#Automatic Double Spring

[kanugonu]

Hunting Hobby® Fishing Rod Holder, Automatic Double Spring

Hunting Hobby® Fishing Rod Holder, Automatic Double Sprin

Upgraded trigger gear with enhanced safety. Strong springs (Double) can automatically adjust fishing rod bracket by pulling up the rod when a fish rising to the bait, which allows you convenient to get the fish and makes fishing become easier.

[luveline]

Would you be at the write a senario where Eddie and Roan spend a night with reader at their house? Maybe Roan's princess room reveal? 🙏🙏

yes!! love u!! I think this is like 3k ish but idk i wrote it in the app like an idiot <\3 ♡ fem!reader

Before the big move, you and Eddie are trying to ease Roan into her new home slowly. You'd worked hard on her room — more than hard. Nights spent covered in paint, other nights spent working overtime to afford the paint, the four poster bed, the big chest at the foot of it for her toys. You'd bought her a wardrobe, lots of new clothes to fill it, and a small mannequin outfitted in a pricey princess dress.

Eddie thinks you're going overboard, though he obviously loves you to death for the effort.

"You don't have to do all this," he'd said, lips to the back of your neck.

But you do. You'd never painted her nursery, never stocked up on diapers or formula or playsuits. You're bringing your girl home. Her room has to be perfect.

Tonight's the night.

You and Eddie stand outside of Roan's classroom. You're nervous enough to shake with it, hands wringing themselves sore.

"Relax," he says, worming a ringed-hand between them.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and take a step closer to him, shoulder pressing to his shoulder, his proximity a balm.

The door opens, and Roan's teacher greets the surrounding parents with a smile. She starts to call the kids up one by one.

You peek around her arm and your eyes find Roan where she's sitting with her friend Stacey P. They have their heads bent together, and you can hear their excited babbling from where you stand.

"That's her next to your dad?" Stacey asks, eyes half covered by thin blonde bangs.

Roan beams proudly. "Yeah, that's my mommy."

"She's pretty."

"My daddy says she's go-jus."

You wave at her, wanting to kiss her forever and ever for being the sweetest, funniest baby girl in existence.

She waves back until her wrist looks like it might fall off.

"Roan," the teacher calls, "come on, chick."

Roan springs to her feet with her small backpack in hand. Her big puffer coat protects your legs as she slings herself at you and Eddie.

"Hey, babe. Are you excited?" he asks.

She lifts her head and smiles with her little teeth and her tiny appled cheeks, shorn curls falling away from her lovely big eyes. "Yes! Let's go!"

"Alright, hold your horses. I still have to talk to Mrs. Lundy," he says.

Eddie edges away from you. You tug Roan gently by the hand so you're out of the way of the other parents and then pop a squat to be at her eye level, fingers on automatic as you align her zipper and pull it closed.

"I'm really excited for you to see your room," you confide, because while you're extremely worried she'll hate it you're doubly excited that she'll love it. Princess pinks and all the trappings.

Roan doesn't even know what to say. It's obvious she's excited at having a new room too. Whenever she's stayed in the guest room in the past, it's simply been just that: the guest room. Now it's her bedroom, permanently, and she knows that it's double the size of her old one. She doesn't know you've redcoarated it completely, though. That's the secret.

"I hope you like it," you continue, rubbing your hands down the lengths of her coat before taking her warm fingers into your colder ones.

"I love it!" she declares.

"You haven't seen it yet," you say happily.

"I loved it already. Do I get to have Lucky in my room?"

You squeeze her hands. "I thought Lucky could stay in the living room. His tank is so big."

Roan thinks it over.

"He's your fish too now, babe, " you say firmly. "You can see him in the living room whenever you want, okay?"

"Okay," she says.

You stand up because your knees have started to ache and luckily Eddie's making his way back toward you. He takes Roan's empty hand and the two of you steer her out of the side door you'd come in through and into the playground, where a mass of other parents and kids are exiting their own classes.

"What'd she say?" you ask curiously.

Eddie can't hold in a smile. "Oh, you know, things."

"Things!" you repeat, frowning at him. Roan's hand swings enthusiastically in your own. You don't have any patience when it comes to the good stuff. "What kind of things?"

He tries not to say it and ultimately fails. "Our girl's literally Picasso. She wants to submit Roan's drawings for the Indiana young artists collection."

"What?"

"It's just for schools in Indiana, but if she gets accepted they put her picture in a book and they send us a copy."

"Will you swing me?" Roan asks loudly, tipping her head back to garner your attention.

You beam at her because she is literally the coolest child on the planet. "Depends, what does dad think?"

Eddie grins and readjusts his hold on her hand. You follow his lead, and soon you're both gearing up to lift her on the next swing.

"One, two, three," he counts.

Roan takes a little running jump and you and Eddie use her weight to swing her forward off of the curb and into the parking lot. She laughs with every new swing, and any worry about hurting her arms is quickly eaten up by her joy as you make your way to the car.

She climbs into the backseat with enthusiasm. Beside her carseat are a couple of boxes of her stuff, not too much. You want her to have the option to unpack but don't want her to go back to the trailer and find it empty. You and Eddie are doing everything you can to make this transition easy for her.

She sees all of it and gets confused.

"It's for Y/N's house," Eddie explains, pulling her car seat straps around her chest.

You bite back a correction. Our house, you want to say.

"For you room," you say instead.

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" Eddie asks.

She doesn't answer. It worries you. You chew at the inside of your cheek and turn to your purse in your lap instead, digging through it for the first of her presents, a fake key to the house. You're worried she'll lose it, although it's more ceremonial than anything. You have a real one for Eddie, not that he knows yet.

"I have something for you," you tell her, fist closed around the key.

Eddie shuts the driver's door and turns to peek at what you're doing, clearly curious. You open your hand and offer up the key.

"What's it for?" she asks.

"For the house."

You can feel Eddie's gaze on the side of your face. Roan takes the key and you turn to your boyfriend, plucking his own key from your bag and passing it to him with a smile. "S'your house. Need to be able to get in."

Eddie smiles at you. He's a soft looking guy, soft jaw, slightly high cheeks. He still hasn't settled about it being his house — he's thrilled, obviously, but you know he doesn't want to sound presumptuous or cheeky by accepting it.

Well, you don't care how it sounds. If they're going to live with you they need to know how welcome they are, and how much you want this to work as a family and not just as a boyfriend with his kid.

Eddie steals a kiss that you're not expecting, slightly too rough, extremely boyish. It's pretty great, as kisses go; you can feel his enthusiasm.

The ride to your house is funny. You've done it yourself hundreds of times, but it's suddenly not just your house. You've cleaned more than you've ever cleaned before in your life. You've changed decor to be less single girl and more family, brighter colours, rainbow kitchen utensils. You'd even got one of those plaques for your house outside with the number, and, perhaps embarassingly, a stick figure family engraved into the wood. A mom, a dad, and a girl. There's even a fish bowl for Lucky.

Eddie stops in front of it in awe.

Roan had insisted on you carrying her. If she hadn't you might've asked her to let you anyways.

"It's us," Roan says, following her dad's gaze.

"That's us," you agree. You nudge Eddie gently. "You gonna let us in?"

He's uncharacteristically quiet as he turns the key and let's you in.

You drop your bag in the hallway and you and Roan peek up the stairs. Rather than show her your redecorating, you've decided to save the best until last and walk her to the right toward the living room instead.

"I made space for your-" Is it hot in here? You're ten times as nervous as you had been now you're inside. "For your table. For the princess parties. All your toys. And..." You tuck her hair behind her ear and grin at her. "I usually feed Lucky when I come home. Do you want to feed him?"

Doesn't she just? Kids go crazy for stuff like this and Roan is no exception. You walk her across your rug where the coffee table used to be and pick up the fish food one handed, letting her take the lid off.

"Big pinch, okay?"

She nods and gets a big pinch of fish flakes. You direct her to the top of the glass and slide a panel aside so she can sprinkle it in, and then you bend swiftly so she can watch Lucky swim up from the bottom of the tank and nibble at his dinner.

Eddie stays standing in the doorway.

You look at him over your shoulder and he smiles rather weakly. "What happened to your coffee table?" he asks.

"I gave it away. Thought we'd need the space."

"You didn't have to."

You don't want to wait in agony, so you ask, "Eds, are you getting cold feet? Have you changed your mind?" Reality is sinking in and it's too much for him, and he really doesn't want to live here at all, and this was just a big, huge, awful mistake-

"I think this is the easiest decision I've ever made. I didn't- I wasn't expecting it to be this easy."

You gawp at him. "Easy for you, maybe. I'm exhausted."

You're seriously only kidding. You'd do all the work you've done lately a thousand times over if it meant you got to have this, Eddie looking at you like you're something worth looking at, adoring, infatuated, and his daughter in your arms babbling to her new pet fish.

"Sh-sugar," he says with a wince. "I know, babe, I swear. And I'm gonna make it upto you."

There's no point arguing with him when he gets like this. You smile coquettishly and raise your eyebrows instead. "Yeah? Like, a back massage?"

"A really long one."

"Foot massage?" you ask, though you don't actually want one.

It melts your heart how quickly he says, "Obviously."

"Can I see my room?" Roan asks, distraction waning as Lucky the fish finishes his food and swims back down into his underwater castle.

You wipe her fish-food covered fingers before she can rub it in her nice dress. "Mm, depends. Do I get a kiss for it first?"

With terrible aim, Roan agrees to a kiss and leans in, lips landing at the corner of your mouth. You giggle at her and pretend to think some more, "Hmm... I don't know, it's a pretty great room if I do say so myself. Think I might need a kiss on both cheeks."

"Dad, help me," Roan demands.

Both Munson's kiss either cheek.

Your stairs feel imposisbly tall. "Was I supposed to get a baby gate?"

"She's not a baby."

"Well," you say, holding her closer still as you climb up the last couple of steps, "s'debatable. She's a baby to me."

"She's a baby to me, too," Eddie agrees.

Roan's door is closed but easily discernible as hers. You'd had another plaque made, 'Princess Roan' written in pink bubbly letters with rhinestones and glitter.

"Did you make that?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah."

"You did not."

"No, I didn't."

Eddie snorts.

You set Roan down in front of her new room and cross your finger that this works. That she loves it.

She looks back hesitantly.

"Open it," Eddie prompts.

Dad's approval granted, Roan reaches up and twists the door knob. It opens with a resound click.

She gasps as she enters, eyes racing around the room to take it all in. The princess bed with four posters and sheer pink and white curtains with silky sheets, the heart shaped rug, the matching vanity and closet.

The Princess dress.

She toddles up to the end of the bed and runs her hand over the big wooden chest. You've made sure there's a stepping stool by the side of the bed in case she needed it, and sure enough she can't get onto the mattress without it. The puffy sheets depress under her body as she throws herself into a starfish.

It's alarmingly quiet for a moment, and then she giggles.

You smile and make a small sound of your own, arm instinctive wrapping around Eddie's. He pulls it out of your hold to wrap it around your shoulder, lips at the back of your head.

He kisses your hair. You barely feel it, elation hot and fast in your veins.

"It's like a princess bed!"

She doesn't stay in bed long, too excited to touch and feel everything. Her hands are childishly careful when she reaches the princess dress, a brilliant creation of fake silk and beads. Her squeal is genuinely the best sound in the whole wide world.

-

You'd been so wrapped up in Roan and her first night that you'd forgotten it was Eddie's, too.

Obviously, they've slept here before. Eddie alone when Roan's with Wayne, the both of them, he's stayed in your bed more times than you can remember, but now it's his bed and you've tried to make it feel like that with new pillows, a new bedspread that isn't so girly, and a new nightstand for the right side.

After dinner — Eddie's infamous pesto pasta with all the trimmings, a stodgy masterpiece — and bath time with new bath toys, you and your boy lie in bed together, silent.

Roan had stopped moving around ages ago. You'd put her to bed, kissed her forehead, said a cheesy but extremely necessary, "Welcome home," and Roan had held your hand until you'd pulled away, like she really didn't want to let go. She'd waited for you and Eddie to close your bedroom door before she'd gotten back up, and you'd listened to her explore her new room and laugh to herself for a brilliant half an hour.

Now she's grown quiet again, you're counting Eddie's heart beat under your ear. His hands mess with your hair, no rhyme or reason to his affectionate touching.

"Is the bedspread okay?" you whisper.

"It's perfect."

"What about the thermostat? Is it too hot?"

"Perfect."

"Do you want another pillow?"

Eddie's hand creeps down your head and spread over your shoulders. "Relax, sweetheart. It's all perfect." You can hear his smile, the hitch in his breath when he silently laughs. "I'll miss your sheets, I think."

"I kept them. We can just put 'em back on."

"I have a lot of good memories in those bad boys."

You pinch at his waist. "Idiot."

"Alright, come here."

You lift your head, inquisitive.

"C'mere," he prompts, catching under your arms.

