before Steve decides the flowers are as perfect as they could be and back his truck into the loading space. Eddie’s got gloves on now, dragging the buckets out into the sun. The flowers start to really light up and Steve gets butterflies thinking about the wedding tomorrow. Robin in her suit that he’d helped her pick, Chrissy in her dress with petit flowers snuggled into her braid. God, he was definitely going to cry.

“Nice truck,” Eddie comments as they load up the first few buckets of flowers. He gestures to the mud splatters on the tires and edge of the bed. “Work outside?”

“I guess you could say that,” he shrugs, shoving another bunch of flowers up with the rest. A few pieces of hair obviously from Eddie’s bangs have started to weasel loose of the tie and Steve can’t help but notice. He swallows his tongue. “I own a restaurant but we do a lot of farm to table work.”

“Hell yeah,” Eddie grins, ducking back into the garage for a bundle of tule which he begins to wrap around the flowers already in the truck. “I’ll have to come by sometime. What’s the name?”

“It’s kind of dumb actually,” Steve laughs and watches Eddie work at securing everything gently. “Farm’s Ahoy.”

“That is kind of dumb,” he laughs too. “But cute.”

“It was an inside joke and seemed like a good idea. I mean, I don’t regret it.”

“No, why should you? I named the shop after a joke too. My best friend from high school used to say my bedroom smelled and looked like a garden- but meant two very different things about it.”

“Oh?” It sounds silly, something so simple and soaked with curiosity leaving his mouth but Steve can’t help it. He steps a little closer to Eddie as if instinctively wanting the answer.

“Yeah, I used to smoke a lot of weed in my room growing up,” He chuckles and hops down from the truck bed. Steve sincerely can’t help the twist in his gut that he gets from watching him do so, all lean and lithe muscle. “But I still loved plants back then. Had less than I do now but it was my private garden, both legal and il.”

“That- I actually really like that joke,” Steve grins and leans up against the side of his truck. “Well, now I think I have to explain too.”

“I think so.” Eddie crosses his arms with a smug look. Steve wants to kiss it off his face, but that’s not something you just do to strangers. Not in broad daylight at least.

“My best friend and I- from high school too actually- we worked at this ice cream shop called Scoops Ahoy when we were in college- I dropped out and Robin finished but whatever. So we worked there and it was this whole thing, little sailor outfits and hats. The whole shebang. So after I bought my current property and started a vegetable garden, then wanted to open the restaurant, we spat a few names around and when she said Farm’s Ahoy I just knew I had too. We were high too, at that point, so it definitely seemed funnier.”

“That’s just perfection, Steve.” Eddie’s laughing and shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand to see Steve better. “I’ll definitely be by sometime soon then.”

“Yes, please, I’ll put your name on a list,” Steve says, as if a list is something he even has.

“Thanks.” Eddie kicks his feet a little and for the first time in their interactions he looks bashful. “Well, I think you’re all set.”

“I uh, I’ve still gotta pay,” Steve reminds him.

“No, this is a gift to the bride from me,” Eddie says with a grin. He takes a few steps back as if to retreat into his safe space again before briefly surging toward Steve to offer up a card. “Text me if anything goes wrong.”

“Will do. Thank you, Eddie, this is very sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well, I try,” he says and soon disappears behind the closing garage door.

Steve tries not to dwell on any of his time at Your Bedroom’s Garden very long, lest he slip into an infatuation with Eddie’s brown eyes and sweat curled hair. Instead he unloads the flowers into his own garage where they’ll sleep overnight before being hauled again down to his barn.

Steve’s property spans across 50 some acres. There’s two barns, one for the livestock and farming and one that he rents out or hosts events in. Then there’s the restaurant beside them, a full dining floor and decked out kitchen. In the far corner down a long gravel road situated away from the public side of his property is the farm house. It’s as large as the rest of his buildings, with 7 guest rooms and 10 (mostly half) bathrooms all for the chance that he gets to host gatherings. Dustin ends up at the farm the most, stays for the summer months and pitches in when he’s off school. Sometimes the other boys Steve used to shepard in his babysitting days, Mike or Lucas with their girlfriends and on the odd occasion Will, stop by for a few days at a time.

Steve agonizes over texting the number Eddie provided him in the few hours before his guests arrive. How is it that the wedding is a day away and he still doesn’t have a date? In the end he settles on leaving the number in his bedside drawer for another occasion. The house fills quickly as dusk arrives and, for the first time since July Fourth last year, Steve’s home is full of light and laughter and easily flowing rosé. His heart feels just as full as he wraps his arm around his best friends.

