#and lime takes a very long pause

[musubiki]

recently thinking about the tcwg episode where mochis mob spell finally starts running out. apparently its maximum possible usage is 10 years (which they find out from pom) and appearently tiramisu put it on her too soon,,... when they ask her she says "Oh...you were such a cute kid I didn't want to wait too long!!" while pinching her cheeks, and suddenly theres a few more people at school who are like "Hey...I never really noticed but...Mochi is kinda pretty, huh?"

for the people who start to notice, they chalk it up to "Maybe she hit puberty late...?" or something, but regardless she has 1 or 2 more people actually ask her out, and lime starts to realize how much it bothers him

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

i keep laughing when i read the dnd campaign with the beast pirates-

now i need to see how it would go with shanks and his crew

Imagine DND game night with the Red Hair pirates

Yassop: *the reluctant DM* All alright, so you've all fallen through a sinkhole and landed in the goblin King's throne room. Benn's paladin lands directly on the heir to the goblin throne, dealing *rolls dice* 17 points crush damage, and you killed him.

Benn: oh come on, I didn't even do anything.

Yassop: the goblin king, with his too-tight pants, ruffly white shirt, and long blond hair, launches himself to his feet. And in a booming voice, he yelled out, "These outsiders have murdered my son! Throw them in the dungeon!"

You: but it was Benn's fat ass that did it! Why do I have to go to the dungeon?

Yassop: The goblin king pauses, clearly thinking it over, after a moment he says, "Fine, that one's excused," before yelling, "but the rest go to the dungeon!"

Lime Juice: fuck me.

Shanks: what the fuck, we just broke out of jail less than three in-game hours ago!

Yassop: *definitely not punishing them for murdering an important NPC, and is trying to buy himself time to figure out what to do* Huh, I hadn't noticed...

Lucky Roux: For the love of god!

Yassop: Anyway, the entire party, minus (y/n) Dragon born, is taken to the dungeon. The goblin king turns to your dragon-born and looks you over, "Now, what shall we do with you?"

You: I'd like to roll a perception check, I'd like to know the vibe of the goblin king's court, from the nobles to the servants. *Rolls a D20* Fifteen with my plus eight modifiers, so twenty-three.

Yassop: Both groups, nobles, and serfs, are terrified of their king. You can see that a servant in the far corner has bandages under his shirt. It appears that he's been flogged recently. You notice, the nobles' eyes darting nervously as they mutter to one another.

You: I'd like to offer my services to his majesty, as a bard.

Yassop: The king scoffs, "I have plenty of bards, I have no use for another, you shall tend to the hearths of my castle. Go, start with the kitchens." You are taken to the kitchens and see it's dark, humid, hot, and crowded. The servants are wary of you, you see many of them are injured, and gaunt. The châtelaine approaches you and hands you a large rusty ring of keys and a map. She tells you your responsibilities are to make sure all the fires in the castle are lit.

You: and how much am I paid?

Yassop: she scoffs, "Your pay is food in your belly, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back. Now get started." And she leaves in a huff.

You: I'd like to persuade the servants to work together to overthrow the Goblin King because they deserve fair wages and safe working conditions.

Lime Juice: *chortling,* of course, unionizing them is your first move.

Yassop: *frustrated,* roll a d20.

You: *rolls* nat twenty, let's fucking go!!

Yassop: you inspire a popular servant to take the lead, and they overthrow the goblin King. The servants beat him to death. *Rubbing his temples in irritation*

You: I free the group from the dungeon while the servants deal with the king, using the keys and map the châtelaine gave me.

Shanks: Before we leave, can we look for treasure?

You: .... let's only take a reasonable amount, we wouldn't want to make them our enemies.

Benn: very wise.

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[theclaravoyant]

boyfriend material ~ a 7x06 bucktommy coda (T)

AN ~ inspired by this post ... ~1200 words of shamelessly self indulgent domestic bucktommy fluff

-

“I'm sorry we couldn't stay,” Tommy says again, as Evan helps him through the door. Going on hour thirty-something awake – and a pretty strenuous thirty something at that - is taking its toll, but his heart still flutters when Evan laughs.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Evan promises. “All the reception stuff's been pushed anyways. Tonight, I'm all yours.”

A smile lifts Tommy's weary lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Evan pauses a moment, hooked under his arm, to gaze admiringly with his beautiful blues. He likes the sound of that too, and he leans up on his toes to press a tantalising a kiss to Tommy's lips – a promise to pick up where they had left off earlier, but not right now.