He drags you upward until you're face to face. You hold your weight off of him, a hand woven carefully into his thick head of hair. He looks quite serious, almost impassive beside the traitorous quirk of his lips.

You put your hand on his cheek and stroke the line of his bottom lip with your thumb.

"You didn't have to do all of this. Everything. But you did, and it's perfect." He swallows and covers your hand with his. "Thank you."

Easy to lean down and kiss him. You wonder if he can taste your relief as your lips part, nose tips crushed together as you wade inward searchingly. His hand moves down to your wrist where his fingers curl and cling as you kiss harder, your lips tingling with a ticklish sort of pleasure. He tastes like the mint of his usual toothpaste and he smells faintly of aftershave, more of himself, an unexplainable smell. You inhale hard rather than pull away, reluctant to sever from him.

His hand roves down, up and down again, his touch leaving behind a blooming heat.

"I love you," you say, too close.

He nips at your lip and forces you back and away from him, lifting his chin to redirect any further kissing as he catches his breath.

"Fuck," he says with a chuckle, "you're fucking spoiling me. Everything's fucking perfect and now you're kissing me like that."

"I'm gonna wash your mouth out with soap," you warn with little heat, words sticky with happiness. You feel like you've just eaten a spoonful of honey. Your throat is thick with emotion.

"You're gonna kill me," he corrects. "Kiss me like that again."

"I'm not kissing you like anything if it'll kill you, Munson. Plan on keeping you for a long, long time."

He turns his face into your hand. His exhale is hot against your palm, worse when he readjusts. Unlike his heated mouthing moments ago, these kisses are sluggish. He sucks a small half moon into the fleshy base of your thumb.

"I love you," he mumbles.

He takes your hand into his again and rubs it up his freshly shaved cheek, the skin soft and smooth.

"I love you too. So much it's- it's sick."

"They should lock you up," he says agreeably.

You drop your face into the crook of his neck and let him cuddle you and tuck the sheets tight around your back. He doesn't complain when you kiss at his throat, not aiming for anything else but this, these kisses and his warm arms holding you close.

-

When Roan strolls into your bedroom the next morning with the worst bedhead he's ever seen and Teddy the one-eared bear hanging from her hand, Eddie watches your face pull into a huge smile, his hand already held in your lap. "I think you slept almost as good as I did, little lady," you greet, voice scratchy with sleep.

She grins at you both and beckons for Eddie to help her into bed with you both. "Best bed ever!" she says through a yawn. "Thanks, mom."

You burst into tears. Eddie's only surprised you hadn't done it sooner.

-

more eddie and roan

[cy-cyborg]

Hi, I was wondering what sort of leg prosthetic would work well in a fight? I'm designing a magical girl OC with a prosthetic leg and want to incorporate a rather more pink and sparkly one into her magical girl form. I know you can get blades for running, but would those be better than a normal prosthetic for running and leaping around while bonking monsters with a magic stick?

Hey there, I think I remember seeing your question on my old account right? I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you!

So a blade probably wouldn't be ideal, but a hybrid might.

Blade prosthetics are very good for running, but are absolutely terrible for literally everything else, including standing or walking. Essentially, blade prosthetics are modeled off of digitigrade legs. For the non-furries on my page, digitigrade legs are what cats and dogs have on their back legs where it bends at the knee, then bends back the other way at a second joint before their feet.

[ID 1: A pair of black running blade prosthetics with yellow edges. Their wearer is out of frame but we can see they are running along a track. /end ID] [ID 2: A photo of a cheetah from the side. In the photo we can clearly see the structure of its legs, as described above. /End ID]

This is actually their ankle, and their "foot" is their toes. This arrangement makes these animals really fast and nimble, but it comes at the cost of lower balance. That's not an issue when you have another two legs to help keep you steady, but when you put that onto a human we start having issues. This is why if you watch any races where the competitors are using these prosthetics, they almost always fall over, especially the double leg amputees. Essentially, the shape and springiness of a blade gives you a massive speed advantage (so much so that amputee runner Oscar Pistorius had to be given disadvantages in order to compete in the Olympics with able-bodied runners) but it essentially moves the ankle joint and heel - the one our brains automatically know to weight bare through - up off the ground. The closest an able bodied person could get to the feeling of running on a blade would be to wear a pair of stilleto heels with the heal removed, and a spring on the bottom.

Hybrid feet though are a combination of blade feet and the regular feet amputees usually get. They are like tiny blades, but they usually have a foot-shell on the outside so you don't see it. These hybrid feet give you some of the extra padding and suspension you'd get from a running blade (which makes running/jumping etc more comfortable) as well as a bit of a speed boost, though not as much as the big ones, and they don't come at the cost of your balance, which you'r character will need when fighting.

Ossur's Flex foot range are a good one to look at for refeance, I used them when I was doing martial arts, as do a few friends of mine who are still doing it. This is a link to their website, it's got pictures of what they look like both internally and when people are using them, and I beleive theirs a booklet you can download on the page as well if you want to read into them a bit more. This isn't the only one of course, but it's the one I've used before:

I'm planning to do a breakdown in a little bit more detail about the different types of prosthetic feet and what they're good for eventually, but for what you described, I think this is what would work best.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Steven Zeitchik

Those comments sparked a backlash at the time. But many liberal Jews in Hollywood, media and tech identified with her remarks.

To some non-Jews I talked to, today’s news was just a case of a tribal rooting interest not going our way. “Oh well, you’ll get the next one,” went their vibe. But when a Jewish leader this popular from a state so necessary gets passed over, it becomes more than just a matter of losing a round of identity-politics poker — it touches an existential nerve.

Some Jews have also noted that in choosing Walz, Harris was simply trying to stay away from raising Gaza as an issue. But outside of antisemitic projection, why would it do that? The idea that a candidate would automatically want to talk more about Israel simply because he’s Jewish raises ugly tropes of dual loyalty, or worse.

Wary of seeming killjoyish, some liberal Jewish Americans also sought to find a silver lining — at least now Jews wouldn’t be blamed for administration failures, they said. They cited The Atlantic’s Yair Rosenberg, one of the most eloquent expositors of the double standards applied to Shapiro, who in a recent piece expressed some reservations about what a Shapiro vice presidency would bring.

“Anti-Semitism conceives of Jews as clandestine puppeteers who control the world’s governments and economies, fueling political and social problems,” he wrote. “A Jewish vice president would provide the perfect canvas for these fevered fantasies — a largely ceremonial figure onto whom bigots could nonetheless project all of their conspiracies, casting him as the real power behind the Resolute Desk.”

Rosenberg has forgotten more about the history of antisemitism than most of us will ever know. But this train of thought has always struck me as self-defeating. The response to fears of prejudice can’t be, “Let’s hide the Jews to prevent us from finding out about it.” 

A Jewish vice president would have been important not only because it would have signaled the latest progress of one ethnic group in America as thrillingly as Harris’ candidacy does for Americans of Black and Indian heritage, but also because it would have drawn antisemites out from the crevices, shining Louis Brandeis’ disinfecting light brightly upon them.

(That Harris’ husband is Jewish, incidentally, should do little to quell the unease. Jewish affiliations are proof of nothing except the reminder of past justifications. It calls to mind those who several years ago said Taika Waititi’s Nazi comedy Jojo Rabbit couldn’t be antisemitic because Waititi was Jewish. It wasn’t antisemitic. But that wasn’t the reason.)

Walz is a solid candidate with a strong record of speaking out against antisemitism. Just this spring he told Twin Cities PBS that, “I think when Jewish students are telling us they feel unsafe in that, we need to believe them.”

But Walz’s pro-Jewish bona fides don’t mean the decision to put him on the ticket — or the reaction to his appointment — can’t also be shadowed with antisemitism. Both can be true.

And so here liberal Jews again find ourselves, hopelessly marooned between a belief that Democratic policies are fundamentally better for our interests and yet worried we are not welcome in our own home — feeling a gentle nudge that perhaps we might find ourselves more comfortable in another place but unsure, in the end, of where else to go.

[wroteclassicaly]

Insecurities get the best of you, but your partners are there to help.

You watch as they marvel over her - every angle, each inch. From her head to her toes, Nancy Wheeler is beautiful. And clad in pale pink lace panties with a matching bra and white garters - she’s looks plucked straight from some ethereal garden. You cling to your own baby blue set, palms sweaty, lower lip trembling. It’s not that you envy your girlfriend, no.

But you don’t look like her and it’s never been more obvious than now, standing in Steve Harrington’s hallway, watching through the gap in his bedroom door as they trace her skin with timid, fragile fingertip grazes. They both fought over her years ago, loved her through what you’ve all went through. No one ever fought over you, probably wouldn’t even care for you if you didn’t experience things together. Are you just personality? Formally, completely off their radars?

It’s not fair that you aren’t communicating this, and having these thoughts only makes you feel more isolated, guilty. You swallow the burning lump inside your jugular and force yourself to step away, immediately working back on your clothing in the bathroom and shoving your lingerie into your bag. You’ve got a plan already. They deserve to have the time and not let it be ruined by your baggage, or by having to reassure your insecurities. Once you reach his doorway, toes sunk into the soft carpet, you gently rasp your knuckles, before feeling as if you’re intruding by opening the door.

They’re completely engrossed in her, and you’d hoped they wouldn’t notice, but what you can’t grasp is that they were also waiting for you, baited breaths and excited heart rates. When you step into the room fully clothed and all eyes find yours, they frown, faces falling. Steve is the first to speak.

“I thought Nance said you two went shopping together? Where’s yours?”

You’ve thought this stuff before, especially once the intimacy started, but it’s staring you in the face more than ever before, and you aren’t sure if you can handle the way you’re trembling, throat quaking, bile rising, making you want to throw up. You’re in love with them, you are well aware. You shake your head, tossing on a smile that is genuine for the guys, for her. Because you’d love nothing more than to let it be about her tonight, but it wasn’t the agreed upon plan when you and Nancy visited the Indianapolis mall, and they’ll figure out something is wrong if you outright refuse. You motion to your shoulder bag, tongue burning with your lie.

“I actually forget my outfit at my house. Remember when went there to take our bags, baby?” You smile and Nancy looks confused, but nods at that fact.

Her maroon painted lips part. “But I thought you put yours in your bag? Are you sure?”

You follow through with your lie. “I am. That’s what took me forever, I did my makeup and stuff, then I had to dig through my bag, but I couldn’t find it. I’ll run home though, okay?”

It’s an automatic response from your three partners standing before you. “We will all go.”

“I’ll drive, too,” Steve says.

You shake your head. “I can drive home and get it, I don’t want anyone to have to pause because of me. Just twenty minutes tops, yeah?” Instead of waiting for an answer, you back out and close the door, springing down the hall and staircase.

Your lungs greedily suck in the cool evening breeze as you close the Harrington’s double front door behind you, feet slapping on the pavement to help you reach your car. Jonathan Byers is hot on your tail, hand splaying out above yours before you can open your driver’s door. “Hey —“

You swing your bag into his torso without thinking, heart beat dropping into your ass and slapping into your throat, adrenaline surfacing, fueled by past trauma with the things that went bump in the dark. He catches it with ease after your second swing, gripping your shoulder. Once you realize you’re safe, it molds into you hitting him by accident, and combines with your current mood. The tears find themselves flowing freely, unable to be hidden.

He’s intuitive, having figured you out the second you stepped into the room and lied to them. You were his best-friend before even started dating Nancy. And then you fell in love with Steve Harrington when he got with her, only to end up in love with Jonathan and Nancy when they began dating. It was a messy thing. Everyone finding feelings at various times.

It did not diminish anything, however.

He cups your neck’s nape and brings you into his chest as you apologize. There’s not a point in lying anymore. His voice is deep as he says it, that soft way that reminds you of a warm fire, a cold, fizzy drink that makes you dizzy, and even the ice cubes that he’d pinched between his teeth to trace your body with at Steve’s Fourth of July barbecue. He helps you by cupping your cheeks and bringing you into his sights, thumb wiping away your tears.

“You think you can’t be honest about stuff like that with us?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the mood or make Nancy feel like I’m just being a bitch —“

“Well, she doesn’t think that, but she is worried about you.” A strong but soft voice cuts you off. Nancy is clad in Steve’s robe, making her way towards you with him.

Jonathan rubs his palms up and down your shoulders, everyone now huddled together. Steve settles behind you, Nancy at your side, fingers pinching your chin. “Look at me. Right now.” You want to cry when you see the tears in her beautiful blue eyes. She’s got your full attention.

The boys share looks over your shoulder.

“I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman than you. The way you make me feel every single day, the first person to truly see me. To see all of us?” She motions to everyone around with a manicured hand.

She finds yours and turns you towards her, holding your grip with strength. “You don’t think we also compare ourselves sometimes? It happens, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Not when we know what we have. It’s something that no one can touch, not if we keep it safe.” Her lips purse as she brings your entwined hands to her chest, nostrils flaring.