The big day kicks off earlier than he’d prefer. The photographer and videographer are the first to the scene, followed quickly by the hair and makeup team. Steve does his best to stay by Robin’s side but by the time her mother and Vickie and the other girls are ready and Robin’s up to be dressed Steve takes his que to slip out. He’s careful with his shoes on his walk to the barn, where Dustin’s already dragged the flowers. There’s a few crew tutting around the building that Steve doesn’t recognize but assumes their part of the planners team as they arrange plates and seating.

“I don’t know! Talk to Steve about that!” Dustin shouts from where the small stage has been set up. Steve rolls his eyes as he approaches.

“Alright, alright, what’s the problem?”

Steve stops dead in his tracks when the person Dustin had been arguing with turns around. His hair is down, curly bangs perfectly fanning across his forehead and brushing his eyebrows. Steve risks a glance up and down his body, taking in the dark green of his suit and steel toed boots. His mouth goes dry when Eddie shoots him a knowing smirk.

“Kid here says there’s no amp hookup.”

“I did not, I said that there’s no hookups right here! I’m not in charge of the live music.”

“Check the attitude,” Steve gripes at him, covering his face with a palm. “Uhm, well, are you the Chrissy's best man?”

“As accused.” Eddie nods.

“Alright. Cool, cool. Okay.” Now he understands what the pretty guy from the flower shop is doing here. Steve takes a deep breath and points at Dustin. “This is a you problem now. Find Tommy, please, get him to pull all the stage equipment out and let’s try to find something for what music needs, yeah?”

“But I was just on audio for the speecheses only-”

“Shithead, you’re graduating next year with a degree in audio-what-the-fuck-ever. Get it in gear and find what’s missing.” Dustin opens and closes his mouth a few times before shaking his head and skittering off on his new mission. Steve turns his full attention to Eddie, swallowing hard. “So.”

“So?”

“I did not expect you to be here. Today.”

Eddie laughs heartily, pushing a chunk of hair off his shoulder. Steve’s face gets hotter and he wants to shrivel up and disappear into the collar of his blazer. “No, I guess you didn’t.”

“Sorry about Dustin.”

“It’s okay. I like his spunk.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. “I have never heard someone describe him as having spunk.”

“It’s an endearing trait.”

“Okay, great. Don’t let him know you’re a fan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie grins. “So I see the flowers aren't out yet?”

“The flowers are my job. Had to be with Robin up until the dress got on, but I’m here now. Why are you down here?”

“Chrissy said the guy on flowers might’ve needed a little help.”

“Right, okay,” Steve huffs. His brain cells start to wake up and he’s getting why he’d been sent to pick up the arrangements in the first place. “Do you see what they’re doing too?”

“Yeah. Master manipulators.”

There’s two thoughts that cross Steve’s mind in a moment's time. He could brush this off, ask to act normally and prove that the happy couple need to keep their noses out of other people’s business. He could accept the date and ask Eddie to dance once the band arrives. He could, if he used enough brain power, convince his brain cells to kick into high gear and spontaneously combust. Maybe not so much on that one.

“Well, since you’re here,” Steve says and starts for the flower buckets across the barn. “I probably could use a hand. Follow me.”

Steve gets a thrill up his spine when Eddie does follow, tight on his heels. They swap Chrissy and Robin stories as they drop bundles of flowers into the vases Chrissy had procured just months after they’d been engaged. Their laughs sound good together. Eddie explains how he’d opened his shop with his uncle after an accident at work left Wayne laid up with a good payout. Eddie had done all the heavy lifting, overhauling a vacant office studio into his dream. Wayne did some training online and learned quickly how to run the numbers and orders.

“Yeah, y’know, it’s pretty perfect. I just don’t have my own greenhouse yet.”

“I can lend you one.”

“What?” Eddie’s hand stalls on the last vase, almost knocking it over. Steve reaches out to stabilize it, hands firmly covering Eddie’s own. Both their faces are the same beet red as one of that night's sauces. He hadn’t exactly thought through his offer before it left his mouth.

“I mean, I’ve got four of them. I can make some room in one- actually, yeah we moved the squash over by the compost pile so. Plenty of room.”

“Steve I don’t- how much do you want for it?”

“Oh, no,” Steve shakes his head, pulling his hands away and cracking his knuckles. Money talk always makes him a little nauseous. “Free of charge. So long as I get some pretty flowers out of it too.”

“I’ll grow you the prettiest damn flowers you’ve ever seen, Steve Harrington.”

Steve likes how that promise sounds, especially when Eddie shakes his hand.

They finish soon after, both making the short trek back up to the farm house to check on their corresponding brides and knocking elbows the whole way. Steve’s voice gets caught in his throat when Robin pins his boutonnière to his lapel.