“You want to shower first or eat first?”

“Uh...” What he wants is to collapse into a heap in the entry way and sleep like a log for the next several days. But Evan is right: if he doesn't eat something (other than that beautiful, light, fluffy, sugary cake), he'll be sick, and it's not like he can sleep in his turnouts anyway (although his heavy eyelids beg him to make an attempt).

“How about this,” Evan proposes. “You shower. I'll make us something to eat. Where's your bathroom?”

The words on the tip of his tongue are, you don't have to stay, but Evan is already leading him through the living area and toward the hall. His shoulders are steady bearing Tommy's weight. It's been a long time since he let himself lean on somebody like this.

“Second on the left.”

Evan steers them in and still doesn't leave. He helps Tommy shrug off his jacket and turnout pants, and heave off the boots Tommy's tired feet have swollen into. He turns the tap onto a hot, steamy setting and blasts it, then presses a drink bottle into Tommy's hands. “Get some electrolytes in you, too,” he insists. “When did you...” You know what, never mind. Tommy unscrews the lid and all but swallows the bottle in one go. It sends a tingle through him – he did not realise how dehydrated he was. It's also a little lemony, which is a nice touch. The lemon ones are his favourite.

“Take your time,” Evan instructs. “Dinner will be waiting when you get out. I'm right here if you need me.”

Only then does he finally peel away, leaving Tommy to extricate himself from his remaining sweat-slicked inner layers of clothing and stumble into the sweet beckoning call of the shower. With the help of the steam and citrus scrub he begins to wash the day – days? - off himself. It's a familiar ritual as the sirens and screaming and falling trees and the stench of melting asphalt fall away and leech out of his pores and wash down the drain. Even his head feels a little clearer, his limbs a little lighter by the time he's done and ready for the less familiar part... an enticing smell from the kitchen, something involving garlic, lime and chilli? His mouth waters.

-

Buck beams as a soft, clean Tommy pads back out into the kitchen in the soft, clean pyjamas he'd laid out for him. His soft, clean curls are even starting to puff back up already, and the promise of a meal has put a bit of pep back in his step.

“Feel better?” Buck asks. “You have no idea.” Tommy hums in satisfaction, deep and rumbling in his chest as he pulls Buck in for another kiss. Buck takes a deep breath and the musky deodorant that's meant to smell like some kind of forest – one that isn't on fire – makes his head spin. He very much does have an idea of Tommy's relief, is the thing, and the bone-tiring, soot-drenching work and the power of good old citrus scrub is something nobody he's ever dated can really understand. If Tommy's knees weren't about to drop out from under him, Buck thinks, he might just climb the man like a tree. But not tonight.

“You like stir fry?”

“God, yes.” Tommy all but snatches the proffered bowl. He moans as the first delicious mouthful forces him to savour it. It's positively indecent, but he's so hungry he's going to puke, so he continues between enthusiastically shovelled mouthfuls - “This. Is incredible. Where'd you learn to cook like this?”

Buck can feel himself blushing and puffing his chest up with pride at the same time. He humble-brags the best he can about how Bobby's taught him everything he knows. And about that one time he worked a kitchen in Phuket and learnt this killer Thai chilli sauce recipe. Tommy likes spicy food too apparently and jumps in with a story about how he, Chim and the other 118 crew back in the day had once challenged each other to eat prik kee noo and ended up with all of them (or as Hen would later correct it, all of them stupid enough to try) weeping over various sinks. It's easy, regaling each other back and forth and laughing until both of them are fed and blood sugar stabilised and Tommy's had as much water as he dares force through his poor kidneys. Still, the day they've had bleeds back through eventually – not least because Tommy sways dangerously with exhaustion on his way back from the bathroom, and Buck takes this as his cue to make his exit. He offers for Tommy to text when he's up, for a lift to Harbor for his truck, to do the dishes sometime the next day, but Tommy counter-offers;

“Stay.”

Yes. Buck's already thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow. Or today. Or whatever it is. But he manages -

“Are you... sure?”

“Evan,” Tommy scolds, with a fond, fatigue-addled smile on his face. “You've been up over a day and a half too, you know. And no, passing out in Chim's hotel room doesn't count. Frankly, it would be counter to my sworn oath to let you drive home. Please. Come to bed.”