“I know we’re all weird as hell, but there’s one thing that I’m sure of too,” Steve chimes in. “It’s that without you, our goofy little puzzle wouldn’t be complete.”

You’re still looking at Nancy as he says it, his defined palms lacing with Jonathan’s as they settle on you. She speaks again after a few breaths. “How about we go upstairs to Steve’s room and I’ll help you into your outfit, and we can be our weird little puzzle pieces together?” There’s a beautiful smirk that quirks in the corner of her mouth.

You agree.

~*~

Nancy helps you into your set, lets you balance on her to slide on your garters, and once she gets a good look at you, with you also seeing her up close — there’s a ravaging inferno blazing, boiling behind both your irises, pooling into your pupils. There’s less hesitation as she takes you into the room and both men turn, jaws unhinged. She clings to your hand and you two walk together. Your doubt settles at the wayside, your body joining them onto Steve’s new California king, and nothing matters but your weird little puzzle, finally complete.

[bradshawsbitch]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↠ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 - ⅰ ↞

⁘ bradley bradshaw, the notoriously ill mannered head chef at the small franchise pub down the street, is quite content with his fast paced job. no commitments or obligations outside of his kingdom of sharp knives, pots, pans, prep work and a shot of jäger after a double. that is until a new waitress is hired, and suddenly his strict and rigid rules of no obligations or commitments starts to waver. . .

› pairing; bradley bradshaw x f!reader

word count; ~ 2.2K.

× chapter warnings; swearing, mean bradley, flirty jake, mentions of alcohol, general restaurant rowdiness.

prologue | masterlist | next chapter

“Alright, so every day it’s important to make sure the cutlery and wine glasses are polished–” 

John had been walking you around the layout of the restaurant, talking for about 40 minutes straight. All of the information he’d been rushing through felt dizzying to you. Your first job as a receptionist had been a bit more ‘hi, welcome - here’s your room key enjoy your stay’, and taking phone calls than the various skills apparently needed to keep a happy table.

John had just showed you the changing rooms upstairs, the storage room for booze and snacks that was just by the bar, the one dining hall in the back, the large walk in freezers and fridges (‘If you ever need to get anything for the bar, like milk for coffee’ John had rambled) and the two of you were now walking the main dining hall, where rows of tables and booths were placed strategically. On the right hand side of the room sat a quaint looking bar. 

As the seasoned waiter showed you to the main bar, he talked of alcoholic beverages in a way you’d never heard before. In college it had mostly been whatever cheap vodka you could find paired with sprite or juice to get the buzz going.

But as he showed you bottle after bottle of wine - describing them as ‘round’ or ‘sharp’, or at one point ‘flowery’ you could tell you had missed some crucial chapters of the ‘alcohol for dummies’ book. When John caught the bewildered look currently edged on your features, he started pouring little sips of wine into glasses, swirling them and having you taste.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake John, already trying to get the poor new girl pissed, eh?” you jumped as a massive figure turned up behind you at the bar. He had to be at least 6’7, lanky with a head of unruly black hair and tattoos all over his body - even up his throat and neck. Your mother would surely pass out should she see him. 

The new man had a sinister smirk on his face as he roughly made his way past you, slipping out a gruff “behind” as he made you move from the narrow path down the bar. John rolled his eyes before telling the new man ‘it’s crucial she knows what she’s recommending to the guests!’

“Alright, alright, John, don’t get your fuckin’ panties in a twist. You gon’ show her all the whiskey too? Lookin’ forward to seeing the new girl fuckin’ hammered trying to take orders from the regulars,” the new man sort of talked of you as if you weren’t there at all, shrugging off his leather jacket before starting to prep the bar for opening. John merely shook his head before finishing up his crash course to wine.

“That was Max,” John grumbled as he led you away from the bar “he has… issues.” he snorted out before glancing at the time. “I think it might be good for you to meet the chefs now. They’re usually done prepping the kitchen about now so they won’t mind.” 

Nodding, you softly bit your lower lip in anticipation - smoothing out the apron you had tied snugly around your waist. John reached out and haphazardly punched a large button on the wall in rapid succession, making the automatic door to the kitchen open rather slowly. As soon as that first spring opened up, the sound of loud voices rang out in the silent restaurant.

“Mickey, you fuckin’ idiot!” rambunctious laughter could be heard following that sentence “I swear to fucking god, you can’t cook your way out of a fucking paper bag!” the voice that was yelling was gruff and deep, sending a shiver down your spine as you walked down the hall that led to the kitchens. 

“It ain’t my fault Jake set the oven way too high for–” the sound of clattering made you jump, but John only chuckled softly under his breath, leaning towards you to explain “You’ll learn soon enough, but chefs are a bit of their own breed. They look and sound mean as hell, but they all love each other really,” a skeptic look crossed your face. The way that one man was calling the other ‘a fucking idiot who can’t use their fucking eyes’ did not scream ‘I love you, brother’ to you.

“Guys, this is our new waitress!” John called out loudly, making the three chefs stop in their tracks. You could barely keep your eyes from widening slightly at the sight. On the far right, closest to you, stood a man with fire in his eyes. He was dressed in all black chef's robes, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a few curls sticking out of the protective black hat he wore. A thick mustache was neatly trimmed, and the tan of his skin made him look all the more warm as his brown eyes narrowed at the sight of you. He was unfortunately so gorgeous that your breath hitched tightly in your throat. Although, you were not entirely sure that your shortness of breath wasn’t due to the intensity of his looming gaze.

The other two were standing a bit to your left, one a darker blonde, his white robes stretching to accommodate a well muscled upper body, green eyes alight with mischief, and a small smirk on his lips. The other had longer, dark curls, a hint of facial hair and a kind expression on his face as he held what looked like burnt bread in his arms. 

“This is Bradley, the head chef,” John pointed to the man closest to you and you offered him a shy smile, to which he only furrowed his brows. “That’s Jake” John pointed to the blonde adonis further into the kitchen “He treatin’ you okay, cookie? If he’s being mean to ya you know you’re always welcome in here,” his intense gaze and flirty smirk made you avert your eyes, suppressing the smile that threatened to grow at the charming words and the twinge of accent he bore.

“And this is Mickey, you’ll usually find him working the cold side of things,” Mickey offered you the first sincere smile you’d seen all day, and his greeting left you a little relieved. 

“Jake, don’t fucking encourage the girls to hang around in the kitchen man. They’re needed on the floor.” Bradley grumbled sourly before turning to you, letting amber eyes slowly work over your body.

“You ever waitressed before, Flounder?” Bradley was looking at you now, leaning heavily on the large palms he’d splayed on the countertop. Blinking, you suddenly struggled to find words. Those brown eyes of his were staring straight into your soul, and you were finding it a little hard to breathe all of a sudden. 

A small “No,” was all you managed, and Bradley sighed in disappointment. Shaking his head he looked towards his co-worker “Mickey, teach the poor girl how to carry plates,” before he moved away from his spot, grumbling as he made his way towards the grill “Seresin, you’re up front today I’ll take the grill.” Jake frowned, bewildered “But we said before that I-” 

“Fucking man the window, Jake!” Bradley barked out and Jake moved up front instead “Fucking anger management issues on that one,” he muttered under his breath as he checked for any incoming orders. “You’ll have to excuse his manners, cookie - he was raised in a barn.” Jake winked at you before you were ushered towards Mickey.

That first evening service felt like a whirlwind, shadowing John as more employees came into work. Some you found yourself drifting towards, like the sweet girl called Thea, whom you learned was a couple of years older than you, but was kind, witty and told you not to hesitate to ask for her help should you need anything. Some were less sweet and seemed rather inconvenienced by the fact that you were new. You tried your best not to let that sting. 

Walking into the kitchen, you heard the frantic ring of a bell as Bradley called out “Plates’ are almost dead, fucking get these out - now!” Mickey had tried to show you how to carry three plates before, and you’d managed, but the plates were also cold and empty at that point - not warmed, scorching and heavy with food. 

“I– um–” you scrambled a bit, reaching to take two out of three and come back “No. All three. We don’t carry out just two and leave one guest waiting” Bradley barked out from the grill. Jake looked sympathetically at your embarrassed face, his forehead tinged with sweat as he worked fast at plating. 

“Go on, Flounder - don’t just fuckin’ stand there!” Bradley was moving fast, his pincer flipping meat and putting some to rest by the side to reach the perfect temperature for serving. Indignant tears welled in your eyes against your will, and Mickey took pity on you. 

“Don’t be such a fuckin dick Rooster, it’s her first day!” looking over your shoulder, you noticed Mickey moving from his spot of prepping entrees and desserts to stand at your side. “It’s alright, I’ll take one out with you,” Bradley glared at Mickey as the two of you made your way out to the waiting table. 

“Don’t mind Bradley - he’s not so good with new people. He’s nice once you get to know him,” Mickey comforted on your way back towards the kitchens, patting your back consolingly as you gave him a somber look. You sincerely doubted Bradley would ever be nice to you. It hurt even more when you came to the realization that you for some reason really found yourself wanting him to be nice to you.

It had been a couple of weeks since you had your first overwhelming shift at the restaurant, and the overwhelming exhaustion you felt those first shifts had subsided. You now felt comfortable carrying three plates, had successfully managed a full station without too much help, and had managed to make really good friends with Thea. 

Thea was a whirlwind, always a happy smile on her face as she dealt with guests. The only place she did not have a happy smile plastered on her face was in the kitchens. She was ruthless with the chefs, and shockingly (to you) they all seemed to respect her for it. You remembered one evening when you were waiting on your entrees in the kitchen when she stormed in, breaking the invisible line of waitress area and kitchen area, stepping up to the grill to Bradley.

“Hey, what the fuck are y-” Bradley couldn’t even manage his whole sentence before Thea laid into him. Widened eyes stared at the young woman who talked to Bradley as if he wasn’t the scariest, grumpiest chef in the kitchen. “You’ll walk your ass out there and explain this yourself, Bradshaw. I ain’t telling them that you can’t find it in you to re-do their steaks because you think they are medium rare!” 

“They fucking are medium rare! They’re fucking morons, Thea, they don’t fucking know it’s not how the damn piece of meat looks - it’s the tempera–” Thea cut him off loudly “And I don’t give a fuck if this piece of meat is colder than a witches tit or hotter than hell, Bradley! They are yelling their asses off at me, for something you refuse to do. So go on, go out there and tell them why you’re being a stubborn fucking mule about a piece of meat, because I sure as hell ain’t going to take that for you.” tense silence stretched between the two of them as you looked on, eyes wide and jaw slack. You’d never heard anyone who wasn’t Jake or Mickey yell at Bradley like that. 

“I’ll re-cook the damn fucking steak. I have too much shit to do to prance around on the fuckin’ floor,” Bradley grumbled, slamming an under the counter drawer open. “Now was that so fucking hard, hot headed piece of–” Thea mumbled as she made her way out of the kitchen, presumably to tell her table they were getting new food soon. 

Turning back around, Nathaniel looked about as stunned as you felt “Uh– two créme brulees for table 48,” he stuttered out, pushing them towards you. You could only utter a meek ‘thanks’ before scurrying out of the kitchen. It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bradley always called Thea and all the other waitresses by their real names, only ever calling you ‘flounder’, ‘bambi’ or even ‘piglet’ after the nervous character in Winnie-the-Pooh.

Bradley watched as you hurriedly made your way out of the kitchen, your soft voice echoing in his head as your form disappeared behind the closing door. Ever since you stepped your foot into his kitchen he knew he was fucked. Groaning, he swore loudly as he slammed the drawer shut again. Leaning his back against it and exhaling loud and long.

“Can I head out for a smoke, chef?” Nathaniel asked warily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Bradley closed his eyes, looking up towards the fans in the ceiling. “Yeah, man - do whatever the fuck you want,” he grumbled, letting his hands rub tiredly over his face. 

It was better this way, he argued with himself, trying to get the image of your wide eyes out of his head - tried to forget how you seemed to shrink a little whenever he looked at you. Definitely tried to ignore the burning sensations of jealousy that overwhelmed him when he saw you happily greet Mickey with a hug, or heard Jake calling your name as you entered the kitchen - drawing you out of your shell by making you laugh. It was better this way. 

Better not to see you turn hard, better not to see you lose yourself to the harshness of this whole circus. Better not to ruin you more than he already was. To not ruin you as he had her. You didn’t deserve that - hell, she hadn’t either - but you especially, did not deserve that. So Bradley would do what he did best; bark and bite and keep you at an arm's length, going to the club next door to get his fill with whoever was feeling pent up enough to take him home during the nights he felt lonely after work, shooting Jäger’s to chase that god awful feeling of guilt out of his chest. 

It was better that way. 

next chapter

eeeeep!! here she is!! how are we feeling?

I'd like to re-iterate that this is largely based on my own experiences as a waitress, and that some may not agree with my portrait of the profession. I also want to say that I have never watched The Bear, but am glad for the people who see similarities and enjoys it! 🥰

also, most of the ocs are based on co-workers I've had hehe, so if anything feels confusing, please let me know!