“Are you having a good day?” She asks and tucks a short curl behind her ear, exposing the pearl earrings he knows her grandmother gifted her.

“Yeah,” He says earnestly with tears in his eyes. Nothing could have prepared him for the emotions in his heart seeing Robin ready to start her next phase.“Yeah, Robs. It’s a beautiful day.”

Steve can’t help but make eye contact with Eddie through the service, especially since they’re both up by the altar. Eddie shoots him a wink when the officiant declares them unified in marriage. They kiss, and giggle, and dash back down the aisle that is simple grass. Steve’s on the brink of full on crying. The videographer follows them back up to the hill and Steve has to clock in to his maid-of-honor duties again. He ushers everyone from their seats outside in to the barn with the promise of food, drinks, and a lovely reception. He loses track of Eddie in the process.

There’s a bit of disappointment when Steve still can’t locate him by the time Chrissy and Robin are back in their new dresses. It lingers in his bones until he announces the first dance and, after a bit of applause, the sound of acoustic guitar flows through the amps he’d given a once over a few hours ago to confirm they’d work. Eddie is standing beside them again, guitar in his arms and microphone held a few inches from his face by a stand.

Against his suggestions, the girls had decided on Shania Twain (You’re Still the One) as their first dance. Even last night if you’d asked Steve how he felt about that decision he may have implied a bit of disagreement. But now, comparing Eddie’s song to the original, he understands their choice. It’s a meaningful song and artist for them both. The lyrics, as told by a close friend, seem to hold a new weight in Steve’s ears.

It’s a beautiful arrangement that leaves him with twice as many questions as he’d gone into it with. There’s a small instrumental break towards the end, where Robin had given Steve a few more instructions: the only thing keeping his head tethered to the ground.

“Alright, everyone, now’s our time to join the happy couple on the dance floor,” He says into the mic, crossing the floor to be closer to where Eddie’s still performing. He can hear him better over here, that’s all. Robin and Chrissy’s family and friends slowly shuffle out to finish the song.

Eddie’s voice is gentle as he finishes out the last few lines of Shania Twain before swapping songs and morphing into something much raspier, with a little more swing. “I’m so glad we made it, look how far we’ve come my…baby! It’s been a long day, baby, things ain’t been going my way, you know I need you here…”

Steve watches Eddie watch his guitar, making sure his fingers are in just the right spot before considering the crowd and the microphone again. It was a song Steve had thrown into the first dance hat himself. You Are the Best Thing, Ray LaMontagne. A song his mother used to dance around the kitchen with him to. He’s got starry tears in his eyes again when Robin catches his gaze and blows him a kiss.

The song is over almost as soon as it started and Steve is the first to applaud. Eddie’s grinning down the stage at him and after he’s sure his guitar is settled into its cradle he’s leaping off it toward Steve. The DJ takes his place quickly.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing. I guess I should have assumed but-”

“They told me not to,” Eddie shrugs with a goofy grin. “Said it’d just make you like me more.”

Steve knows he should feel embarrassed but can’t find it in himself to. “They put you up to this, huh?”

“A little bit.” Eddie tucks the guitar pick he’d been fidgeting with into the pocket of his jacket and straightens. “Is it working?”

“You know,” Steve starts. He tries to put together something that can at least feign a little annoyance. But in their defense, Steve had asked Robin to find him a date and though this wasn’t the typical approach he sure couldn’t argue with their pick. He’d been sold the second he stepped foot into that damn flower shop. “More than I think any of you could have expected.”

Eddie pumps his fist in the air, an unsaid ‘score!’ hanging between them. Then he bends at the waist, hair flowing in sheets down over his shoulder and Steve suddenly wants to know what it feels like between his fingers, and offers out his hand with a mischievous look. “Might I have this dance, good sir?”

Steve plucks the smallest scabiosa from his boutonnière with one hand and takes Eddie’s outstretched with the other. When Eddie rises, he tucks the flower into the hair in front of Eddie’s ear. His hunch had been right, his curls were soft and Eddie’s cheeks did look good in a crimson blush.

“You may.”

#a stranger summer #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #florist eddie #farm to table entrepreneur steve #eddie is chrissy's best man #steve is robins maid of honor #need i say anymore

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tiarasnteakettles · 6 months

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Today's is made of big fluffy hydrangeas!

Some random funky fresh hydrangea facts:

- it's the symbol of June in Japan

- the acidity in its soil determines how blue, purple, or pink the blooms are!

- absorbs most water from the petals, so don't just refill their vase - flip them upside down and soak in water!

