#phoscest

[houseki-no-shitposts]

Kiss-starved.

[turvuren]

cAN I CAN I CANICANICANIIIII

CAN I ASK YOU TO WRITE SOMETHING #WHUMP ABOUT MOON!PHOSPHOPHYLLITE/LITTLE VERS!PHOSPHOPHYLLITE????

and at the same time I’ll share my thoughts on this topic, like, you can ignore them but I just wanted to share so yeah

Maybe Moon / Phos M/F uhoh

I think Phos barely knows Moon...Like, she saw him a couple of times but that was all🤔

Moon is damn tall. Imean...5'8-5'9"??????? And Phos, on the contrary, is a rather short huh, small cute and fragile >:з

I think they would have a small age difference, about a year..

In general, that's all I would like to say, lol, bro. You don’t have to include thoughts in general in the post if you do write something, but it would be great if they were in the post :0

lol i usually write rutile centric stuff 😭😭 I'm pretty indifferent towards phos but I'll try OK SO ive had this idea for a while... sibling phoses. i couldnt think of a way to write them with diff names without it sounding corny in eng, i liked genki phos anyways. like imagine his literal name being winter or moon... or by god, joy. lol

name should be self explanatory. genki - happy, so its the og phos. tsuki - winter. winter phos. tsuki - moon. thats it

cw incest sorry not sorry.

"What the hell is that fucker's problem?..." "What?" Phos shakes her head, gesturing at the man with the weird bucket hair and that weird prosthetic eye. Because no way in hell there's anyone with a natural white iris, right? And heterochromia doesn't work that way. Never does. Her roommate, some weird girl Phos doesn't even bother remembering the name of, just shrugs. "That's just how he usually acts. I think he's a third year." "Still a goddamn weirdo." Phos is messing with the vending machine when he comes across her again, and she just about screams in shock - until she gets a nice, long look at that stupid face. "...brother..?" "Hiya. Long time no see?"

There are 3 Phos's - at least in this small little town. The youngest, Genki, the middle child, Fuyuki, and the eldest half brother to Genki and Fuyuki - Tsuki.

See, Tsuki was a little bit of a brat. And a troublemaker. Genki had never met him, only told stories of him - don't ever turn out like your brother, yadayada, he had been a little bit more than just a handful after - "You're a murderer," Genki says, getting a bit scared now. "How...? Aren't you supposed to be in prison?" Tsuki laughs. "Parole, kid. Anyways, never really seen you in person. What's your name again...? Gen...?" "Genki. You're..." "Tsuki. Your beloved big brother-" "Hell no!" Genki backs away. "Look. Get the hell away from me. I've seen you, watching me these past few... everything! What do you want?" Tsuki laughs again, grating, grating sound against her ears. "What? Can't even look at my own little sister?" "Absolutely not. Go fuck yourself." "What? We just met and you're telling me off?" Genki shakes her head. "You're a damn criminal. I will NOT associate myself with the likes of you - now if you'll excuse me, I have CLASS-" He grabs her by the shoulder and presses his lips against hers. For a moment, Genki is a stunned, unable to react, but as her thoughts return she pushes him away. "What the fuck-?" "I'll make this quick," Tsuki cuts her off. "I'm single. Lonely. You don't wanna see your big brother-" "Cut it out with that big brother crap! You're not my brother, I only have one, and that's-" "Fuyuki? Oh, he's much more pliant compared to you, isn't he? But that's what makes me... endear you. You're so much more feisty, more personality." "I-" "Back to the point. Nobody likes me around here." "And what makes you think I do?!" "Well? We're family. You share my blood. My dirty, murderer blood." "That's not true. We're not even-" "Fully related? That's true. I guess you're only half murderer." "Cut it out!" "No." Genki grits her teeth. What an infuriating bastard. Not even anyone else comes close to this level of... of... "Look, Gen," Tsuki sighs. "I just want someone to spend time with little ol me. Don't you pity me?" Genki narrows her eyes. Maybe... maybe. He's... kind of making her feel bad. "Fine. What do you want?" Oh, but how wrong a decision that is.

Genki buries her face in her hands as Tsuki pulls away, cigarette smoke filling the hotel room. Bite marks over her exposed shoulders where the covers can't hide her shame. "Well? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dirty. So dirty. This murderer ... and her. "You did a great job there, sis. Don't mope about it. Poison isn't so bad. At least he died quickly. Painlessly." "Painlessly? Really?" They're not so different, are they?