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 20: Robotics

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Mikey moans as he wakes with a headache. His nose is stuffed up and his limbs are plagued by a dull ache. Donnie is by his side in an instant, smiling at him as he presses a glass of water to his lips, forcing him to hydrate.

"Good morning, Angelo," he says.

Angelo? His name is Mikey...

"How are you feeling?"

Mikey groans wordlessly at him.

"You ready for some breakfast?"

"Mikey doesn't get out of bed today," he announces grumpily, pressing his face deeper into the pillow.

Donnie rubs his cranium, pressing his palm against Mikey's forehead as he checks for any remaining fever.

"Hmm. I guess you're right, you won't be getting out of bed today," Donnie states, placing the cup on a side table and turning the lights off. "You get some more rest and join us whenever you're ready, okay?"

Mikey nods with a yawn, shimmying deeper under the blankets and purring with contentment.

"Leo or Raph will be in with your memory medication from Draxum. But other than that, I guess nothing eventful or interesting will be happening today," Donnie says as he walks out of Mikey's room.

.

.

.

Professor Honeycutt is sitting in his lab office, silently working on a new droid design. This one is different from the other machines he's been forced to build while employed here. All the other designs were weapons, or used to create chaos, or made to hurt the experiments (with one in particular in mind). But this one will be a sentry guard. A protector. SENTRY AUTOMATIC LIFESAVER. He's nicknamed it 'SAL' for now.

The body of the machine is finished for the most part. He's still working on the arms, trying to create a spring mechanism that can cause them to stretch to extreme lengths without breaking. He'd also like to add the same kind of metallic-elastic springs to the legs, even though he's already finished with those. But hey, he doesn't mind working on them again! Anything to avoid the real thing that's stumping him.

Honeycutt is struggling with the robot's AI, specifically its moral center and higher reasoning. He never got around to finishing the moral center for the last AI he built, and now she's starting to unnerve him. He can program the three laws of robotics, but he knows that sometimes you need to make a decision that disregards logic. He's seen movies. They may be inaccurate, but he'd have to agree with a few of the points they make.

So he's procrastinating on the brain. Well, there is a brain in the head, but it doesn't have any information in it, apart from some basic codes for movement and functions.

Most days, Zayton doesn't even know why he's here. He joined the TCRI for the funding, plain and simple. The cause sounded good, and they would help pay for all his robotics and engineering. He had all the money and freedom he could ever want to 'play with his toys'. What could be better? He should have known it was too good to be true. After a month of getting to build whatever he wanted in a secret bunker off the coast of Buffalo, he was called in to help with some work in NYC. And now... he's stuck doing this. Building ice blasters and dart guns and training robots that fight you to the death.

He's a man of peace.

But lately, he's been confusing 'peace' with 'staying out of it'.

Honeycutt's phone buzzes. It's probably another order from Timothy, or Chaplin wants help with the A.LP.H.A. device, or something just as irritating and dangerous.

"Hello, this is Professor Zayton Honeycutt speaking."

"Hey, doc, it's Bishop."

Honeycutt drops his tools and quiets his voice.

"Ah, John. H-how nice to hear from you again... how are the plans for your -- ahem, 'mother's recovery'?"

The two of them have come up with a special code to talk about Mikey without attracting attention.

"We still don't have any information about her condition. But I think she's still with her 'extended family'."

Mikey is still hidden in the sewers with the other mutants like him.

"Have the doctors found anything?"

"Not to my knowledge. But I heard that they did an 'impromptu check-up', and I should be hearing more about that later."

They sent drones into the sewer tunnels. As to be expected.

"When do you suppose that they'll tell you the details of that check-up?"

"No idea. I get the feeling that I'll have to make some calls to a few nurses..."

"Well, if it helps, I could ask around."

Bishop's voice goes quiet.

"...Doc, I don't know if that's wise..."

"Why not? I built those dro-- ahem, I mean, I know a few nurses in the clinic. I could get some answers for you."

The line stays silent for a moment before Bishop answers.

"...Okay, Doc. Just... be careful."

"Of course!" Honeycutt chuckles nervously. "Don't even worry. But, eh, speaking of your mother, I was wondering how the 'quilt' she's sewing is coming along?"

The 'quilt' is code for their side project. Most of the experiments and actions of the scientists here are unsanctioned and illegal, covered up under all the red tape and paperwork and made to look as though they are for the 'greater good'. Bishop and Honeycutt have been working to find evidence of all the mutations and genetic experiments and legal workarounds that they've done here.

"I've been getting some more 'thread' for her."

Thread = Paper trails.

"Does she need any 'fabrics'? I know she was looking for some nice patterns, last time we spoke."

Photographic evidence of the mutated animals or krang parasites.

"She could use some later. But for now, she's worried that she might be overspending."

Bishop is afraid that they've attracted attention, he wants Honeycutt to lay low.

"Okay then. Tell her I said hello."

"Will do. And Doc? Really, be careful. I don't want you getting sick like my mother."

"...I thank you for the concern, John. It's very decent of you. But I should be fine. I'll look into the... ahem, check-up results for you."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

The call ends.

Honeycutt exhales loudly, hoping that by the time all the used air in his lungs escapes him, he'll have also rid himself of the stress that lingers in him.

It doesn't.

Honeycutt lets S.A.L. rest on his desk. He stretches, cracking his spine and wrists before he walks out of his private workshop and into the halls. He could use an extra cup of coffee. He knows that he should try sleeping for once, but he can't really waste time right now. He has so much work to do, and now that Bishop recruited him he's busier than ever. It's a worthy cause and a noble sacrifice that he's more than willing to make.

Honeycutt walks through the halls, flinching at every door that opens and hurrying along his way. Every scientist that greets him with a wave or conversation starter, he simply hustles by them with a nod. He's never felt comfortable in this complex before, but now he's constantly unnerved.

Honeycutt shuffles into the elevator, down to the cafeteria to get a quick cup of joe, and back up to the security room. He considers stopping at the animal sections to see if he can grab any blood samples or photographic evidence... but Bishop is concerned, and the man has a surprising track record when it comes to following his gut. Maybe later... if he can find an excuse. A technical professor suddenly interested in genetics and bloodwork? Suspicious... but, maybe he can come up with some link between his work and the genetic studies... a robot that tracks DNA? Perfect! Only issue would be whether or not they'd buy it. A few might. But the big wigs in charge would ask questions. And Timothy and Chaplin might be against it, saying that none of the experiments can keep up against his tech thus far, so making a robot that advanced would be fruitless... he'll have to think of something else...

Prof. Honeycutt arrives at the security room, takes a quick swig of his black coffee for good measure, and then opens the door.

"Ms. Campbell," he greets flatly. "How are things?"

"Events are transpiring at a typical function and rate," she responds with a similar tone. "And I am working at full capacity, if that was what you were asking about."

"Thank you for the update," he says, moving beside her to watch the cameras. "How's the search for the escapee?"

"Still underway, but halted for the time being. Our drones discovered some odd wreckage in the tunnels, what looks like the ruins of someone's living quarters."

"Someone living in the sewers?" Honeycutt asks, feigning surprise.

"I detect sarcasm, unless I am mistaken," Ms. Campbell says, turning to look at him. "You knew beforehand about this?"

"Word gets around," he replies nervously. "I just wanted to know if it was true that there was something there. I'd heard that we were sending in drones -- and you know New York gossip, everyone thinks that there's some mysterious society of monsters living underneath us. And what with those mutants we've seen... I figured that perhaps one of them had made a shelter down there, possibly even our own little Mikey!"

Honeycutt realises that he's been prattling. It's a nervous trait. Ms. Campbell knows that. She can detect all sorts of tics and traits and habits and quirks. She has an incredible poker face, and she is a living lie detector.

She watches him, eyes analyzing every bead of sweat he creates.

"You are nervous."

"Q-quite so," he chuckles. "I'm just... concerned for Mikey."

That answer seems to satiate Ms. Campbell... for the moment. She turns around and starts to type something on the keyboard, and one of the screens plays glitchy feedback from a drone.

"Perhaps this will put you at ease, father," she says. "We found him."

Honeycutt watches in shock as a drone flies around the wreckage of a large opening in a sewer, complete with burst pipes, crumbled archways, and even broken down arcade games, though glory knows where those came from. On the walls are smeared paintings and spraypaint, words like 'cowabunga' and 'turtle power!' are scrawled across the stonework along with smiley faces, drawings of interesting action heroes and poses, and... what looks like portraits of turtles dressed as superheroes or ninjas. The drone flies through after looking around, hurrying down a corridor. After a several minutes of endless catacombs and passageways, it comes up to a light where the tunnels meet an abandoned section of the subways. The drone continues following a glow that leads to a secret hidden entrance. The drone presses itself up against the wall, waiting. After a few minutes, someone emerges from the door, peeking around. It's not Mikey, but...

"Is... is that...?"

"Another mutant creature like the escaped experiment, yes."

The creature looks down the halls nervously, before looking up behind him and shouting in fright as something dark green with yellow spots drops down on top of him. A flash of blue and the two vanish completely.

"What was that?!" Honeycutt yells, almost spilling his coffee as he moves closer to the video feed.

"Undetermined. But there have been reports of vigilantes that 'pop in and out' of crime scenes, fighting against the mutant outbreak. It is possible that he is one of said vigilantes," Ms. Campbell says. "And that is not all..."

Ms. Campbell speeds the playback to a moment several minutes later, when a human boy comes out of the entrance searching for something. He sees the drone and shouts, activating a high-tech chainsaw device and swings it at the drone, slashing it off the wall and shattering it completely.

"That was a human," Honeycutt says with hushed astonishment.

Bishop said that Mikey was with his 'family', so he sort of knew about the other mutants... but that was a human kid!

"I have been trying to run facial recognition on him to no avail," Ms. Campbell says. "He seems to have no identity."

In her voice, there is a twinge of disappointment, or rather, irritation with the failure. It shouldn't surprise him, he made her with the intention of resembling human in almost every aspect, so her exercise of emotions is not unprecedented. But the attitude, the dark personality lingering under the fake skin and steel grey eyes... that frightens him. Her AI was never completed, at least not in the ways he wanted. But she seems to be growing, evolving, learning. He didn't put that in there.

"Have... have you sent any more drones?" he asks, swallowing the nervous pit in his stomach every time he's with Ms. Campbell.

"Yes. But there seems to be some kind of electromagnetic field surrounding the area now, and any drone that crosses the threshold deactivates and short-circuits."

"Do we know why?"

"They mutants must be protecting their habitat," she states, going back to the original security footage. "But now that we know where they are, it is only a matter of time before we can discover more about their numbers and motives."

Honeycutt watches the screens at the bottom of the video stack, the ones with live drone feed. Three new devices are being sent to the previous drone's last known location. They fly up until a certain point before the feed warps into static and the drones crash, their live recordings die out with a high-pitched whine and crackle.

"I suppose I should contact Dr. Chaplin to make a new plan for the onset for the escaped experiment... Unless you have some theories, father?"

She still calls him father. All his creations tend to do that, he's noticed. But he's not sure how to feel about her calling him that. It feels eerie that she does, but the day she stops referring to him as such will be even scarier.

"I... couldn't say... p-perhaps I could create a device to counter the firewall?" he suggests. "Or maybe we could--"

The screens suddenly all glitch in unison, flashing quickly before turning a single shade of purple. Each monitor works in perfect harmony to create a large, singular image.

Professor Honeycutt steps back in shock. Ms. Campbell tilts her head slightly.

A series of words appear on the screen.

LEAVE US ALONE.

LEAVE US ALONE.

LEAVE US ALONE.

"Ominous," Ms. Campbell states calmly. "And quite interesting. I cannot say that the EPF has ever had any hackers before..."

The screens go dead, the room engulfed in darkness.

Before Honeycutt can say anything, a soft grey pixely static shows up on the screens, brightening the room again in time. The camera feeds return -- save for the drones, which still give no output nor input.

"I would say those vigilante mutants could be classified as hostile, wouldn't you agree?" Ms. Campbell says, turning to Honeycutt.

"Er, um, perhaps," he says nervously, loosening his shirt collar. "But you know me, I prefer to play the Switzerland of these mutant affairs. I'd rather stay out of it. I might suggest we do the same with these drones spies --"

"Why?" she asks, suspicion in her voice.

"Well, see... these mutants see us as an invading force. When an animal believes its habitat to be encroached upon, it will go to great lengths to defend it. These mutants may be doing the same thing, which could end badly for us..."

Ms. Campbell thinks it over.

"They have already fled one habitat," she responds. "So, in your scientific understanding, would they choose fight or flight over this new habitat they've created?"

"I-I'm not sure, animal science is not my area of expertise, but --" he swallows. "-- b-but I would assume that they would prefer to keep their new abode. Considering the lengths they've gone to thus far, they will not give it up easily."

"Hmm. Then this shall be a challenge, eh, father?"

