no bullies or bums, the chums are tens here

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

"Lecca la ruggine!" Flora sings out toward Mateo with the triumphant lilt of someone who definitely knows what she’s saying and absolutely butchered the pronunciation. Her accent is nowhere near as melodic as her brother or dad, but the sass carries it home as she tosses her curls over one shoulder with dramatic flair.

Turning back to Kaisel, her expression softens instantly, like she’s made of nothing but sun and seafoam when she looks at him. "If you get anything more on you," she warns sweetly, fingers brushing down his flour-spattered cardigan with theatrical concern, "you might just need to change." Her eyebrows bounce as she adds, far too innocently, "I could help with that, obviously."

His is the sort of affection that sinks into your bones, and with his hands bracketing her waist, the feeling of him makes her breath catch low in her throat. It’s stupid, honestly, how a simple touch can make her feel like she’s glowing from the inside out, all fizzy warmth and fluttery nerves. She wrinkles her nose, utterly twitterpated, the kind of love-drunk that makes her want to giggle and cry and kiss him until the sun burns out. "Noooo, definitely no bribes." Her voice is syrup-thick with affection, every syllable wrapped in adoration. "A few threats, though," she adds with a shrug, just as he leans in to kiss her cheek. She catches the corner of his apron as he slips away, her fingers dragging briefly through the fabric like she can’t quite help herself.

Settling on a stool nearby, she props her chin on her hand as Kaisel joins the dad brigade. The sight is too good, too sweet, and she files it away somewhere soft inside her heart for later. Maybe for always.

"Oh yeah, the eggs have been very bright lately," she agrees, smirking at Kaisel’s mention of the chair attack. "They’ve also started colour-coding my outfits. Every morning I find clothes laid out, and if I stray too far from their suggestions, my tea goes cold like...immediately."

the bastion

Remi lifts his brows at the sibling banter, the sound of Flora’s mangled Travelling Tongue drawing an unmistakable glint of mischief to his eyes. "La ruggine," he corrects mildly, the word warm with amusement rather than reprimand, as if she’s simply practising conjugation and not hurling insults across the kitchen. The grin that follows makes him look boyish as though some piece of their old life has slipped through the years to find him again.

Turning to Ronin, he lets a soft laugh escape, the sound threaded through the attuned bond like sunlight through water. This is going surprisingly well, he murmurs silently, his thoughts edged with affectionate disbelief before leaning in to press a kiss against the Knight’s temple.

Glancing between Kaisel and Flora as they describe the house’s temperamental spirits, Remi chuckles under his breath. "It sounds a little bit like what Sugar and Oria get up to," he says, smiling as the spriggan in question peeks out from behind one of his curls, her green glow flickering in agreement before vanishing again.

I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

gratuitous violence; unnecessary, satisfying, heartbreaking

Content to listen to the various flavours of chaos that unfold in the kitchen, Ronin manages to get some focus for a few minutes on dinner. Having browned off the ramphire and added the vegetables, he's toasted the rice in the pot and is finally adding stock to let it all simmer together nicely when the comment about the eggs reaches his ears. Raising an eyebrow, his lips part as if to ask if that's a euphemism, but he quickly reminds himself that he doesn't actually want to know.

Mm, it is, he agrees with Remi, leaning in to accept the kiss like it's something owed. But if they keep getting all over each other and looking like they're chewing sugar, I might lose the battle not to make it deeply uncomfortable. Smirking to himself as he turns back to dinner, he gives it a stir and covers the pot before turning to grab for his beer.

"I don't think Sugar has ever colour coded my outfit," he says slowly, reaching up to scritch the little dragon under her scaly chin. "She prefers to just accessorise." With herself, mostly. "Still, at least the house makes sure you're kept on your toes."

RONIN

// Got something inside, don't hide it, like dynamite ignitin' //

He doesn't know what she just said, but Ooohhh, burn Mateo seems fitting. It's also incredibly hot (hence, the burn). Something about the unfamiliar syllables strikes him like stone on flint. She's often fierce, and always worth watching, but this unknown edge to her—voice sharp, the music of it mangled but no less brilliant—it lights him up in a way he doesn’t stand a chance against. It's all he can do to keep the kiss that follows civil, never mind the horrible, awful idea of changing and all the assistance he'd need from her with that, which she tosses out like a sugar-coated threat to a man with a sweet tooth. He must've stepped away from her in a daze to be stupid enough to put the apron on now.

It's much easier for thoughts to drift when he's watching and listening to shrimp crisp in oil. After his contribution to what living in a possessed house is like, he find his gaze dipping towards her again and again. Every shift of her hair is a quiet kind of spell, the motion catching his breath the way sunlight does on glass. Each small tug that deepens the corners of her smile, a warmth he feels glowing beneath his ribs. That bright, electric shine at the edges of her eyes, a daring spark gathering like a storm about to break. Gods, she's incredible.