“Oh, well, if it's for the greater good...”

They didn't get a wedding dance, but there's something of a whisper of it in the way Tommy reaches his hand out to lace his fingers through Buck's and draw him into the bedroom. It's so pleasantly dark in here on burning eyes, and the pillow is so blissfully cool on Tommy's face, that by the time Buck has kicked off his shoes and pulled his belt from its loops the time for any more flirting or kissing or talking has well and truly passed. Nevertheless, he smiles to himself, and settles in beside Tommy, and finally falls asleep to the sound of gentle snoring.

[amaiaqt]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤミㅤyour number 1 fanㅤ⋆ ｡˚ㅤ♡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow do they reward you for a personal milestone ? ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤaether, heizou, kazuha, kaeya !

first post of my 200 special ! to my dear mutuals, hope these don't disappoint !

@kaeyxs @https-heizou @papiliotao @lovevivi444 @mikacynth @kazumist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ｡ﾟ ⊹ㅤaether !

he'll admit, he doesn't fully get it, but he's so proud of you ! "nice one love ! so, so proud of you~!"

he knows well how big it is for you, as you take pride in this being something you love to do. so to see you overjoyed over something like this, he can't help but share the joyous energy with you

he wants to give you something, even just something small, to make this all the more rewarding for you — especially if it's something you put utmost effort into. however you want it, he'll give it to you. you want to go on a simple romantic date ? of course, his treat !

he wants you to feel rewarded for even the simplest efforts, and along with a milestone, that while he personally doesn't get, he will celebrate with you just to drown himself more in the priceless smile of yours

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ｡ﾟ ⊹ㅤshikanoin heizou !

now heizou, heizou gets it ! he's watched how you pull all-nighters for this, so he of all people know how special it could be to you. plus, he admires your dedication to it, for it reminds him of his own focus on his work

"well deserved baby," he cups your face in his hands. "so very proud of you~" he pauses to kiss all over your face between each word. his smile grows and matches with his bright lime colored eyes as your hands caress his that remained on both sides of your face

he'll ask if you'd like anything special, but no matter your answer, he will get you something. be it a simple stroll with your hands intertwined or a visit to some place you've mentioned in the past, he wouldn't mind — he just hopes whatever he does organize for you would be to your standards

it's precious to him, that particular sparkle in your eyes when you get excited, he treasures it dearly. so even for the simplest accomplishments, as long as they're a big deal to you, as long as your eyes shine that way, he's ready to celebrate it with you !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ｡ﾟ ⊹ㅤkaedehara kazuha !ㅤ

oh ? his dearest ? reaching a small yet special milestone ? this calls for a celebration !

"i always told you you'd get far," he smiles softly as he hugs you, humming to the vibration in his chest from your cheery giggles. "you're ready to go even farther." he compliments, playing with your hair as you lay on him now, still heartily rambling about your expectations

watching the way you waved your hands around in a messy, excited manner, the way you'd stop yourself in the middle of your almost incoherent sentences, only to continue on with self reassurance. he found it so endearing, and knew from that point you deserved a little reward

he sits up a bit, pressing his forehead against your own as he lost himself in your eyes, successfully making you pause from your speech as you stared at mesmerizing cherry eyes that stared at yours. he cupped your face with his right hand and closed his eyes, meeting his lips with yours

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ｡ﾟ ⊹ㅤkaeya ! ㅤ

he just got up from a nap, stretching, only for the plush of the sofa he was snoring away on 2 minutes ago to cushion his fall as you pounced on him with distinct excitement. a good morning would've sufficed, but he's not complaining

at first he thinks you were just in the mood to be clingy and affectionate, so he parted his lips to tease you lovingly for it, but pauses when you proudly announced, "i got a milestone, kae !" you sat up in his lap with stars in your eyes and pride in your voice

he replaces his originally, supposed to be, teasing tone with a confused yet encouraging one. "really now ?" he tilts his head up at you, urging you to say more — because, he would hit himself with his own hard punch before he admits aloud, he didn't know exactly what you were referring to, and with the hint of expectance in your voice, he thought you figured he did

"well.. it's kind of personal, and maybe embarrassing," you scratch the back of your neck, "but forget that !! it's a milestone kae ! don't i deserve some reward ?" he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down to lay on him, kissing your temple. "congratulations, love."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ© amaiaqt, 2023 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤdo not plagiarize !