Ms. Campbell smiles cruely.

He's never seen her do that.

"Q-q-quite so," he mumbles as he stumbles out of the room. "I should head back to work now... s-see you later, Ms. Campbell..."

His hand shakes, splashing the coffee in his cup. He's had enough of this for one day... he needs to call Bishop.

Honeycutt may not have the gut instincts that Bishop does, but something is telling him that things are about to get a lot more dangerous...

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[oneknightstand-if]

@necrolich666 replied to your post “On a completely unrelated note, did you know that...”:

This is obviously just a random funfact and not foreshadowing

What's that I hear? Do a fun fact for the Motorhome next?

Current Job: Transporting crazy Harbingers around the countryside

Favorite Color: Black (Also blood red and ocean blue)

Favorite Drink: Diesel (as all Class C motorhome tend to use)

Number of Skylights: 3 - one in the bathroom, one above the main living area, one in the cabover area

Number of Exits: 4 - the driver's side and passenger side doors in the cockpit, the main entrance to the trailer section, and an emergency exit window in the master bedroom

Bedroom Secrets: The bunk beds are available either plain, with a privacy curtain (obviously the superior option here), or with wooden drawers that make them look like a closet as if you're Harry Potter at the Dursley's!

So About Those Brakes: Only the best air brake system including a primary Service Brake, a secondary Parking Brake which doubles as an Emergency Brake (aka the low-air spring brake that comes on automatically during primary brake malfunctions) as well as an Engine Brake to supplement the primary brake. Brake Brake Brack

Family Life: Abandoned and neglected by his original family (And by that I mean he was one of the last floor models available at the RV dealer where Merlin was shopping)

Favorite Karaoke Song: On the Road Again

Cats or Dogs?: They have never run over a cat or dog or person, what are you insinuating?!

Dirty Secret: It's not recommended that you drink from the Fresh Water tanks, so no sipping from the faucets or toilets

First Love/Crush: Merlin, of course! Just the way that they run their hands over the sensitive parts of the steering wheel 😳

You'd Never Expect....: The secret RO! Be wary, they don't have plot armor in the game, however.

[tellmealovestory]

Pumpkin Spice

Summary: A modern AU where Eddie doesn't understand the pumpkin spice craze.

Warnings: A few swear words.

Spooktober Masterlist

“Wanna remind me what was so damn urgent that we had to drive over here in the middle of the night for?” Eddie grumbled as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. 

There were a few things wrong with what he just said such as it was six p.m which could hardly be considered “the middle of the night”, but you let it slide as the automatic doors whooshed open and you breathed in that familiar target scent as the fluorescent lights shined down on you. 

“I just need a few things,” you said vaguely, debating if you should take a basket or a cart. Definitely a cart you thought, you were on a mission tonight and you had a habit of going a tiny bit overboard in this store. “Besides, you could have stayed home, you know. I didn’t force you out of our bed or force you to drive me here.” You gave him a pointed look to drive your words home, but he chose to ignore it all with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, but if I didn’t go with you you’d come home with the whole store shoved in the back of the van and probably a few stray pets too.” 

“One cat, one time and if I remember correctly you’re obsessed with that cat.” 

You have Eddie there and you both know it. Standing by the carts you both exchange a goofy, loved up smile ignoring the customer behind you who’s trying to get a cart that you’re both blocking. Stepping out of the way you gestured to the endless aisles of possibilities, heart dancing a rhythm in your chest as you think up all the things you need and can buy in this wonderland. 

“I’ll meet you back here in say an hour? Good?” You don’t give him a chance to say anything, but when you give him a parting glance over your shoulder you giggle when you see him sputtering because you both know letting you alone in Target is a horrible, awful idea, but you both also know that trying to stop you is an impossible task.

True to your word an hour later you’re pushing your overstuffed cart back to the meeting spot where Eddie’s waiting rather patiently for someone who spent the drive over grumbling about this outing. 

“Hi!” you chirped, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as you begin to push your cart towards the checkouts all while hoping that he won’t notice your purchases. 

“Got everything you nee-” he started, before stopping as his eyes began to roam over your purchases. He picked up a bag of marshmallows, but not just any marshmallows pumpkin spice marshmallows before he tossed them back in and picked up a jug of pumpkin cider. It goes on like this for a few minutes, him pawing through the cart, picking up and discarding items before he finally meets your gaze. 

“Uh princess,” he started a little slowly while he tried to figure out a way to put this delicately. “You think you got enough pumpkin stuff? Maybe a little too much?” 

You scoffed because there’s simply no such thing as “too much pumpkin” and you’re quick to tell him that.

“There’s hardly any pumpkin in this cart!”

“Jesus christ woman the whole cart is full of pumpkins!” He screeched as he began to get started on his rant. “Do you really need pumpkin cheese? Or pumpkin pringles? Kool-aid? This is an abomination!” He shook the container of pumpkin spice kool-aid in the air and you shouldn’t laugh because clearly this is important to him, but when the first hint of a laugh escapes your lips it’s impossible to stop the rest of them and soon you’re doubled over the cart, tears springing to your eyes and yet even with that you refuse to give in and admit that it is too much pumpkin.

Eddie is still on a roll though he’s stopped digging through the cart. “You are an insane person,” he muttered with a shake of his head and a twitching smile. “Fucking bat shit insane you gotta know that, right, princess? No normal person would think this is okay.” He gestured wildly at your cart and all you do in response is shrug your shoulders. 

“You got that out of your system, Eddie? Are you all good now? Done judging my culinary delights and perfectly picked out prizes? Or do you have more things you wanna critique cause I don’t know if you know this, but this,” you paused in your own ranting as you pointed a finger down at the cart, “is me controlling myself. I could have gone more overboard and you know what? It’s early yet, stores still open for a few more hours I think there’s a few more things I wanna gra-”

“Nope, uh uh, princess, I learned my lesson letting you run wild in here and we’re done now. Somebody needs to be the adult in this relationship and put a stop to this. Gonna fucking write these companies and tell them how wrong they are,” he muttered as he grabbed the cart with one hand and takes your hand in his other like you’re a runaway child that he has to keep tabs on and maybe he’s not so wrong about that. 

Walking towards the check out he’s still muttering about companies that have taken this too far and how you’re still a madwoman and he only stops when you squeeze his hand and give him your sweetest and most innocent smile. 

“If you promise to stop talking I’ll share my pumpkin shaped reese's cups with you,” you tempted with a winning smile and as his shoulders cave in you know you have him. “And I might even be convinced to let you use my cinnamon pumpkin spiced trash bags.” 

For the life of him Eddie can’t tell if you’re joking or not about the garbage bags and the cart is too full for him to paw through everything to find out the answer to that, but with the smirk dancing on your lips and the other pumpkin scented and flavored things he’s seen he’s leaning towards you’re being serious. 

“Goddamn. Madwoman,” he seethed between his teeth, but just as quick as the venom pops up it disappears when he sees your smile and the amusement flickering across your features. “You’re lucky I love you, but we’re not using those garbage bags, you’ve gone too far with that one.” 

[fragonreal]

A springlock animatronic is an animatronic mascot that doubles as both an automatic robot and a wearable costume! The animatronic is able to do this through multiple springlocks throughout the suit, which pull back the multiple pieces of metal and plastic endoskeleton that make the mascot function in its "animatronic mode." To pull back the endoskeleton, you'd need to use a company specialized crank that pulls back the springs, locking them in place, making the mascot a wearable suit, or in other words, putting the mascot in "suit mode!" The springs are very sensitive, and can be unlocked through a slight amount of pressure or moisture, which can lead to a springlock failure. A springlock failure is an incident in which the animatronic parts collapse into whoever is wearing the suit (you!), which can lead to the vocal cords crushing, causing you to drown on your own blood as their other organs collapse! You'll be dying for a long time, most likely until you fully bleed out! Thankfully, there is a way to survive! Do not panic when an incident occurs, and wait for a fellow employee to remove the suit! From there you'll be rushed to the nearest hospital, and all that will remain will be small scars! If nobody is able to save you, then the company will have to bleach the floors and file a missing persons report, which can take up to 90 days! Stay safe when dealing with springlocks, and remember: you're the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!

i want whatever this guy is on

[takadasaiko]

Home and Harbour (an X-Men '97 fic)

Summary: As the dust settles after the defeat of Apocalypse, Rogue finds a way to push back the nightmares.

FFN II AO3

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Setting: Sometime in the future after S1 of X-Men '97.

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Home and Harbour

Boots hit the ground as if gravity were bringing them back down with each step. They sunk into the mud and the muck there, pulling and dragging her down with every step forward until she found herself struggling. She couldn't fly. Couldn't break free. Couldn't reach him.

Ahead, just out of reach, lay a familiar form. He was bent at an awkward angle, blood soaking the strangely solid ground that he'd been afforded, and she gave a struggling cry as she put all of her incredible strength into springing forward. His name echoed from her lips, desperate against the emptiness that surrounded them. It was futile. Somehow she already knew it.

He was gone and she couldn't save him.

But she had to try. This time it had to be different.

Rogue didn't break free of the muck around her ankles, but she did manage to haul herself forward until she reached the place where Remy lay. Her fingers - gloveless and covered in blood - found his and she collapsed next to him. He had always run warm, even if she couldn't touch him without a barrier between them, but he was cold to the touch.

"Remy," she choked, her vision blurring until she squeezed her eyes closed and let the tears escape. "Ah'm sorry, sugar. Ah'm so sorry."

She felt it before she saw it: a shift. Green eyes blinked open and found glowing red eyes staring up at her without any kindness or love that she'd come to know from the man who held her heart. Instead, his skin had darkened, auburn hair shifting to stark white, and Rogue barely had time to register it as a gloved hand reached up to her throat -

The scream didn't escape her lips as she sat straight up and immediately doubled over in her own bed. Rogue's breaths came in shallow, struggling gulps as she wrapped her fingers deeply into the sheets and real tears streamed down her face. She folded the rest of the way forward to bury her face in the mattress as a half sob, half scream left her. It sounded loud enough to her own ears that she half expected the mansion to go on high alert and ready for a fight, but no one seemed to stir. At least for that moment, she was alone in the overwhelming turmoil.

She didn't have to be.

The thought stirred in her, a warmth and sinking feeling warring with each other to take hold. They continued as she rolled off the bed, bare feet hitting the carpet beneath, and she grabbed for an oversized sweater and her gloves. Her movements were automatic, and she didn't think that she'd specifically chosen to leave her room as she did. She needed to. She didn't feel like there was much choice in it at all.

The hallways between her room and seemed longer than they used to be. Granted, this wasn't the room he'd called his own before. That one had been destroyed by the fire that had engulfed the mansion while he'd been… away. She didn't dare admit even to herself the word - the reality - that she'd lived on Genosha while cradling his body. Not after the latest nightmare.

Rogue stopped just shy of tapping her knuckles against the scarred wood. This was foolish. Selfish. It had been a nightmare. Based in reality, sure, but a nightmare nevertheless. Yes, he'd died before she'd even made it to him. Yes, Apocalypse had used all the pain and anguish of the massacre to his own means to raise his Four Horsemen. And yes, Gambit had become Death himself. But he'd also come back to her. For her. Even when he hadn't recognized her, they'd fought for each other. He deserved a good night's sleep, even if she wouldn't find it herself that night. He'd struggled since coming home and she couldn't deny him that just to find a little peace in his presence.

That decided, Rogue pulled her sweater a little closer around her and shuffled off down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

She hadn't looked at a clock in her stupor, but she'd assumed it was morning. As she entered the kitchen, she saw she was right, if only by a couple of hours. Somehow, one in the morning felt a little early for coffee, despite the fact that she knew that she wasn't going back to sleep any time soon. Fair enough. Something a bit stronger and some fresh air worked just as well. Whiskey and glass in hand, Rogue made her way outside.

While the mansion had been quiet, the courtyard outside was peaceful, even if Rogue's mind didn't feel ready to settle into it just yet. Her bare feet stepped from stone to grass and she loosed a long breath, trying to let the stress release along with it as she moved along the back of the mansion to a bench under a select set of trees that…. was already taken. Great. Apparently she wasn't the only one looking for a middle-of-the-night-decompress spot in the middle of a student-filled school.

Rogue was about ready to find another nook on the campus when the figure on her bench shifted so that she had a better view of the silhouette of the man that had filled her dreams and nightmares alike. He sat alone - much like she had intended to - and she could see the soft glow of his eyes in the night as he turned. He must have seen her too, because she saw him stiffen a little and she tried for a smile that he may or may not have seen in the shadows of the garden. "Mind if Ah join ya, sugar?"

Remy offered a shrug and scooted over just a little to give her room to do as she pleased. As she drew closer she saw the bourbon that had been missing from the liquor cabinet sitting on his opposite side. She nodded towards it. "Woulda brought another glass if Ah'd known you're out here," she offered.

"Doin' alright as is," he murmured and took a swig straight from the bottle.