Fishing out the finished shrimp with a ladle and depositing them on a nearby towel to dry, he drops in a fresh handful. He tilts away, pretending to busy himself with some drawer or countertop so his back is to the dads who are terribly close for comfort, but alas he’s stuck at the frying post. He slips out the parchment and pen again, scrawls something hastily and surreptitiously, then tucks it away in his pocket with practiced mischief and returns his attention to the pot.

Kaisel

// Take the music, learn to use it, turn it up 'til your speakers blow fuses //

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

"La ruggine," Flora repeats mock-sweetly, dragging the consonants with exaggerated flourish that makes it sound less like a correction and more like a spell she intends to cast on whoever dares mansplain her mangled curses. Which, to be fair, is exactly the energy she’s aiming for.

It’s a good thing—a very good thing—that she doesn’t catch Kaisel looking at her the way he is. If she had, she might’ve called a time-out on dinner entirely, marched everyone out of her haunted, helpful little house, because there’s only so much she can take of Kaisel without demanding a taste. And the way he’s looking, gods, if her eyes met his right now, there’d be no coming back from it.

Instead, she turns her focus to the not-so-subtle silence unfolding between her parents, brow arched just slightly at the way they’re clearly speaking in that cosy, invisible way of theirs. She’s about to tease them for it—something about domestic telepathy and overboiling the rice—when the parchment in her pocket warms like a breath against her hip.

She fishes it out with the ease of someone who knows it’s going to wreck her, and oh, it does. She reads the words written there, and then stops reading entirely, because the words vanish behind the sudden flicker of memory-not-memory: Kai’s apron on the ground, her hips bare beneath his touch, the heat of his palms skimming over her waist as he lifts her, sets her down on the countertop, the way her legs wrap around him, the press of his cock—

She blinks, breath catches, and her cheeks flare in tandem with the bright flare of heat in her core. Her fingers tighten reflexively against the countertop, nails digging slightly into the edge as she forcibly reins herself in. She doesn’t look at him—won’t—because if she does, she might climb him like a jungle gym.

Clearing her throat, Flora says—casually, like she isn’t halfway to combusting—"I got some really good deals at the market earlier today." The words land light and breezy, but her tone is anything but. It’s a promise and a dare and a reminder of the phrase they’ve come up with for precisely these sorts of situations. She might not be able to touch him right now., but if he’s going to put those kinds of images in her head with family in the room, she’s going to make damn sure he suffers equally.

the bastion

Remi hums approvingly at Flora’s exaggerated pronunciation, the sound sitting somewhere between amusement and pride. "Molto bene," he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward with pride.

Sliding a hand into Ronin’s back pocket, he gives his husband’s ass a firm squeeze, leaning over his shoulder to peer into the simmering pot. The scent of chorizo and spiced rice mingles in the air, warm and heavy with comfort. Chewing sugar? he asks through the attuned bond, one brow arched in quiet laughter as his curls brush Ronin’s temple. That’s a new one. What exactly did you have in mind?

The grin that follows is slow, private, and full of the kind of affection that softens the edges of his teasing. Straightening, Remi glances toward Flora, entirely unaware of the parchment Kai’s just pocketed or the charged silence threading between them.

"Oh?" he asks lightly, catching the tail end of her market comment. "Anything good?" The question is innocently asked, though Oria’s faintly glowing eyes peek out from his curls as if she already suspects there’s more brewing in the air than shrimp and rice.

I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

gratuitous violence; unnecessary, satisfying, heartbreaking

The conversation just seems to die, replaced by unexpected nonsense about the market, and Ronin's brow furrows as he glances towards Flora from his sip of beer to see her looking remarkably hot and bothered, and Kai pointedly facing the other direction. Resisting the urge to curl his lip in clear discomfort (parents are allowed to think their kids getting it on is gross, same as the other way around), he promptly turns back towards the pot to focus his attention back on it.

What about this? His voice is soft in Remi's mind, but when it rumbles out into the open, it's charged with the sort of casual curiosity that feels sharp somehow. "So Kai," he says, smiling over his shoulder. "How long has it been since you've been sticking it in our daughter? You know... officially." Hookups notwithstanding.

"Not that I'm gonna give you the whole scary dad warning - I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt her. But it is my duty to tell you that whatever you do to her, I'm very willing to do to you." And that includes whatever he might be thinking about while Flora is blushing so prettily nearby.

RONIN

// Got something inside, don't hide it, like dynamite ignitin' //

That he can't let a smirk break out, confident it would escape in full force and give him away, is precisely why he stares down the shrimp with an intensity that matches the oil bubbling around them. Looking at her now would ruin him, as if every glance hasn't already torn pieces away. It doesn't just take a look though.