[cherryjuiceblues]

this is demonrry after embarrassing y/n

let's say this takes place before they fell head over heels for each other and y/n still hates (strongly dislikes) his guts. (emphasis on the big eyes and teasing pout.)

Y/N is food shopping. A task that provides no enjoyment but a task that must be done nonetheless. She's been perusing the aisles for no longer than ten minutes when the air around her shifts (and she's had the displeasure of seeing him on multiple occasions by now so she guesses it's Harry).

And as Y/N turns around, that familiar scent hits her nose and she wants to melt into it but Harry is cruel. He teases her with a hint of what she could have—aromatherapy like no other—and then he takes it away within the same breath she inhales. Saccharine vanilla bathed in slices of lime turned stale supermarket air with hints of Chicken Tikka Masala (that some poor worker dropped all over the floor minutes prior).

"Cooking me dinner tonight, Bambi?"

He's beside her, inspecting her basket with an amused glance. There's nothing even remotely funny to be amused about, but Y/N supposes her mere existence is enough to quirk the corners of Harry's lips.

"No." Y/N huffs, looking down at her list in an effort to pretend the demon stood next to her, is in fact, not.

It's a real shame, a real damn shame, that the next thing she needs is just out of her reach. On the highest shelf, near grinning down at her.

Harry, who has been reading her list over her shoulder, smirks when he realises Y/N's dilemma.

"Oh dear," he teases, "that UHT milk is awfully high up. Those little legs of yours won't do."

And Y/N's had a rough day, she'll admit, so it makes perfect sense that she can't take his taunting today; makes perfect sense that her eyes start to sting a little.

"Bog off," she mumbles, clearing her throat and twisting her neck away to stare down the aisle and hide her hypersensitive tear ducts from Harry.

She's embarrassed. Not upset—embarrassed. And tired, and frustrated, and a little lonely. She doesn't like to admit that maybe she wants Harry to be nice to her for once. Would it kill him to blind her with his smile and grab the milk with barely a stretch of his arm?

She thinks not.

But she won't tell him that. Obviously.

Instead, Y/N conspicuously rubs at her eyes and turns to look back towards the shelf. Her chest expands with a deep inhale and her neck cranes as she burns holes into the stupid carton. What are you doing up there? she thinks, tone scolding.

Suddenly, a sinewy arm obstructs her vision—and on the end of that arm, a large palm with slender fingers reaching out to grasp the very thing she needs.

There's no need for preamble; no pause before she moves, as Y/N follows Harry's movements with her own hand, outstretching and demanding of the container he is holding.

Harry registers her motions before she's even executed them, moving the milk out of her reach once again. It laughs down at her from above his head. Y/N nearly feels sorry for it. Another corruption for the Demon Brigade.

"What are you doing? This is for me," Harry frowns, convincing as ever as he stares down at Y/N's pitiful face. Her attempt at showcasing anger tickles him considerably. She might as well be impersonating a little kitten whose ball of wool has been taken away.

"Stop it, Harry. Just give it to me." Her eyes are still stormy, but more so because they're wet as opposed to threatening. Her lashes want to clump together but she's trying to suppress it for as long as she possibly can.

But even if he wasn't preternatural, Harry still would've spotted her distress from a mile away. And he still would've found it greatly rewarding.

"Oh, poor little thing, are you having a bad day? You're crying."

Fuck's sake. A tear drips down her cheek right as he says it. Y/N wipes it away furiously. Harry's eyes widen in faux sympathy, lips jutting out to showcase succulent pink as he pretends to feel even an ounce of genuine care for her.

And maybe he does, but boy if he hides it well.

His face morphs into a smile—dimples and all—warm enough to light a spark inside Y/N's chest, no matter how mocking it is.

"You make it so easy, silly girl," he says as he surrenders the milk to her awaiting hands. He could've played this game all day but even Harry recognises the humiliation of crying in public.

He'll test her patience again when they're behind closed doors. When she can't glare at him and spin on her heel, stomping off in a huff to continue her shopping with his stupid smirk behind her eyelids.

Harry waits for her outside the shop. He walks her home, much to Y/N's vibrant distaste—and he bullies her the entire way there.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Snake Eyes 1

Warnings: noncon coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: thanks all for reading and I hope you're excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

The smell of citrus wafts in the air as you slice into a bright green lime. The juice dribbles on your gloves as you bring the knife down over and over through the bumpy skin. You gather it all up in your hands and put it in the metal container.