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daydream-cement · 1 year

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Silly Questions About Gwen’s Characters Pt. 1

This was a team effort between @bri-sonat and I (of course with help from the wonderful babies in the gc @na-shoba, @booitsrue, @funky--lesbian, and @margot-the-lesbian-god). He will be posting the next part! We will go back and forth with these fun little questions.

If they were an animal, what would they be? What is the first thing they’d do when they learn they’re an animal?

Brienne: Dragon, maybe? A force of nature to be reckoned with in human form and animal form. She’d fly around Westeros, looking out over the mountain tops, enjoying the freedom. Maybe take a little stop in Dorne, who knows.

Larissa: A cat. Larissa would appreciate a day where she could wander around Nevermore unnoticed or greeted happily by her students. Most likely she would nap in a window somewhere and forget about work for a bit.

Lucifer: A snake because uhm duh?? Snake :)

Phasma: A Sarlac or an Exogorth. Two foul ass monsters who feasts on human flesh, just like Phasma for real, except she doesn’t feast on human flesh, she just burns and cuts it instead.

Miranda: She’d be a cat, because she’s all “look how small, and their little whiskers and their little paws” and that’s so Miranda core, she is a cat. She’d be off on the adventure of her life, or she’d take a cat nap.

Do they pick wildflowers?

Brienne: Yes. Lovestruck Brienne would do anything to see her partner smile, and that includes picking small wildflowers with the edge of her very big sword.

Larissa: She has been known to pick a wildflower or two on her walks between meetings. Some days it's always nice to have a vase of pretty wildflowers on your desk, right?

Lucifer: Kills wild flowers to make God upset

Phasma: What wildflowers? That thing is blasted, burnt, charred in a single laser shot. Hates the sentiment of giving flowers as a gift of any kind, saying “flowers are for weak people who need to give plants to express love.” And then she’ll scoff.

Miranda: ABSOLUTELY, softest girlfriend ever. If her partner tells her she likes a type of wildflower ONCE, you bet your ass she’d have a full on bouquet the next time she sees them.

How do they like their eggs? (Fried, poached, soft-boiled, etc.)

Brienne: Miss Girl needs her protein for those MUSCLES, so she’ll just eat them however they are presented. Easiest way is a hard-boiled egg, but if she’s feeling a little bit fancy she’ll fry one.

Larissa: Poached fs. Over toast. It makes a fabulous breakfast and is simple enough to make. She doesn’t really like to cook so this meal works perfectly for her culinary abilities.

Lucifer: Perfectly over easy- like plastic-looking over easy eggs fr.

Phasma: Our Captain enjoys things the classical way, the old-school way, so she prefers a soft-boiled egg, and if it isn’t to her liking (aka the exact way she wants it), she’ll throw a fit. “Shoot someone just for fun” fit.

Miranda: LOVES scrambled eggs. Adds a little cream in there just to spice things up a little and thinks she’s so crazy for doing so.

How do they see themselves in their head, and how is that image wrong?

Brienne: Well, where do we start with this one? Miss Ma’am has been told her entire life that she is ugly, unconventional, unattractive, a monster, a beast. She’s been mocked, humiliated, made fun of, etc etc. She thinks that she is “the ugliest girl alive” and she fully believes that. BUT SHE’S WRONG, CAUSE SHE’S SO SEXY AND HOT AND BEAUTIFUL AND GORGEOUS and all those things, but she can’t understand that because she has been told so many times that she’s not. But she’s wrong and people are dumb, and blind, and morons.

Larissa: She thinks of herself in a professional capacity more than anything, but ‘image is everything’ as she would say. She would consider herself attractive, but nothing more than that. Compliments that refer to her as anything more are usually met with a roll of the eyes.

Lucifer: Gods ex fav, self conscious about it, but knows they’re hot shit and are v sexy.

Phasma: Power does a lot to a person's confidence. Captain Girl knows that she’s hot, attractive, powerful and deadly. Knows that she’s the baddest bitch around and IT SHOWS!

Miranda: We all know what the deal is with Mirandy Baby. She’s treated like crap by her co-workers and even by her so-called “friend”, and with all those negative comments about her makes her doubt herself and her abilities, even if she tries her best to not internalize. For her looks, she would not call herself attractive, which is where the aspect of male validation comes into the picture. However, positive affirmations from others go a long way for her, ESPECIALLY if she finds them attractive herself.

If they talked in their sleep, what weird jumble of words would come out?

Brienne: Something really boring and honorable. Something around the lines of maybe “my sword is my vessel”, or something that makes no sense whatsoever, “I turned and then I was gone?” You just know her dreams are nuts.

Larissa: Something work related. Something about “I forgot the email”/“I’m late”, or something about a certain misbehaving student “Oh, god, what have you done?”. She doesn’t talk much in her sleep, however.