The phrase lands not quite right, but near enough to the intent that he stiffens, no better than a dog waiting for keywords to find release. He'd meant to ask her when they first arranged this just how precise it has to be, given the length of it affords that many more opportunities for words to stray. He's not unconvinced the answer might change on a given day, certain moments requiring strict adherence to the original, a test of memory and patience, while others would call the specificity pointless if it means another moment of delay. "You don't say," he announces brightly to her, still avoiding eye contact. That Remi cheerily wonders about it is no help.

Pulling the latest batch of shrimp from the pot to dry, his attention lifts up at Ronin's beckon. The pleasant, easy tilt of unspoken hm? faltering at what comes next. It's a slow descent, trying to work out if he heard the man correctly, chill creeping in to replace Flora's heat. His thoughts are just the what an odd thing to say gif on repat.

Thankfully, Ronin doesn't let the uncertainty linger. A simper breaks through the caution, 'brows lifting as he sets the ladle down and leans against the counter. "You're gonna kiss me goodnight and tell me you'll love me forever?" he asks with a with a chipper ring to the question. "Aww, Ronin."

Kaisel

// Take the music, learn to use it, turn it up 'til your speakers blow fuses //

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora grins at the back of Kaisel’s head, the expression blooming with mischief as he refuses to meet her gaze, his determined focus on the shrimp only making it more obvious that he’s heard her and is choosing survival over eye contact. She watches him like a flame watches dry kindling, the heat of her affection still simmering in her chest as she turns back toward Remi with a bounce in her step and a smile that glows from somewhere deep inside her.

"Yeah," she says lightly, her shoulder rising in an effortless shrug, the words delivered with all the innocent brightness of someone who absolutely knows more than she’s saying. "Definitely some good stuff." Whether she meant to leave it at that or continue the game she and Kaisel have been playing is rendered irrelevant, however, because before she can open her mouth again, Ronin’s voice cuts across the kitchen, and everything that was warm and gentle just moments ago turns sour on her tongue.

The words don’t register all at once. They hit her in fragments, the meaning lagging behind the sound, until it all arrives in one nauseating rush. Sticking it in our daughter. Her breath catches, not in embarrassment or girlish scandal, but in the kind of stunned disbelief that feels like being dunked in cold water without warning, the air sucked out of her lungs before she even has time to react. She doesn’t laugh, she doesn’t blink, she just goes completely still, caught somewhere between being deeply insulted and completely humiliated, the burn of it crawling up the back of her neck and settling behind her eyes before she finds her voice.

"What the fuck, Ronin." The words come low and steady, every syllable laced with sharp-edged disbelief rather than volume, her gaze narrowing as she turns to face him fully. Her eyes, so often bright and teasing, now shine with something colder and far more precise, her voice no longer wrapped in affection or playfulness but in something that borders on betrayal.

the bastion

Remi’s grin freezes, eyebrows lifting as the phrasing lands with all the grace of a falling anvil. He blinks once, then straightens, glancing between Ronin, Kaisel, and Flora as if following the world’s most stressful tennis rally.

Normally it’s Ronin who smooths his accidental abrasiveness—the Knight stepping in with that easy charm to soften whatever blunt edge Remi has unknowingly wielded—but this time, with Flora radiating cold fury and Kaisel valiantly pretending shrimp is the only thing happening in the room, Remi clears his throat and steps into the role with quiet determination.

"What I think Ronin meant to ask," he says gently, tone careful and diplomatic, "was how long the two of you have officially been together."

His brows lift in hopeful correction, a soft, placating smile meant to pull the moment back from the precipice. Beneath it, his hand drifts subtly to nudge Ronin’s hip. It isn't scolding, but the accompanying pulse through the attuned bond is very much one of please stop talking before Flora murders you.

I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

gratuitous violence; unnecessary, satisfying, heartbreaking

To Kaisel's absolute credit, he takes the prodding like a champ, and Ronin is already scoffing out a laugh as he turns to stir the pot (literally as well as figuratively, apparently). "I did say I was willing," he concedes. "Though I'm not sure if I'm at the love you forever stage yet, Kai. Maybe we can go on a date fi-- ow." The nudge to his hip comes almost on the heels of Flora's low and icy interjection, Ronin setting the lid back down on the pot and turning to glance over his shoulder.

Glancing between those gathered in the kitchen (and ignoring the way he can hear Mateo softly choking on a mai tai in what's either laughter or utter shock), he raises his eyebrows and opts, indeed very wisely, to follow Remi's lead. "That's exactly what I meant to say. Sorry for being crass - old soldier habits die hard. Easy to imagine you're back in the barracks instead of in mixed company."