[delineative]

[fic] growing without rest

growing without rest | Phosphophyllite/Phosphophyllite

“It’s winter,” the gem says, and it is, the lake outside glassed over with ice, white all the way to the tremulous horizon. “Don’t you have a duty to tend to?”

written for Sotong_sotong as part of Chocolate Box 2018

Houseki no Kuni | G | 675 words

Summer, a flood of gold through the arches. The clipboard in Phosphophyllite’s arms an unwanted but increasingly familiar weight. On either side of them the corridor stretches empty and silent, everyone else too far out along their patrol routes to be seen as even a glint in the sunlight, or ensconced somewhere within the depths of the school. The air is still, but the grass in the courtyard stirs, incremental, as though an unfelt breeze is ruffling over it.

“Oh, are you here as well?”

Phosphophyllite whirls around. A bright gold-flecked shock of cropped blue hair, one eye noticeably more luminous than the other, with an odd shellacked lustre. The gem’s standing barely an arm’s length from their right shoulder. Had they been there all along? Phosphophyllite frowns, trying to place the features, but the memory rears up just short of slotting into place. They’ve never forgotten an entire gem before.

“Sorry,” Phosphophyllite says, gesturing at the glossy agate-shell bands spiralling down their legs. “These are all new—I’ve lost a lot of inclusions lately, so I don’t really, um, remember who you are?”

“That’s alright,” the gem says, a small smile playing at their lips. “It’ll come back to you.” Their hands come up to frame their face, fingers fluttering on either side of their chin. “This isn’t mine, anyway, I’m just borrowing it from a friend! There’s a lot you’re forgetting these days, isn’t there?”

“Can’t remember what I’m forgetting,” Phosphophyllite mutters.

The smile flickers, widens, and—it isn’t alien, in this light. There’s something deeply unsettling about catching their smile crawl across a stranger’s face. The shape of it tugging at Phosphophyllite’s own mouth in recognition, and then the weight in Phosphophyllite’s arms isn’t paper at all, it’s a braided mess of gold and platinum splaying out from their shoulders. For a moment Phosphophyllite falters, can’t reconcile the too-smooth crystal structure of the alloy with the rest of their body, metal pooling useless and heavy in overlapping tendrils around their feet, and they’ve been here before, helpless, hopeless Phos good for nothing but watching, wide-eyed and rooted in place, too slow, too late. Then the molecules shift, slipping together, and they wrest the alloy back into some semblance of limbs.

“It’s winter,” the gem says, and it is, the lake outside glassed over with ice, white all the way to the tremulous horizon. “Don’t you have a duty to tend to?”

“I—oh,” Phosphophyllite says. There’s a weight at their hip, and when they put their hand there, their fingers brush against the hilt of a sawtoothed blade. Its heft familiar, imperfect, built for the grip of a broader palm. “But I thought—”

“The last thing they entrusted to us and you can’t even—”

Their arms surge out in a vicious rush of gold, snapping firm around Phosphophyllite. Strangely warm where it presses their arms flush to their sides, gold binding to gold, caging them in. They’d done this to Cairngorm, too, hadn’t they, that blind violent upswell of terror seeing only the pale sheen of their hair in the light, bright as a memory, as the winter sun. Grasping for something no longer within reach. Cairngorm’s voice floats lazily to the surface of Phosphophyllite’s memory: when you’re hurting—

The gem steps closer, the gold shifting as they move. Their lips close enough to brush against Phosphyllite’s cheek, just touching the corner of Phosphophyllite’s mouth, and like the stirring of a breeze Phosphophyllite feels the thinnest of cracks spiderwebbing out from the point of contact. “Every partner we have, we ruin,” they muse. “Don’t you ever wonder why?”

Phosphophyllite’s eyes snap open. “Then Cairngorm—”

“No,” they say. The gold drips to the ground in thick rivulets, falls away. They pull back. A softer set to their mouth, now. “Not yet.”

Beyond the arches the world is silent. The gem Phosphophyllite will become returns their gaze steadily, evenly. The shadows lengthen. In the distance behind them, a flicker of white, like light needling off somebody’s back, or the gleam of a pearl eye.