You peel off the plastic gloves and dump them in the bin, moving the tray to its place in the bar and putting the lid atop it. You continue your prep work, checking the olives and refilling the toothpick dispenser. Thor stands nearby, neatly lining the shelves with the shining clean glasses wheeled in from the kitchen.

Your first week is coming to an end. You’re finally in the routine of it. You find the pre-opening lull to be the most enjoyable time. The servers, the cooks, and bouncers drift in and hang around chatting as they get ready for doors to open.

You go to the other end of the bar to grab a jar of marischino cherry and pause. You can hear voices from the backroom. You try not to eavesdrop but it sounds rather heated. You can’t really discern the syllables but the muffled slam makes you flinch.

“Ah yes, my brother is having his weekly tantrum,” Thor muses as he spins and shoves a few pitchers onto the shelves beneath the bar. “Don’t mind him, he always is finding something to despise.”

You smile at Thor awkwardly. You only met his brother once. The very man who hired you after a brief interview. One which went by so quick, you’re certain he doesn’t even remember hiring you.

“He does take this all rather serious,” Thor chuckles as he straightens his collar, the points wide as his muscled chest peeks out. “Always a bit high strung. You wouldn’t believe he once worked where you do now. He bought out the owner and here we are.”

“Oh, yeah, somehow I can’t picture that,” you murmur.

Thor laughs again, a rumble like thunder, and grabs the empty cart. He wheels it towards the kitchen door as you walk listlessly behind the bar, checking that every tap is clean, every hose is in its place. Hinges whine and a door swings open loudly.

“Fuck you!” Danica bellows as she charges out of the backroom, “fucking asshole!”

You stop and watch her dumbly. Her long legs shine with bronzer as she stomps across the room, her beautiful features contortein anger. She’s one of the several or so bottle girls that serve the private rooms and wears the usual get up; tight black shorts and sparkly croptop. You wonder what’s got her so worked up.

“I fucking quit,” she hollers before she disappears down the stairs.

You watch behind her, stunned. Wow. You weren’t expecting that at all.

“Can’t quit if you’ve already been fired, darling,” Loki’s voice carries after her, tugging your attention back to the doorway. “Gods, these girls.”

You quickly put your head down and pretend to be busy. You check the limes, even as you’ve just put them away. He strides to the other side of the bar and sighs, his shadow watching you until you raise your eyes.

“Hello, sir,” you say, “can I get you something?”

“Martini,” he demands curtly, “dry.”

You nod and quickly go about making his drink. You present it to him in the stemmed glass with the olive and pickled onion skewered on top. He turns it slowly and admires your handiwork. His eyes crawl up and meet yours.

“Come,” he gestures you out from behind the bar, “right here.”

He steps back and sips from the glass.

“Sir?”

“Don’t make me tell you twice or you can follow the other one out.”

You wipe your hands on a towel and lay it on the lower ledge of the bar. You come around as he shifts to face you, keeping his lips on the brim of the martini. He sets it aside as you approach and gives you an appraising look.

“Hmm,” he steps around the stool and grabs your shirt. You cry out as he tucks it under, raising it up your stomach.

“What are you doing–”

“Hush,” he quiets you and grabs the top of your shirt, splitting it for a generous view of your cleavage. You’re too surprised to resist as he reaches around you and undoes the apron, dragging it away from your waist, “very well, you’ll do.”

“What?”

“I’m short a bottle girl, I’m certain you can handle pouring,” he tosses the apron over the bar. “Tips are better, anyhow.”

“But, I need–” You point over the bar.

“Consider it a promotion,” he interjects as he checks his watch, “I’ve some very special guests arriving in the Cobra Lounge soon.”

“Sir, I–”

“Figure it out,” he flicks away your protest, “or you might consider updating your CV.”

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi would it be alright if I request yandere Redson x Mei story /one shot please 🙏 💗 I really like their dynamic and I heard that demons back then would kidnap woman to marry them (even by force if necessary)

Would it be possible to request yandere Redson kidnapping Mei to marry her please ; if you wanna go dark you can do! I look forward to seeing what you come up with 💗 ^^

(if romance makes you uncomfortable, then maybe yandere platonic Redson doesn’t wanna share his only friend Mei with others )

Caleo Courtnapping

(Romance isn’t usually my cup of tea, but it’s nice to try new things! Also, a new Azure Lion bot is in the works!)