Lucifer: “You shouldn’t have done that” “I hate you” “God can’t save you” but like mumbled and sleepy so it’s more cute than scary.

Phasma: Phasma does not talk in her sleep, her stormtrooper training regiment made her become comfortable with sleeping on her back, and absolutely no sleep-talking or snoring. They got it rough over at the First Order, for real.

Miranda: Something really out of pocket. I’m thinking of that sleep walking scene in “Step Brothers”. I.e. “I'll kill you, Leonard Nimoy.”

(For good guys) If they were a villain, what would their evil dark lord name be?

Brienne: Probably a spin on her swords’ name, “Slayer of Oaths” or something that has to do with her mockful nickname, “Brienne the Beast” or “Merciless Brienne”. I don’t know, I can just see her killing everyone with no remorse if she were to be a villain.

Larissa: The Headmistress. She would be the hottest super villain. Holy Shit.

Lucifer: “Cute.” - Lucifer to this question.

Phasma: ….Captain Phasma

Miranda: This sweet bundle of joy couldn’t hurt a soul. With that said, she’d be a righteous and justice focused one. Only killing those that deserved to be killed. Earning her the evil dark lord name of “Angel of Judgement” cause she’s an angel of DEATH AND JUDGMENT.

Muffins or cupcakes? Explain

Brienne: Miss Gurl doesn’t even know what a baked good is. She had to make due with some dry ass bread made from water and flour during her time. HOWEVER, if she were to live in modern days, she’d love a gooey muffin.

Larissa: Ms. Sweet-tooth? She will take a cupcake of course. Larissa: “There is a proper way to eat these, you know?” She then proceeds to take the bottom off the cupcake and make herself a little cupcake sandwich.

Lucifer: Muffins. The frosting is too messy for them, they’re like: “dude what I can’t eat the frosting in one bite without this getting actually everywhere on my robe sleeves.”

Phasma: “Sugar is not in my strict diet, I must stay on top at all times. I can not allow myself a ‘cheat day’, as you call it”

Miranda: Cupcake, duh. BUT THE MINI ONES. bc she can just eat them in one bite like a giant!!!

Do they prefer arm day or leg day?

Brienne: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh, we all know. She needs some big guns to hold that heavy and large sword of hers, so arm day all the way BABY. Also, for Brienne, arm day and shoulder day is every single day with the metal she’s carrying around, yeesh.

Larissa: Neither of these options are suitable. If you let her pick, she will choose cardio.

Lucifer: Leg day in stilettos

Phasma: You just know she has the most defined legs ever seen in the history of mankind and she loves maintaining them. Despite this she’s more of a shoulder-back day kinda gal, wanting to keep that back refined as hell, looking like a marble statue of a greek goddess.

Miranda: She has once chanted “Leg Day!” over and over again when Robin agreed to hit the gym with her once. Robin didn’t join her again, but her enthusiasm for leg day remains.

What is the longest they’ve ever slept in?

Brienne: 7 am. And when she did all hell broke loose. Panicking about how she’d slept for far too long, when she was actually on bedrest for getting harmed in battle and was told to sleep for as long as she needed.

Larissa: 10am. It was when she had the flu, but she did fall asleep around 9pm so she was impressed with herself. Otherwise she gives herself until 8am to get up in the summertime.

Lucifer: What’s sleep?

Phasma: What’s sleeping in? You know that she’s up and at ‘em hours before the space cock sings the song of its people. She has never overslept a day in her First Order life and will wake up at 5 am sharp every single morning.

Miranda: Miranda has slept multiple days in a row. After a 12+ hour shift, she can sleep forever and not bat an eye. But once she is well rested, she is go, go, go. There’s no stopping her.

They’re on their way to the hospital when they hit a parked car. They can’t stop, and don’t have paper for a note. They drive away without telling anyone what happened. How do they ease their conscience?

Brienne: By finding that person in some way, apologize a hundred times and ask if she can be of help in any way to repay the damages. But, if requested, will pull out her coin pouch and flex her wealth. Or, they’d see that she was a tall, strong and lean Lord Commander and not dare demand anything, shaking in their little boots and saying how it’s okay and that there is no need to pay them back.

Larissa: She will make an effort to find the person, but if the car looks banged up already…. She may shrug and not stress about it too much, especially if no one will notice.

Lucifer: Have the person who’s car got hit killed by some horrible accident so that way they aren’t responsible for the minor accident because of the major accident overshadowing it 😋

Phasma: Conscience? What conscience? Nah, Phasma is a gaslighter all the way. “I didn’t hit your vehicle, you hit mine” *points blaster at them* “now give me the money to repair it”

Miranda: Takes a thousand pictures and calls a friend/coworker to find the car and exchange information. She will not allow her ‘crime’ to go unpunished. She must right her wrong otherwise she will be unable to sleep at night.