"That kinda night?"

"Looks that way."

She tried for a smile as she sat, even if it felt empty, and set her own bottle and glass next to her. A tense quiet settled into the space between them and she had to fight the images that her nightmare had pulled from their reality. This was Remy, not Death. They might have worn similar faces, but they were far from the same man. Everything he'd done while under Apocalypse's control was on the ancient Mutant, not on Gambit.

Movement to her left pulled her out of her thoughts and she saw Remy shrugging off his trenchcoat that he had draped over civilian clothes. Instead of his usual smooth motion of draping it over her shoulders in true southern gentleman fashion, he simply handed it to her, almost as if he were afraid to touch her. She stared at him for a moment and the corners of his lips twitched down. "Ya look cold, chére."

"Thanks," she managed, taking the jacket that she'd salvaged from Genosha from him and carefully slipping into it, desperately trying not to feel hurt by the fact that he hadn't draped it across her covered shoulders himself. It wouldn't have hurt him, not that he'd ever seemed to care too much about that. Only since he'd been back. Her Cajun had always played his cards close to the vest, but in the last handful of days since Beast had released him from Medical, he'd simultaneously acted like any touch would break her and him at the same time. Maybe he remembered more than he'd told Hank and the Professor after all.

He reached for his own bottle of bourbon. "So… what's got you up in the early hours?"

"Couldn't sleep," she answered, pouring her own glass. "You?"

"C'est pareil que toi," he murmured softly before seeming to realize he hadn't answered her in the language they shared. "Same as you."

A real smile finally tugged her lip and he shot her a questioning look that pulled a strange, yet equally real chuckle from her. "Missed hearin' ya speak French… even when Ah don' know whatcha mean by it half the time."

Slowly, he offered a shadow of an echo of her expression, even if the words seemed to die in his throat before they made it to his lips. He ducked his head and for a moment all she wanted to was to continue looking into his eyes. It was strange. As Death, they'd still been red-on-black as they'd always been, but so very, very cold. It had been like they'd stared straight through her. She could still remember the first time that he'd opened his eyes in Beast's care and looked at her. Even filled with fear and pain, they'd still been kinder than anything Death could have ever hoped to muster. They'd still taken her in like his entire world balanced on her. It had been the first moment that she'd dared to hope that she could have her Remy back.

Her hand slipped out from beneath the trenchcoat and touched his arm lightly. "Ya know you can tell me anythin', dontcha?"

"Sure," he answered softly, though none too convincingly.

"Ah mean it. Anythin'. Good, bad, somewhere in between. Heaven knows everythin's in the in between right about now."

A mirthless huff of a laugh escaped him. "Why you up, chére?"

"Ah said -"

"Sure ya did," he cut her off, those beautiful eyes of his shifting to her. "But you wanna ask me to share my soul an' you're busy hidin' yours."

Leave it to Remy to call her out. He'd always been a tad more gentle with it, but she expected she owed him a bit more after everything. After choosing Erik, after his death, and after standing against him as Death. She owed him the truth. She knew it. He knew it. They knew it. They'd put off airing this out as long as they could.

"Fair enough," she managed and took an extra long swig of her own drink. Damn Logan. She knew he was the one that had drained this particular bottle to near depletion. "Had a bad nightmare."

"What 'bout?"

"What'dya think, Remy?" She hadn't meant to snap, but thankfully he didn't look too put out by it.

Instead, he nodded and huffed. "Yeah."

"You too?"

"Oui."

Rogue took a moment, weighing her next words carefully. After a long moment she turned to look at him. "You wanna go first?"

That brought a startled look her direction. "I ain't lookin' to relive it, Rogue."

"You gonna honestly tell me this is the first night you've found yourself out here since you came home?" She sure as hell knew it wasn't hers.

"Home?" he echoed, his expression strained. "Funny thing… home didn' feel like every eye on me watchin' to see what I'm hidin'."

"Is that what you think Ah'm doin' out here?" Rogue managed, her chest tightening at the thought. As far as she knew, both she and Remy had found their own sleepless nights and managed to find their way to each other by chance or fate. It seemed as if he found a bit more nefarious reason behind her appearance.

"I don' know what anybody's doin' anymore, Rogue. I'm just…" He curled up into the seat, knees hugged up to his chest and arms around them as if he were making himself as small as he could possibly be. It broke her.

"Ah went to your door first, but Ah just didn' wanna wake ya. Figured ya needed your sleep and Ah'd fight my own demons out here."

"I did the same."

That pulled the barest of smiles from her, if only because it confirmed her original assumption. "Point is, Ah didn't come out here lookin' to spy on you. Just thought… if Ah could use the company, maybe you could too."

His red eyes remained fixed on something in the distance for a long moment before finally sliding around to look at her. "I don' 'member everythin'. Bits 'n pieces in fits 'n starts. Sometimes in dreams 'n sometimes sittin' 'n thinkin'. Outta nowhere I'm in a machine rippin' me apar an' puttin' me back together. Makin' me something… I don' wanna be."

For a fraction of a moment, Rogue felt like she was frozen where she was. They sat in silence after his confession before she let herself fall to her left, her shoulder against his, and her right arm crossing to hold to his sleeve. "That wasn't you."

"You sure? Felt like me."

"Sometimes people take our broken parts and make us something." She glanced up, barely catching his eyes over the edge of his shoulder. "Can Ah tell ya somethin'?"

"Anythin', chére."

"Ah ain't sorry he brought ya back. Sorry for how it happened, maybe, but not that it did. If it's the only way to get ya, Ah'll take it and everythin' it came with a million times over to not lose ya."

She couldn't breathe as she waited for his response, those expressive eyes of his focused on her in a curious sort of way. "All of it? Even what I did to you?"

"Ah mean, I'd rather not lose ya to begin with, but if that was the only way to get you back… Yeah. Ah'd do anythin' to keep from losing ya forever. Even drag ya back from the Pearly Gates myself, if that's what it came to."

He snorted, but didn't dare counter it. Smart man. Good man. After a long moment, he leaned in, his head resting against Rogue's. "What kinda nightmare's ya havin', chére?"

"The kind where you don' come back," she answered softly. Some nights, like this one, only Death returned. Some nights, not even that. "The kind where Ah don' get to say you were right."

"'Bout what?"

"That some things are deeper than skin." Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his t-shirt. "Ah love you and if it's taken my life to bring you back, Ah'd have given it."

He turned and pressed a kiss against her hair. "How 'bout we both do our best to stay alive a while longer, non?"

A smile touched her lips and she felt a warmth spread through her, her hair acting as a barrier between skin the only thing keeping him safe, but it was close enough that she felt all the emotion through it. She felt him, and for the first time since the attack on Genosha, she could breathe easy. So easy she felt herself nodding off against him.

He shifted and stood, hand outstretched to her. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed."

Reluctantly, she followed his lead, her gloved hand and his bare one intertwined as they moved back inside through the mansion and up towards her room. He paused outside, his gaze focused on her as if he were working up the courage to say goodnight, but she tipped up on her toes, palm against his lips and she pressed her own against the back of her hand. "Stay?" Dark brows drew together in question and she held his gaze. "Ah don' wanna wake up again wonderin' which is the nightmare."

A breath escaped him and he gave the barest of nods. She tightened her hold on his hand and pulled him into the room. He followed all the way to the bed and the fact that her flirty Cajun didn't offer her a one-liner worthy of an eye-roll told her that he felt the weight of what would likely be repeated nightmares if they dared to go their own ways that night. It was the first time that she'd pulled him into her bed and they curled carefully into each other as if they were the only two people in the world that could understand the other's pain. They were safe in each other's arms. A harbour to always come home to, and together, she was sure they could face anything.

End.

--

Notes: Between an amazing first season of X-Men '97, the surprise appearance in the new Deadpool movie (if you know, you know :D ), and the newest Uncanny X-Men episode, I'm riding high on Romy lately. It's been a while since I wrote for them, and even longer since I wrote something that I finished, but here we are. I love these two nerds. 

Also, as a side note, I had Sanctuary by Welshly Arms on repeat while writing this. I came super close to naming the story after it, but settled on a nod to the lovely quote fromt he comics. 

[faefarm]

Attention Fae Friends!

An important update has arrived! We want to make sure your experience in Azoria is as smooth as possible, so we’re sending out an update for all Fae Friends on September 21, 2023 at 1PM PT / 8PM UTC. Please read more for full details on what you can expect from our newest patch.

Nintendo Switch

Fixed an issue where having "<" in your username could cause dialogue to loop during quest dialog, on Switch. (This update previously deployed to the PC version in update 1.3.2)

Improved an issue where character face detail could appear lower quality than intended on Switch.

PC

Fixed an issue causing the Cozy Cabin Variety Pack (pre-purchase bonus) to not be correctly granted in the Epic Games Store version.

Fixed an issue where some crafting stations would open directly to the queue when using a controller on PC, or playing on Steam Deck.

Allowed Q, W, A, S, and D keys to be used in custom keybindings to better support players using non-QWERTY keyboards.

Created a new input binding for a few special inputs such as Reclaim and the Coziness overlay, to allow them being remapped on PC. (By default it is bound to “G”)

Improved behavior of Almanac unlock popups so that buttons behind them can still be clicked on PC.

Fixed an issue where long quest entries could not be scrolled using the mouse wheel on PC.

Fixed an issue where right-clicking on the right side of the Almanac screen did not consistently take you back a screen, when using a mouse on PC.

Improved the profanity filter on PC to allow some more common names, such as Sam or Brad.

All Platforms

GAMEPLAY AND PROGRESSION:

Fixed an issue where players could not reliably accept shipping contracts. Please note that it is intended that you can only complete one contract from each choice of three, and will need to wait for them to refresh (every two weeks) to accept a new one.

Fixed an issue where players could permanently lose their ability to double jump if they manually unequipped their wings before using Character Customization via a Mirror, or before a wedding. Please note that it is intended behavior that double jump is only available while you have a set of wings actively equipped (and it should now correctly function that way).

Fixed an issue where casting your fishing rod or using watering can special abilities could be blocked while wearing the Cozy, Logger, and Autumn hats.

Fixed an issue where the name you set for your farm during Chapter 1 was not saved correctly.

Fixed a state where you could be left without an active quest if you completed Chapter 2, then left to a multiplayer session before completing the day.

Updated the requirements for the side quest “Versatile Vortex” to only require clearing 10 clouds of mist, to avoid player confusion.

Fixed an unusable version of the Berry Cordial being rewarded from Potion Making job quest 2.

Fixed an issue where Animal Care job quest 1 could not be completed if a chickoo had been bred before activating it.

Fixed an issue where friendship or relationship quests could take more items from your inventory than they were requiring.

Fixed an issue where the celebration animation did not play when unlocking the second and third farms.

WORLD AND ITEMS:

Fixed an issue that was blocking some nuts, greens, and mushrooms from regrowing after season changes.

Updated the names of a number of forage items to include "Wild" to make clearer that they are not grown.

Updated the name of the spring greens from "Arugula" to "Wild Spring Greens", based on player feedback.

Fixed an issue that was causing Hives to generate an unusable item "Medium Honeycomb" when placed near flowers.

Updated the name of "Small Honeycomb" to just "Honeycomb".

MULTIPLAYER AND ONLINE:

Improved the behavior on joining a multiplayer session as a client, so you will now automatically receive the correct staff and wings directly, based on the world’s progression, without having to manually claim them from the mailbox.

Fixed a crash that could occur for a client of a multiplayer session when the host put their device to sleep.

Fixed a crash that could occur when resuming the game after your device had been in sleep mode for a few hours, having previously been in a multiplayer session.

Fixed an issue that could block access to online features when resuming the game after your device had been in sleep mode for a few hours.

Fixed an issue where progress was inconsistently saved when a client left a multiplayer session.

Fixed an issue where the side quest "Wave of Emotion" could not be completed by clients in a multiplayer session.

Fixed an issue where Magic job quest 5 could not be completed by clients in a multiplayer session.

Fixed an issue where the wayshrine in dungeons could disappear after using it to teleport to a new floor, when playing as a client in a multiplayer session.

Fixed an issue where switches or other progression items in dungeons could be already uncovered when arriving on a new floor.

Fixed an issue where eating or drinking audio was played to all players in a multiplayer session.

Fixed an issue where the voice option chosen by clients in a multiplayer session was not correctly played to the host.

INTERFACE:

Fixed an issue where quest accept/redeem banners could stop displaying after playing through levels of a dungeon.

Fixed an issue where the new season banner could get stuck on the screen.

Fixed an issue where the new season banner would not appear if an animal was born on the same day.

Fixed an issue friendship and relationship quests were incorrectly showing the completion dialog when accepting them.

Fixed an issue where upgrading a tool would result in duplicate Almanac unlock popups.

Fixed an issue where the alphabetical sort order in the Storage screen was reversed.

Fixed duplicate UI elements that could appear when using the Randomize option was used while viewing the Voice tab of the Character Customization screen.