“…you’re very pretty,” Red Son finally says. He’s been sitting at the table for nearly an hour, seated opposite his bride-to-be. Each minute not spent staring at her is spent brainstorming and sketching on blank sheets of paper. “You’ve always been pretty. I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realize something so obvious.”

In his other hand is a custom cocktail, made by a well-dressed Bull Clone- there’ll be alcohol served at the coming wedding, and he’s been combing through a list of potential options.

“Strawberry daiquiri, sweetened with sugar and served with a splash of lime for freshness. It’ll match our colors, too.”

The fiery prince turn to his ‘darling’, wearing a smug grin that vanishes when he sees the furious expression apparent in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Mei.”

From behind an intricate and gilded muzzle, the swordswoman snarls.

“I tried to take it off, darling. You wanted to breath fire at me. Bad idea, by the way- fire’s my thing. I’m not too sure what you expected, actually- stop thrashing around!”

Red Son rounds the table to his intended bride’s side, groaning at her fury. He hadn’t intended for the wedding planning to be a matter of trying to coax nods or shakes from his beloved dragon-horse girl. No, he would’ve much rather spent a lovely evening together, trying wine and sampling sweet pastries for the inevitable day of union that they would share.

But she had made the decision to get physical, so the prince had made a decision of his own- that restraints were now necessary.

And now Mei sits on a sturdy redwood chair, cushioned by lush velvet and installed with many metal shackles to hold any unwilling spouse defiant individual in place. With her wrists and ankles firmly latched down, she found it hard to do much more than writhe.

But writhe she did, so Red circled the chair and slapped a button on the side with little fanfare. A clanging SHUNK sounds as two crescents of metal meet around her waist, tightening slowly to adhere her more closely to the thick wooden chair. Another button, a loud banging of metal that leaves her forearms bound with steel.

“There. That should keep you from ruining your-“

Pause. What did Mother say? Be honest with her instead of playing coy or being proud?

“…you have lovely skin, my dearest spitfire. It would be a travesty if you broke it by thrashing about. That wasn’t a threat, by the way. Please stop writhing.”

Nailed it. Mother would certainly be pleased by his efforts to open up to his future wife, and his expanding complimentary skills.

Or she would start expecting grandkids.

Maybe it would be better to keep this to himself, actually.

With a sigh, he moves one hand to the woman’s muzzled cheek.

“I’ll let you have a drink, darling. But only if you promise to behave.”

There’s a clear enthusiasm in Mei’s burning green eyes- no doubt that she believes Red Son is about to hand her another chance to try and escape his care.

He dashes those hopes by procuring a blindfold. “Misbehave again and this will be going on next,” is his level-voiced threat. “Do not make me cover up those gorgeous eyes, my sparkling cinder.”

Red Son carefully unhooks the muzzle from around her face, taking the moment to brush one of his thumbs across her bottom lip.

“…you really are very pretty,” he comments, a striking note of simple sincerity in his voice.

If she hadn’t been kidnapped and shackled down, Mei might have been flattered.

But all she can manage is a roll of her eyes and a shrug. “Sure, whatever. Give me a sip.”

Seethed through clenched teeth her words may be, they’re still some level of non-violent. So, as he is drawn to do- Red obliges the the wishes of his darling dragon.

“A toast,” he proposes, taking up the wine glass. “To our enduring union.” The glass is tipped to the lips of the swordswoman, allowing her to imbibe the frosty spirit. Made with frozen strawberries to keep ice from diluting the flavor and a shot of internationally imported and very expensive white wine, bright and refreshing- so very like the woman he vied for.

“It’s fine,” the tempestuous woman scoffs in turn. “The sangria was better.”

Watermelon sangria- served with a handful of frozen blueberries in the glass to keep the drink cool, with orange wedges soaking in the pitcher to add a dash of vibrant citrus.

“We’ll have both, darling,” he reassures. “And I suppose we’ll have to rummage up something spicier, too. It won’t be any good if all the spirits are sweet.”

“Pineapple margaritas,” she excitedly says, forgetting for just a moment her predicament to instead gush about something she enjoys. “With jalapeño slices! Ooh, and mezcal!”

Even just that spark of exuberance reminds Red Son why he’s so intent on marrying this warrior of a woman. The light that sparkles in her eyes, the upwards pitch of her delightful voice- how could he not love her?

“Anything for you, darling,” he says, and certainly not for the first or last time.