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aerequets · 1 year

Text

sugar, spice, and everything nice

ao3

rating: G

genre: fluff, humor

synopsis: After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?”

a/n: this is the first fic i'm posting that was not written in one sitting past midnight :D milestones yall! also i think the first fic which isn't twiyor centric? anyways i know some people love yuri and many, many people loathe him. i'm more on the neutral end, where i acknowledge he's a funky guy and if i ignore the weirder aspects of his love for yor and pretend its just intense attachment issues due to trauma etc then i think he's swell. i didn't really know how to write him since in the series itself he's used more as a plot device than anything else, and loid's view on him reflects that, so hopefully this doesn't feel too weird. also ending fics is hard im sorry 🙏🙏

anyways i've talked enough, one last thank you for everyone who leaves reviews and kudos, i don't get to respond to them but i do read them all and appreciate the love <3 enjoy

...

“Yooor!” Yuri sang as he shoved the door to the Forger residence open, bouquet of flowers in hand. “I got off work early so I decided to come… and…”

His voice petered out as he took a better look inside the apartment he’d just forcibly entered. The chihuahua girl and her polar bear of a dog were in the living room with some noxious cartoon blaring on the TV set. That damned Forger was in the kitchen, messing around with something that definitely didn’t smell good whatsoever. Most importantly, there was a glaring, offensive lack of Yor!

“Where is Yor?” He asked, accusingly pointing a finger at Loid who finally looked up from his work. “What did you do to her?!”

Loid’s eye twitched. What made Yuri assume he could just barge in whenever he wanted and find Yor waiting for him? “She got called out for a late night shift.”

“Don’t lie to me, you—” Yuri’s other senses finally caught up and he begrudgingly confirmed that whatever Forger was messing around with did smell good. Really good. And vaguely familiar? He sniffed the air deeply, trying to figure it out.

Anya looked up from her cartoons. “Are you acting like a dog, Unkie?”

“I’m not the dog here!”

Loid debated with himself as Yuri stood in the doorway, neither coming in nor leaving. The polite, Loid-Forgerly thing to do would be to invite him inside to wait for Yor to come back. That was what upstanding gentlemen, good members of society—far from the blacklists of the SSS— acted like; gracious, affable.

The thing was, he didn’t really want to.

He watched Yuri argue with Anya about dogs (“there’s an actual dog, and then you, chihuahua girl. I am a normal person!”) and groaned. Come on. What would Yor think if she heard Yuri came by and I turned him away? It would be no good if he displeased her. He had to do this for the sake of Strix.

“Would you like to come in?” He called from his spot in the kitchen, none too welcomingly.

(Doing it for the mission didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.)

Yuri was torn from his impassioned argument with a literal first grader. “Tch… I guess since I’ve brought flowers, I might as well put them in water,” he muttered. “No other reason!”

He came in. He split the gargantuan bouquet up into six different vases. He made some comments about how Anya’s cartoon was impossible according to the laws of physics. Then he just stood in the living room, trying—and failing—to act like he wasn’t peering at Loid’s activity in the kitchen, still loudly sniffing the air. Really, even if Loid didn’t have senses sharpened to a knife’s point, it would be difficult not to notice Yuri. To make matters worse, every time he turned back, Yuri would suddenly whip around and act like he definitely wasn’t loitering, the way they did in bad sitcoms. Is this the way the SSS carry out their own covert operations? he wondered.

Aside from Anya’s cartoon playing in the background, it was painfully quiet, the only sounds coming from Loid's activity in the kitchen. It seemed like Yuri wasn’t going to strike up a conversation, and Loid wasn’t inclined to, either. But then why is he just standing there?

After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?”

Yuri squinted at him like he was affronted at the mere notion. “Hmph. I guess I could.” The speed with which he made his way to the kitchen offset his haughty tone. He glanced down into the various bowls Loid had set out on the counter, one filled with sliced apples, another with some uncracked eggs, and a third with flour, sugar, and spices laid out, but not yet combined.

“Apples,” Yuri said, almost dumbstruck. He forgot to keep the scowl on his face as he picked up an aniseed from the third bowl and brought it to his nose. It seemed like he finally found what he’d been sniffing around for. “You’re making apple cake?”

“Close,” Loid said, surprised by Yuri’s flip in demeanor. “Apple streusel pie. Do you make apple cake?”

“Not me. But… this smell is…” Yuri mumbled, smelling the anise. “I don’t really remember, but this thingy smells familiar to me.”