Fixed an issue that could cause an unintended screen to appear when leaving Character Customization at the Mirror.

Fixed an issue that stopped the animal interaction options from appearing after using one of them, until you moved away from and returned to an animal.

Made the expiry timer on limited-time quests more visible in the Quest Log.

Removed two unintended invalid entries that could appear in the More Info view in the Almanac.

MISCELLANEOUS:

Fixed a missing section, and other miscellaneous fixes, in the Credits.

Fixed a number of typos in English.

Fixed a number of minor reported localization issues across languages.

Thank You

Thank you all to the amazing people who submitted bug reports and were able to help us pinpoint these issues! If you spot any issues, please update us via our Discord or through our main support page.

You can also join us on Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and Tumblr  to share your experience with us in Azoria. 

We can’t wait to see you all in-game!

Sincerely,

The Fae Farm Team

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dream - Chapter Ten.

BESTIES! Who wants a double update? It’s here, you’re getting one! I figured I would, since the next two chapters are a little shorter, both coming in at under 3k in the word count. Going forward, I think we’ll do a 40 note unlock for a double update, and a 30 note unlock for a single one. Sounds fair, doesn’t it? Well, I hope you enjoy what I have in store for you here. Looking forward to your thoughts, as ever :)

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed (note: those not engaging will be automatically removed from the tag list, FYI)

Words - 2,648

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“He’s still acting strange with you, then?” Angel asked, winding noodles around his fork. They were at the Chinese restaurant Keri had said she wanted to take him to, discussing her current predicament with Aaron.  

“Well, kind of,” she began, poking at the pastry on one of the spring rolls before her. “He’ll ask what Rachel, Frankie and I are talking about, and if I say you, then he’ll just close up, or make some remark. He still has you pegged as a scumbag.”

Angel looked entertained by that. “Some people think I am, and if that’s what he wants to believe without ever actually meeting me, then that’s up to him.” He scratched his beard, shrugging. “I ain’t losing sleep over it, neither should you.”

“I’m trying not to, but it irritates me. What you do doesn’t have anything to do with him,” she stated, Angel chewing through his mouthful of food quickly, reaching to cover her hand with his.  

“Don’t let it bother you, especially when he’s only looking out for you. You just don’t like it because it probably throws up a little conflict for you too, doesn’t it?”  

She felt a little uncomfortable at his presenting of the truth like that, but decided it was best to be honest. “A bit, if I’m real with you.”

“All you gotta know is the following; what I do and who I am are very different things, alright?” He paused then, Keri sipping her iced tea, nodding. “How about the other guy in your group, Ash, is it? Does he think the same?”

“I’ve no idea, since we haven’t seen him for more than a half hour at a time, if that, for the past few weeks. He’s two years above us and currently coming to the end of taking his master's degree in biochemistry, so he’s literally absconded to his room or the study suites at college as he prepares for his finals in April. I doubt he’d take an issue, though. You guys have a common ground, a love for Harley’s,” she explained.

“Oh yeah?” Angel was interested at that. “What does he ride?”

She sat and thought on it, trying to remember, knowing she could only come out with something that was going to make her look utterly ridiculous. “Erm, it’s red. That’s about all I can tell you.”

He laughed softly at that. “You’re too cute.”  

“I am as my Instagram bio states, Provo village idiot.”

Her words sparked something in him then, something he’d been meaning to ask for a while. “Speaking of you Insta, I need to know what made you choose the profile name you did. I mean, I know I was boring and just chose my name and birth year, but yeah, kinda curious to know how girl where photo came about?”

Keri was laughing softly before she’d even spoken, remembering the event that had led to it well. “I changed it after something funny that happened about a year ago. We have these students who came over from Thailand at our college, doing some long-term exchange programme through their church, and they’re the sweetest kids but back then, their English was still a little bit basic at best.  

“So, one of them, Trinh, his name is, asked me if I could take some photographs of him to send to his family back home of him up in the mountains where the scenery is so breathtaking, so I agreed. Anyway, I said I’d print the ones he’d chosen, but between our busyness with studies, it took me a while to get them done, and he was obviously quite excited about seeing them, so ran up one morning in the hall and shouted, ‘girl where photo?’ at me. It sounds like he was being rude, but he was just so excited, and he couldn’t remember my name either, so yeah, that explains it. Frankie couldn’t breathe! Every time he sees me now, he yells it at me. It’s our thing.”

He laughed, resting his fork down when he’d finished, Keri taking another bite out of one of the spring rolls before her. “So, tell me how the love of photography started, then. You know, out of all the things we’ve talked about so far, I don't think I ever asked that."

Sitting there listening to her explain how she’d first come to love taking pictures with her grandmother’s old wind on camera when she was four, excitedly visiting the local one-hour photo place with her to get them developed, Angel smiled widely all the way through. He couldn’t help but note that he’d never felt so comfortable with someone in such a short space of time, the way they'd fallen into easy conversation, like two old friends becoming reacquainted after a period of separation.

How he felt when he was with her in his sleep was definitely mirrored by the reality of such, Keri seeming to settle well despite – as he could tell clearly – being quite nervous earlier as they’d left the airport. She’d almost crashed into a concrete post on her way out of the car park.  

As for Keri, if only Angel knew how well she was hiding the fact that inside, all she could hear were panicked honking noises. Supressing her nerves was a battle she was mostly winning, but boy, she was working her ass off to keep it all hidden. Yes, she felt comfortable with him, and he was just a nice as he’d seemed thus far, but she still couldn’t believe he was sitting across the table from her.

This man, this completely irresistibly gorgeous man, a man she would have considered out of her league, was sitting there looking like he was honestly enjoying getting to know her. Her inner self? Anxious. She revealed those thoughts too after they’d left the restaurant, Keri stopping in at Frankie and Jaime’s apartment so she could leave her car behind and Angel could drop his bag inside, taking an Uber down to The Lounge.

“So, how’s it going?” Frankie asked, Keri greeting them both with a kiss while Angel went to the bar.  

“Help! He’s too hot for me, I’m out of my depth and only just holding it together to act like a normal person and not spiral into one long calamity Joe parody of myself!” she hissed, seating herself on the opposite couch, a narrow table dividing them.  

“Love, you need to cease with these thoughts,” Jaime began, reaching to squeeze her wrist. “You have no idea how much of a knockout you are, do you?” Here they were, Keri’s usual nerves and self-doubt when it came to men, especially in that moment, walking in with a very attractive one, the kind of guy that looks wise, she should have always aimed for, rather than selling herself short because she didn’t believe she could do better.  

Keri waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “Stop, I am not!” Just then, Angel arrived back with them, placing down a pitcher of margaritas before a surprised looking Frankie and Jaime, and the same with beer for him and Keri, plus two glasses he pulled from his back pockets. He indicated he’d be back, returning with exactly the same order again.

“You trying to get us wasted there?” Frankie asked, arching an eyebrow.  

“Ah, shit. She sussed me,” he laughed, before pointing back at the bar. “Your local ice hockey team just walked in, so I double ordered everything. Ain’t nobody getting close to that bar between the big dudes and all the hockey groupies down there.”

“I believe the term is puck bunny,” Jaime spoke, pouring out a fresh drink for her and Frankie. “And you say that like you’re not a big dude when really, you’re what? Six three?”

“Yeah, about that,” he confirmed, passing a beer to Keri. “I feel like a damned giant compared to this one.”  

“Everyone is a giant compared to me and my five four tininess.” she laughed, cringing a little. Their conversation moved on, the girls all getting to know Angel a little better, laughing hard at stories of his youth, some of the antics he found himself involved in, the kind of life he’d had so very different from theirs. He enjoyed it, too, in turn hearing about them, learning of their lives, yet there was only one person he craved alone time with in order to do more of the same.

“What?” he questioned hours later when they’d returned to the apartment, Keri grinning to herself beside him, both all bundled in a comforter and blankets to ward out the chilly February cold. When the heat went off in the apartment, the temperature dropped quickly, and boy, you felt it.  

“Nothing,” she spoke softly, shaking her head. “I'm just having a 'holy shit he's right there' moment again. It's good, but still weird.”

He could identify with such. “Same. I can't believe I'm here either.” His smile reached his gorgeous, dark eyes, reaching to squeeze her shoulder. “So, tell me things about you that I don’t already know, then.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, and it made his pulse skip. She was even lovelier than her pictures or presence in his dreams had alluded to. “Gosh!” she began, combing her hair away from her face with her fingers. “I don’t even know where to start!”  

“Alright, I’ll ask, you tell?” he suggested, Keri nodding.  

“Okie dokie, and you answer too!” And so, they began.

“What’s something you have more knowledge about more than anybody else you know?” Oh, that was an interesting choice. Thinking on it, he didn’t seem the type who’d be interested in run of the mill, getting to know you small talk. And as she replied about her love and knowledge of Nikon cameras, with Angel asking interesting specifics, she truly saw that he was much smarter than he appeared in how he articulated himself.  

His wasn’t academically smart, but she enjoyed how direct he was, how original the questions were that he asked of her, and how perceptive he appeared to be. Therefore, she matched him, knowing that he wouldn’t be the type to be pacified by asking what his favourite movie or colour was. In truth, neither was she.  

“If you could sit and spend an evening talking to anyone from history, alive or dead, who would it be?”

He beamed. “Yo, that’s a fuckin’ great question.” He took a pause, considering his options. The fantasy woman of his early teens, model Helena Christensen immediately popped into his head, but it would be gauche to reply with a beautiful woman, and he could do much better than that. “Che Guevara. I admire those who don’t play by the rules in order to achieve a better balance where power is concerned. Rebellion and revolution, people who stand up against oppression, I think it’s brave and bold, amazing even, the ripple effect that one person and their ideas can cause. How about you?”

Her reply was immediate. “Annie Leibovitz. The way she captures so much personality of her subjects in her photography, making the images so deeply personal, almost like they’re just a moment captured in a sequence of motion. Her images might be still, but they move. They have vibrance, some of her works even remind me of Renaissance paintings. She’s truly masterful.”  

“I guess there’s a lot more to photography than there appears at first glance, right? It ain’t just about pointing a camera at your subject and clicking. I think it’s a really interesting art form, although I know very little about it. What’s your favourite picture you’ve ever taken?”  

Immediately, she reached for her phone. “This one got taken off of my Instagram, even though I censored the boobies, but here.” Clicking on the image, it enlarged, Keri turning her phone to show Angel the photograph of Frankie, naked but a Pride flag wrapped around her waist, one hand holding herself up as she swung from the overhead bars of the black iron fire escape outside of the apartment, the other hand raising her middle finger, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her glossed pout. “It’s just her, unapologetically her. I captured the entire essence of Frances Scarvo in one picture, which was my aim.”

Angel studied it, loving the details, the light, the way the shadows fell over her lithe muscles, the shaft of sunlight shining down onto the tall building glinting the defiance in her eyes. “I fucking love it, you’re right, the way you’ve captured so much of her in it. I mean, I don’t even know her, but what I’ve noticed in her, her total confidence and pride in being an out lesbian, her humour and her strength, it’s all here. It’s unapologetic, just like you said. You should print this for her and frame it.”

“Already did,” she revealed. “It’s hanging in the bedroom, next to one I took of Jamie in a bubble bath. One I ended up slipping on the edge of the tub and falling into with her fully clothed. I just about had chance to throw my camera at Frankie and save it, rather than save myself.”  

He laughed softly, imagining it. “Calamity Joe strikes again, huh?”

“Don’t you start calling me that, too!” The laughter they shared was so natural and easy, Angel loving that she didn’t take herself too seriously, her slight clumsiness a source of her own amusement just as much as it was everyone else’s.  

He reached for her, thumb skimming her cheek, the gesture small, but big enough to make her heart flutter. “It’s good to see you relax a little at last. I’ve noticed it, how hard you’ve been working to not let your nerves get the better of you.  

Shit. And she thought she’d fooled him. Angel Reyes, it seemed, was even more perceptive than she’d realised. “I want to be like I am with you in our dreams,” she began, Angel raising an eyebrow in a manner that bordered on lascivious. “Not like that!” she admonished playfully, slapping his chest with the back of her hand. “Well, not yet, anyway. You get what I mean, though.”

At the suggestion of those connotations manifesting in reality, he felt a little flicker of arousal stir within his depths. He couldn’t help it, the attraction he felt only strengthening in reality. “I do, I understand.” He’d keep it in check, though, for her comfort. “Okay, I thought of something else. If you could visit any period of time in history, when would you choose and why?”

“One of the prehistoric ages, so I could witness dinosaurs, the cretaceous period in particular. As long as in this hypothesis I could be somewhere safe, I’d love to sit and view them, the triceratops, the velociraptors, the tyrannosaurs rex. Can you imagine how incredible that would be? I have so much awe about them. There’ve been quite a few remains found in Moab, so I like to visit whenever I have time, go and see the skeletons in the museum there. I never get bored. How about you?”  