“I would do anything for you.”

[a-lonely-dragon]

Strike! - Chapter 1

Montgomery Gator x F!Reader

Working at the Mega Pizzaplex was a sweaty, sticky, eardrum-exploding nightmare, but you just had to stick with it until you heard back from literally any other job. It couldn't be too long now, what was the worst that could happen?

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Navigation: Chapter 2

You're taking in the traffic hazard of a shirt when the thought occurs. It isn’t the first time, God no, but this time around it strikes you as a real, genuine consideration. The council had gathered, spoken, and all came to the same conclusion.

You should quit.

Enough was enough, right?

The job market isn’t fantastic at the moment, yeah, but there had to be something better than being yanked around by Fazbear Entertainment. They had their millions of STAFF bots and plenty of desperate people ready to fill in your position.

And yet, you still hesitated. Lifting the new button-up from the bed, you throw it on before you can second-guess yourself and grimace at your reflection in the vanity mirror. You’re entirely swallowed by the riot of colors. Somehow, the material feels scratchier than the last one. Bright lime green, vibrant purple short sleeves and a smattering of yellow spots. You’d only just gotten used to the Bonnie Bowl’s ugly uniform, even grew fond of it in a weird way, and now here you were, transferred to the attraction of the same animatronic that had taken your favorite’s place, sporting his colors.

Chewing your lip, you threw a glance at the alarm clock on your night stand. It wasn’t long before you’d need to leave if you wanted to make it on time for your crash course in manning the golf course. If it was anything like the bowling alley, it’d involve a lot of running around, herding sugar-rushed children, and being berated by slews of cranky adults. Only this time, there’d be no cheery blue rabbit to break up the tedium. 

You sigh, and begin to toss around your bed’s blankets, searching for your phone. 

There was no use dwelling on it, what was done was done and, hey, maybe it was a good thing. No more scrambling for an answer when a kid asked Where’s Bonnie? No more digging pizza and cake out of the gutters or discovering new molds in the rental shoes. Most importantly, you wouldn’t have to see Bonnie’s face plastered everywhere, wouldn’t have to feel that bitter sting like you’d lost a friend out of nowhere. 

No, you thought, finally recovering your phone. I’ll just be digging pizza and cake out of golf hazards and have to deal with the animatronic that hates everyone.

But, checking your bank account, and thinking about the upcoming rent, you force aside the mess of feelings. God knows how hard it was to find a new job in this town, the reason you’d jumped to take a position at the Mega Pizzaplex in the first place, despite its less than stellar reputation. 

So lime green button up it was. Collecting your Fazwatch from its charger, you toss a couple of spare clothes into your bag and make for the door.

---

Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex is located at the very edge of city limits, which makes sense considering its theme park-esque size. The parking lot alone is twice the size of your apartment complex. You pull into employee parking at the far corner of the lot, and complete your step count before you even make it to the doors. Gotta leave the most convenient spots open to the guests, after all. Your first manager had been fired for parking in lot E instead of F, actually. Horrible guy, always smelled like onions.

You pause at the front doors, fingers tightening around your backpack straps. Despite the fact that you’ve been draining your life away here for the past few months, your stomach is in knots akin to your first day. You can turn around right now. Go home. You shake your head to clear away the feeling. It was just for a while longer, you reason, and force yourself to step inside. You’ll start putting in resumes elsewhere as soon as you’re back home. 

Inside is a familiar cacophony of lights, generic jazz, and boards advertising all of the fun you’d surely have within the walls of the Pizzaplex.

Scanning your employee ID at the front gates, you glance around the lobby curiously, trying to spot any familiar faces among the rest of the staff trudging along to their own designated areas of the ‘plex. You can’t help but wonder if your coworkers had survived the downsizing of the bowling alley, but you didn’t recognize any of the people shuffling along. Though, considering how you weren’t able to leave the bowling alley during your shifts and hardly ever felt compelled to explore when you weren’t on the clock, it wasn’t the strangest thing. 

The lobby of Monty’s Gator Golf is entirely devoid of human life as you power walk through it. You flash your badge at the STAFF bot manning the elevator, who waves a hand and monotones, “Welcome back to work, valued employee,” before the doors slide open behind it.