“It’s star anise. And people often say that smells are stronger links to memories than visuals,” Loid offered. “Maybe it’s something you used to have.”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “Oh. Now that I think about it…” He held the aniseed up to the light. “I think Mom put this in apple cake once, on Sis’ birthday.” He cut a glance to Loid. “Apples are her favorite.”

Loid knew—that was why he was making apple streusel. But he was more astonished at the fact that Yuri brought up an old memory to him at all. Right now, with Yuri looking at the aniseed with an almost wondrous expression, it struck Loid how much of a kid Yuri was.

Yuri was only twenty years old. When Twilight was twenty years old, he was still new to WISE, training hard and getting his ego beaten down even harder. He’d thought he knew everything there was to know back then.

Could he blame Yuri for thinking the same way?

For the first time, Loid found himself regarding Yuri with something that wasn’t annoyance. Sure, the guy was more attached to Yor than superglue, but again, could he be blamed? He was a kid clinging onto the only thing left from his childhood.

Yuri turned to him with a grim expression. “I think I should take over this baking project of yours.”

Any feelings of tenderness were dashed in an instant. “What?”

“Apples are Yor’s favorite, and I know her best, so I should make the apple cake.”

“Apple streusel. ”

“Whatever!”

Loid resisted the urge to physically kick Yuri out of the kitchen. Don’t tussle with an SSS officer. Don’t tussle with your wife’s brother. Don’t tussle with a kid! “Are you forgetting the last time you came and destroyed the kitchen?”

“You may have won then, but I won’t back down from this fight,” Yuri hissed. Loid gaped, a headache building in his temples. Since when was this a fight?

“Is this round two?!” Anya’s voice suddenly piped. The two of them turned to see her standing by the counter, looking strangely excited. She’d abandoned her cartoons to stretch up onto her tiptoes to see the counter. “Papa versus Unkie?”

“We aren’t doing that,” Loid said at the same time Yuri declared “I’m going to wipe the floor with him.” They turned and glared at each other.

Bond trotted up to Anya and nudged her with his nose. She paused, turned to the dog, and then brightened up.

“I just thought of a way better idea,” she announced. “Let’s all bake for Mama together!”

“What?!” The evening was spiraling way out of control. All Loid had wanted was to make some apple streusel for Yor since she was working late so often and deserved a treat (because if she got too tired or fed up, it would reflect badly on their fake marriage). Now he was meant to bake with her hyperactive brother and his equally hyperactive daughter—two people with an entire lack of abandon in the kitchen?

“No way,” Yuri sniffed, and for once Loid wholeheartedly agreed—until he continued, “I'm gonna make such a good apple streusel Yor will forget why she ever married you."

“This is not your kitchen,” Loid said, patience evaporated. “You aren't making anything, not here at least.”

“What, are you scared?”

“I'm not going to argue with you about this—”

Anya sighed loudly and tutted as if she were an exasperated adult. “Mama will be happiest,” she said slowly, “if we all make it.”

That got both men to pause. Well, thought Loid, I am making this to cheer her up in the first place. Anya's not wrong…

Agh. If it makes Sis happier, then shouldn't I…?

Anya smiled in satisfaction. In the snippet of the future she read from Bond's mind, it seemed like everyone was getting along and Mama was smiling really wide, so Papa and Unkie had to stop fighting in order for that to happen. As fun as round two sounded, that future seemed better.

(Also, in that version of the future, everyone was too distracted and happy to notice Anya sneaking extra dessert. Double win!)

“Yay! What do I do?” Anya asked, eagerly hopping up on a stool. “Can I put the crumblies on top?”

“It's not time for that yet,” Loid replied. “Though you can help me make the topping if you want. Er, Yuri, if you want to get started on the custard, you can crack the eggs…”

“Right, eggs,” Yuri repeated before picking one up and smashing it into the bowl, shell splintering. Loid and Anya jumped.

“Not like that!” Loid cried.

“Even I learned how to crack eggs,” Anya unhelpfully supplied, leading Yuri's face to glow red. Loid felt a tinge of pity (he knew how Anya's words could burn firsthand) and cautiously asked, “Did you ever learn to crack an egg, Yuri?”

“It was fine to do it this way before Yor ate your food,” he mumbled in response. Loid was silent for a few seconds before turning to the fridge and pulling a fresh egg out. “This is how you do it.” He demonstrated over the bowl, noting how Yuri carefully tracked the movement. “Tap gently enough to make a crack in the shell. Then pull it apart like you're opening it. Yor learned this way too.” He threw the empty shells away before adding, “Not everything has to stay the way it was before, you know.”