All the way through her explanation, she’d noticed his smile widening, his reply confirming what she was beginning to think. “Exactly the same. All that shit is fascinating. You gotta take me to that museum! I’ve never been to see the bones in person before, but looking at pictures, the scale ones that show just how huge they were, it’s mind-blowing, trying to imagine something that big ever walking the earth.”

Finding something they were both geeks over kept them talking for a long time before their conversation eventually moved on, 2am rolling around, and neither feeling even remotely tired. Even if they were, they wouldn’t have been prepared to have called time on something they were enjoying so much.  

[starrybibi]

Food Fantasy AgeRe Classification AU 2

Part 2- Testing of the Nations

Part 1—> https://www.tumblr.com/starrybibi/750243548404793344/food-fantasy-agere-classification-au

Now for the Nations of Tierra and how they test their citizens

Gloriville- Their method of testing is in the King’s Palace done by a physician through a simple blood draw done in the lab. The results are usually given in week’s time to avoid misclassification. Once the results are given, Regressors are assigned to Custody in a an Adoption Center which doubles as a Nursery/Boarding School until they are adopted by a Caregiver. Once adopted they given a care package of things depending on their age and supplies. Regressors in Gloriville are treated with joy and pride, but are not allowed to join the Military or any dangerous occupation.

Light Kingdom- The method is that they’re taken to the Sage who will perform some magic on the tester with their blood drop and it automatically turns into a gemstone with the corresponding color (pink= Regressor, lavender= Flip, sky blue= Caregiver) which is given to them in the form of a necklace for them to keep. Regressors are treated as a treasure that is cherished and the Caregiver as the Dragon that protects the treasure from harm. Flips are treated like one of the gods although they are rare and can change their status as they wish

Nervas- Testing is done in the Academy with the piece of the Magic Crystal and a drop of blood where it shines an array of colors, but only 3 specific colors appear to the tester until the final one is revealed (lavender= Regressor, turquoise= Flip, and dark blue= Caregiver) they are kept as a necklace just like the Light Kingdom. Regressors are treated like actual children, but need extra care by the Caregiver especially when working near the hot springs which can be dangerous for them to be in on their own

Sakurajima- Just like Gloriville testing is done in the same method with an actual physical exam to ensure everyone is healthy and results are given discreetly. Regressors here are treated well especially celebrated in a positive light along with their Caregivers. Flips on the other hand are treated in a neutral manner due to their ability of being one or the other, but they respect them for that and take the time to learn more about them.

Palata and West Palata- Their method of testing is through blood drops on a peacock feather that determines whether they’re a Regressor, Caregiver or Flip. Once that’s determined the people try to do their best to keep the Regressors safe from the Fallen Angels along with their Caregivers to provide them their safety and protection.

Distant Seas- Same as Gloriville

[priya-san]

Inktober 2023 - Day 1 JojaMart

I'm going the multi prompt list and multi fandom this year! Basically this is my way of showing I have to many ideas and I can't commit to one, so I'm going to try them all! Will I succeed or crash any burn? Let's find out together!

Prompt taken from the Grapefruit Sky Inktober prompts!

Fandom: Stardew Valley Characters: Reshmi Lavari (my farmer), Morris Pairing: N/A Rating: M (CW: Swears, anxiety, corporate burnout, corporate guilt, mentions of a shitty ex)

The warm spring rain surrounded Reshmi, as she stood outside the stark white building on the furthermost corner of town. She gripped her umbrella tightly. Not even the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting her umbrella could sooth her in this state. She’d manage to avoid shopping at the local JojaMart for two months now, but after her Grandfather’s old toaster died this morning, Reshmi knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

You can do this, Resh. Just run in, grab the damn thing, and run out.

A cold blast of air greeted her as the automatic doors opened. Reshmi shielded her eyes from the harsh white light that lit up the store. Each JojaMart store was engineered in the exact same way, to get customers to spend as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. After fifty years of operating, JojaCorp had it down to an exact science. A science that Reshmi herself had helped push all across the country thorough her work with the legal team. The generic pop music that was playing in the background was interrupted by DJ Joja to let customers know that there was a limited time sale going on in aisle three. Reshmi watched as customers curiously wandered over, in an almost zombie like state, driven by the desire for a bargain. A shiver ran down her back. She swallowed the guilt she felt bubbling in her chest, and made her way to the appliance aisle.

The toaster was easy enough to find. While she hated to admit it, JojaMart really did have shockingly low prices. Driving to Grampleton and buying this same model at the local homewares store would have cost almost double if she counted the money needed for petrol. As soon as the farm did well enough, she was buying her new stove from a local retailer. She had to. With her new found resolve and guilt abated just a little, Reshmi made her way to the checkout queue. While waiting for the lone cashier to scan through the people in front of her, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“I can help you with that if you like.” A short man with glasses, and neatly swept back black hair grinned at her. He wore a full three piece suit and an obnoxious red tie. Reshmi mentally rolled her eyes, this had to be the manager. She nodded and the man led her to the customer service desk and scanned through the toaster. Reshmi pulled out her card to pay, but the man just grinned wider. “You’re the new Farmer aren’t you?”

Great, he’s chatty. Reshmi nodded, keeping her face as neutral as possible.

“I knew it, you’ve been the talk of the town for a few weeks now.” He held his hand out. “Name’s Morris, I’m the manager of the first ever JojaMart in the Valley.” She grabbed his sweaty palm and he shook her hand vigorously. “It’s always great to get more people moving here, helps with the economy as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Reshmi made a noncommittal hum in return. “Morris, I appreciate you helping me out, but I would like to be on my way.”

“Of course, I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you. Let’s see here,” Morris rattled off the price and Reshmi tapped her card to pay. While he grabbed a bag for the toaster, she noticed the cork-board behind him. It was filled with news clippings and photos of JojaCorp achievements. One was about the latest mining project they had undertaken, another of the company revenue figures. All boastful corporate language, which was all too familiar. But it was the headline about the Joja Expansion project that really caught Reshmi’s attention. She felt a heavy lurch in the pit of her stomach. Shit. That was her project. Sure enough, underneath was a photo of the whole team, she and Owen right in front. He had her hand around her waist, pulling her towards him, with the both of them grinning for the camera. A wave of nausea threaten to overwhelm her. It was all so fake. So freaking fake. She had to get out of here.

“Done, and I’ve dropped a couple of coupons in there too. As a welcome gift.” Morris winked, he actually winked at her. She had to go.

The coupons were thrown in the trash as soon as she left, with the toaster almost along with it. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead she rushed home in the rain, this time without bothering with the umbrella. Relishing the feeling of the raindrops on her skin, forcing her to feel something other than numb. Her resolve grew stronger with every step, and she knew she wouldn’t be stepping into JojaMart ever again. Instead she grabbed her last packet of parsnip seeds, and head out to till the soil. She had more work to do.

Want more Reshmi? You can read my Harvey x Farmer fic here!

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

Whumptober* Day 30: Hair Grabbing

*Somewhat appropriately, it’s fluff.

---

It wasn’t lost upon Ingo that all of the nicest things about being home were, inherently, warm.

Maybe it was all in his head or maybe he’d lost sight of just how cold Hisui actually was, but he couldn’t think of a single exception to the rule. The feeling of another person in his arms, slotting so perfectly against him, overjoyed lavender flames, or a crowd of Pokemon eager to draw nearer-- all of it wonderfully, painlessly warm, in spite of the fact it made him feel that he might just melt.

One of the smaller joys he’d just rediscovered was a hot shower. It had been an experience, due in no small part to some lingering sense of muscle memory leading him through the process while his conscious mind marveled over every little detail. Upon absently opening a bottle of shampoo, he’d actually had to stop and steady himself against the wall, momentarily overcome with half-formed memories that he had yet to put into context.

He would ask about them in time. For now, he was dressed in new, clean, comfortable clothes and slightly in awe of how much better he felt. It was very strange. When it came down to it, it wasn’t so different from a trip to the hot springs, was it? So then why did it feel so distinct?

When he was satisfied that his hair wasn’t about to soak through the sweater he’d been provided, he hung the towel to dry and vacated the premises without so much as a glance toward the foggy mirror, hands already working through the snarls he’d created with his rough toweling. He made it a grand total of three steps out before Chandelure set upon him, taking his face in either wrought iron arm and bonking him square on the forehead with her globe. Chuckling, he bonked her back.

She stayed central in his field of vision all the way into the main living area-- only backing off when she had the room to comfortably float at his side-- and made sure to announce their arrival with an impressive promptness.

At the sound, Emmet glanced their way, standard smile turning softer, more genuine, before looking back to Crustle-- and then immediately double-taking. He uttered a quiet apology to the bug before abandoning his post and trotting over, the content smile from before taking on an edge, visibly delighting in something he’d noticed.

Taking a loose clump of mostly-dry hair in one hand, he shook the ends in Ingo’s face.

“What is this?”

Droll as he could manage, Ingo said, “If you require assistance in regards to your memory loss, I’m afraid you’ll have to seek it elsewhere.”

Emmet scrunched his nose up and flicked his wrist, letting the loose strands make contact. “You have never tolerated long hair before.”

Humming, Ingo took the bundle from his brother’s hand and went back to untangling it. “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s hardly unbearable at this length; quite easy to tie back, actually. I tried keeping it shorter for a time, but found it wasn’t worth the effort when it would reach the same station again within a fortnight. So long as it isn’t in constant contact with my neck, I have no complaint.”

Emmet echoed the hum-- looking completely unaware that he was doing any such thing-- and grabbed Ingo’s hand. Bemused, but curious enough to see where this was going, Ingo allowed himself to be herded onto the couch, sideways, where Archeops immediately curled into his lap. The cushions behind him dipped as his brother settled, too.

“You used to brush my hair for me when we were on our Pokemon journey.” Emmet told him, a hand on one shoulder to get a very specific angle. When, at the sound of his voice, Ingo automatically turned to look, he paused long enough to manually-- if lightly-- turn his twin’s head forward again, “Yours never required as much maintenance. Because you insisted on keeping it short. I made it to Mistralton before I got sick of the trouble it caused and joined you.”

For just a moment, Ingo considered the sensation of picking twigs and leaf litter out of his hair-- of how it had seemed so familiar, but just slightly to the left of what it should have been-- and resolved to revisit the thought later, when he wouldn’t be interfering with the point Emmet was trying to make.

Ironically, that very thought was interrupted by the feeling of fingers combing through his hair, working through the loose, tousled mess it had become. In a complete turnabout, it didn’t ring any bells-- distant or otherwise-- which made sense, if Emmet’s version of events was to be believed.

It was completely new, and it was shockingly wonderful.

There were notes in common with phenomena he’d experienced in Hisui-- like when a Sneasel kit got its claws stuck in his bun or Sneasler insisted on grooming him-- but it was so gently uncertain, affectionate and tentative. While he would never say he’d felt unappreciated in his service to Sneasler, he realized quite abruptly that this was what it was to be loved: to be unsure how to share it, and unable to keep from trying.

Ingo found himself holding perfectly still, so as not to interrupt; even when Emmet hit a snag and accidentally pulled just a bit too hard, he stayed quiet and motionless, focusing on the sensation with what might have been an alarmingly intense expression, had anyone been there to see his face. Fortunately, the only one in a position to witness that was Archeops, who’d long since draped his neck over Ingo’s thigh and fallen into a doze with an adorable cooing sigh.

It didn’t take terribly long to work through the tangle-- he hadn’t gone crashing through a forest in an attempt to escape the local Heracross or taken an unplanned swim in the river, after all-- but it was worth every minute. When he’d finished, Emmet hesitated and moved on to something else. Ingo’s best guess was that he was attempting a braid, and that it wasn’t going particularly well. He remained silent for another few minutes, and when the even breathing behind him gave way to a frustrated puff of air, decided to show his twin the same kindness he’d just shared.

“Have you finished?” He asked, and waited for Emmet to take the out.

There was a defeated little grumble and, after a moment, a resigned affirmative. Taking it as a cue, Ingo carefully shifted backwards, mindful not to dislodge Archeops or take Emmet by surprise.

Behind him, his brother gave a single, puzzled laugh as he was bullied back, “What are you doing?”

“This is a Sneasler custom.” He said, and while he hoped it came across as lighthearted, he was privately wary, watching for any sign that his actions were unwelcome, “Her bylaws state that grooming is to be followed by a nap; terribly sorry, but as her warden, I’m obligated to observe this protocol.”

Even if the tone didn’t carry it, Ingo knew that amusement lurked beneath the flat, “Mmhmm.” It was a very slight reassurance, and he only relaxed in full at the dull pressure against his crown, where Emmet had given up without a fight to rest his own head.

“That is unfortunate. As a Subway Boss, I have no choice but to follow the rules.”

There was a sleepy, chastising honk from Archeops’ general direction, and from there it was open season. The speed with which various Pokemon found a spot to huddle in was truly astonishing.

Ingo was home. It was warm.