Taking another long (and necessary) swig of beer, his voice betrays him as it laces through his husband's mind. Sorry, he repeats, was I supposed to pretend that the gOoD sTuFf Flora got from the market wasn't this kid's dick? My bad.

RONIN

// Got something inside, don't hide it, like dynamite ignitin' //

Perhaps if Ronin could turn into a ghoul as well as Remi, Kaisel would not have been so brave, but as it stands he's never quite found it in him to fear a man, as the scar on his back would attest to for better or worse. A woman on the other hand...

He nearly winces with the tone Flora sinks into, one he has heard before, and one that does not inspire any images of heat. As Remi slips between the ice, pulling Ronin away from the steadily rising humor between them, Kaisel does the same. His gaze finds Flora now, an attempt to grab her in a distant embrace, wordless but speaking just the same. A bid for her to steady, because they've still got this.

"I knew what he meant," Kaisel offers easily, a shoulder shrugging back like this is the least offensive thing he could have expected in locker rooms and barracks. The kitchen just makes it nicer, if anything. He pushes off from the counter, beer in hand, taking a casual drink from it as he sidles up alongside flora with a hand finding hers. "End of Leafchange, wasn't it Ro?" He glances back towards the dads, smile still finding its place like nothing is amiss. "You all just celebrated, ten years, was it?" he whistles out a breath, impressed.

Kaisel

// Take the music, learn to use it, turn it up 'til your speakers blow fuses //

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

It isn’t the words themselves that land the hardest—though gods know sticking it in our daughter will echo far longer than it should—it’s the way Ronin shrugs them off like they were nothing more than a slip of old habits that she's absolutely certain he doesn't have.

Flora stares at him across the kitchen, her expression slowly hardening with each second that passes, because what hurts more than the vulgarity is the realisation that he doesn’t seem to care that in making Kaisel the butt of his joke, he dragged her dignity through the oil right alongside him. That in this house she built, this room she filled with warmth and effort and people she loves, he could still talk about her like she was just some object that Kaisel's dick had come across.

Her breath tightens in her chest as a sharp prickle begins to burn at the corners of her eyes, the kind of ache that promises tears not from fragility but from the tension of holding them back. She doesn’t want to cry, not here, not over this, and certainly not in front of someone who’s just proven he thinks so little of her that he can use her body as a punchline and still expect her to smile.

But then Kaisel's hand finds hers.

It isn’t flashy, not some grand gesture to draw the room's attention, but it hits her with all the force of a rescue. His fingers close around hers and she clings back instinctively, the first quick squeeze shaky with emotion, the second more certain, the third sealing something unspoken between them. As she turns toward him, her gaze lifts to meet his, and though she has no idea how much of what she’s feeling he’ll be able to read on her face, she offers it all to him freely. The grief blooming in her chest, the sense of betrayal and disappointment in Ronin that chokes at the back of her throat, the gratitude that surges through her at the way he stood beside her with easy charm instead of retreating, and the comfort—gods, the relief—that he is here, steady and whole, and still hers.

His smile is soft, so casual it might pass for nothing at all, but the moment it lands on her it melts the frost that had begun to wrap itself around her ribs. The bitterness doesn’t vanish entirely. but it recedes enough for her to exhale and let something gentler return to her voice. "End of Leafchange," she echoes, her head tilting slightly as her eyes remain locked on his. The corner of her mouth curves upward, not into a smirk or a grin but into something tender. "It feels like so much longer than that, though."

the bastion

Remi slips an arm around Ronin’s waist without hesitation, drawing close enough that their bodies share one line of warmth. His smile toward Flora and Kaisel is bright and easy, the kind of sunlit expression meant to soothe without calling attention to the attempt. Through the Attuned bond, though, his thoughts reach Ronin with soft-edged bewilderment. Even if it was—so what? The tone carries no judgment, only gentle confusion, as if genuinely unable to fathom what part of an innuendo was worth fraying the air like this. Along the bond he sends a quiet pulse of calm, trying to settle the tremor beneath Ronin’s thoughts, offering steadiness wherever they touch.

As Kaisel answers, Remi’s expression softens. Talk of anniversaries pulls his gaze toward Ronin again, and the fondness that rises in him is unmistakable. Leaning in, he presses a kiss against the Knight’s cheek, curls brushing Ronin’s jaw as he murmurs, "It most certainly feels like longer than ten years." There’s laughter in his voice, low and affectionate, before it softens further. "It feels like ten lifetimes, maybe."

He tilts his head, giving Ronin that adoring look he rarely tries to hide anymore, the one that holds every version of their history; the bright, the broken, the rebuilt. "Then again, I still remember meeting you for the first time as if it was yesterday," he finishes quietly, thumb brushing Ronin’s waist with a tenderness meant only for him.

I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!