A muscle in Yuri's jaw jumped, but he said nothing and instead set to cracking the other eggs, a little clumsy but decidedly better. Loid then got Anya to whisk the powders together ( “Gently,” he insisted, since it seemed Anya had some sort of floury vendetta) and he cut the butter in for the streusel topping. Yuri began haltingly asking for instructions on what to do next, which Loid was glad to provide.

Time passed like this, with Loid and Yuri slowly warming up to each other via baking. During the process of whisking, mixing, pouring and arranging apples, it seemed like Yuri forgot to be thorny with Loid, and Loid forgot to be cross at Yuri's presence. Anya, too, quickly forgot why she was helping at all and went back to watching cartoons, in wait for when the streusel would be ready for her to eat.

It was when a warm, cinnamon-sugary smell was filling the apartment and Loid and Yuri were cleaning up that the front door opened. Yor trudged in, tired and sore from the night's assignment and ready to collapse into bed. She froze upon seeing six fresh vases and a very familiar pair of shoes in the doorway.

The TV was playing one of Anya's cartoons, but the living room was void. Yor, weary and blood still pumping, immediately assumed the worst. Oh, no. What if Yuri came and got in a fight with Loid? What if he found out we're fake married?! Where's Anya? And—

She, too, had to pause and finally breathe in the mouthwatering scent hanging in the air. There was just something about it…

Abandoning all caution, Yor slipped inside, keeping her steps light just in case something really was wrong. But it smelled too good for there to be any real damage—was that sound logic, or was she just hungry? In any case, she made sure not to draw attention to herself as she poked her head into the kitchen.

“And for pots that have a lot of gunk in them, you can just boil a bit of water with soap and vinegar and wait till it foams. Makes it easier to clean,” Loid was telling Yuri. “Yor taught me that, actually—oi, Anya, don't open the oven yet.”

“Makes sense.” Yuri was scribbling something down in a notepad, punching down on the dots and lines. “I'll triple-star that one since it's a tip from Sis.”

“Is it ready yet?” Anya was alternating between excitedly jumping in front of the oven and plastering her face up against the glass. Bond, too, was sat next to Anya with his tail furiously thumping on the ground. “It smells sooo good!”

“It'll be just a minute. Come on, back up from there, both of you.”

Yor was so shocked at what she was seeing that she dropped her purse, alerting everyone of her presence. They all gawked at each other; Anya and Bond were the first to react, scrambling up from their spots.

“Mama! You're back!” Anya exclaimed, hugging her mother's knees. Bond barked and Yor pet his head absentmindedly, still trying to process what she was seeing.

“I am,” she said faintly. “Yuri…? When did you get here?”

“Sis!” Yuri said, also snapping out of his stupor. He sheepishly tucked his notepad away. “Um, a bit ago, I guess. I came to visit you, but you were out, and…"

“Did you guys bake together?” Yor asked, daring to hope. Yuri and Loid exchanged a glance before Loid smiled.

“He's a quick learner.”

"Loi-Loi is an okay teacher, I guess,” Yuri reluctantly added. “We made apple streusel. Do you remember Mom's apple cake?”

Yor inhaled, closing her eyes. The memory was fuzzy, but distinctly sweet, as if the taste of the cake remained. “Yeah. This smells really similar.”

“Yuri had the idea of adding cloves and cardamom,” Loid said. “It worked out quite nicely.”

“Yeah, it was my idea,” Yuri said proudly. Loid rolled his eyes but said nothing more on the subject. No wonder it smelled so familiar, Yor thought. She could hardly believe Yuri even remember the apple cake. Or that he'd shared enough about it with Loid that they were able to replicate some of it in the streusel.

Something warm and sweet was filling up in Yor's chest. Was it the sugar in the air? She breathed it in, cheeks apple red and sore from how widely she was beaming, previous tiredness all but forgotten. She hadn't realized how much she'd subconsciously wanted Yuri to warm up to her family before. Her family. His family now, too. It didn't have to be just the two of them.

“Ah—are you crying?!” Yor's eyes had gotten a little shiny, which naturally led to Yuri bursting out bawling. “I missed you toooo!”

The oven dinged and Loid pulled out the streusel as Yor joined them in the kitchen. As the adults got to chatting, Anya snuck around and victoriously stabbed a forkful of the piping dessert, blowing on it vigorously before chomping down. She grinned around her fork.

Victory was sweet.

#spy x family #spy x family fic #my fic #my writing #sxf #sxf fic #yuri briar #loid forger #twilight #agent twilight #sxf yuri #sxf loid #anya forger #sxf anya #yor forger #sxf yor #bond forger #sxf bond

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