You suffer through a prerecorded line from Montgomery Gator as you descend, and afterwards a few seconds of Glamrock music. It feels like forever when the elevator finally opens with a cheery ding and deposits you into the jungle, where you’re immediately hit with a new cacophony of noise. Bass music bumps through the speakers and periodic hisses come from somewhere within the space. Your new manager, Rodney, is waiting for you as soon as you exit. He isn’t subjected to the same horrendous uniform as you, dressed in a simple button-up and slacks, but he sports a garish spotted tie and, above his nametag, a Monty Gator enamel pin flashes.  He glances up from his Fazwatch, and you’re immediately nervous at how unimpressed he looks. The managers around the Pizzaplex were . . . not well liked, to say the least. While you could sympathize with how stressful their jobs must be, juggling customer complaints, major attraction malfunctions, and so on, more often than not, they were strict as hell and quick to terminate employees at the drop of a hat.

Plastic retail smile sliding into place, you approach. “Hello, nice to meet you. I’m–”

“Welcome to Gator Golf,” Rodney says flatly, pulling a tablet from his pocket and tapping at the screen. “Let’s get going, you’ve already studied the map of the golf course, I hope? Security has more important things to worry about than finding lost girls.”

Jackass. You bite down your irritation and nod. How hard can it be to navigate a mini golf course?

“Good. I’ll walk you through your tasks today, but from tomorrow on you’ll be on your own. You’re not a new hire, so I don’t expect you’ll need babysitting.” He turns on his heel and begins walking, voice just loud enough for you to make out over the ambient noise. “You’ll receive a list at the start of each shift, and you’re expected to complete all tasks before you clock out. Anything left undone will be sent to me to review. If you need to work overtime to complete these tasks, you need to message me first.”

As you trail after Rodney, nodding along to his instructions even though he doesn’t look your way the entire time,  you take in what will essentially become your second home until you can find a new job. Much like its reptilian mascot, it’s very in-your-face. The lights are dim and hidden fog machines churn out puffs of white that hang over the water hazards, further obscuring the plastic foliage that hangs from the ceiling and crawls up the walls and pillars throughout the course. Neon lights run along the railings, meant to guide patrons through the courses, with a sign designating each hole. 

Compared to the open floor plan of Bonnie Bowl, this area felt much more enclosed. The curving pathways that skirt around the course’s main turf wind to and fro, with large fronds and near life-size trees further blocking line of sight. 

As you crane your neck to admire the tiny yellow bulbs scattered throughout the foliage, you can just make out parts of a catwalk peeking from the darkness. There’s an upper half to the attraction, you remember reading about it in the email. The Hurricane Hole-in-One where patrons could ride around in carts that zip above the course and try to hit targets, spilling a massive bucket full of plastic balls into a pit below. It sounded more like a waterpark themed ride to you, but who were you to say where giant buckets could or couldn’t be? 

“Most of your tasks will keep you here on the ground,” Rodney says, noticing your attention drifting upwards. “Guests aren’t allowed on the catwalks and maintenance takes care of the ride when necessary.”

You let out a silent sigh of relief when he turns back around. Heights didn’t scare you, per se, but you weren’t sure you wanted to test Fazbear Entertainment’s ability to keep suspended walkways up to code.

As you trudge on, you find that the noise is truly endless in this attraction, especially with the damned alligator heads constantly hissing as they pop across the course, wiggling and taunting you. Those were going to get real old, real fast. You almost ask Rodney if they had to be on constantly, but think better of it. He probably wouldn’t appreciate you interrupting his explanation of how often you’re supposed to check the rivers for lost items (at least monthly). You cast a wary look at the dark water. It smells stagnant, with a hint of chlorine and an undercurrent of pizza. You’ll have to bring your rubber gloves from home, just in case you aren’t out of here before having to suffer plunging into those depths.

As the two of you make it to the far side of the room, Rodney motions towards a red door half-hidden by hanging leaves. “You can go through here to get to the backroom. It’s where you’ll find the cleaning supplies and most of our inventory. The rest is kept in storage below, I’ll show you the way after the Pizzaplex closes, but you can find directions at the end of your Monty Golf Employee pamphlet.”

You have a feeling you’ll be referring to your map often for the first few weeks, but otherwise your duties don’t seem to be that much different from your time at Bonnie Bowl. Fielding questions and demands and complaints, directing the staff bots when messes and spills inevitably happened or having to clean them up yourself when those state-of-the-art machines couldn’t get somewhere. All of that on top of basic restocking, reshelving, and inventory for the gift shop, and confiscating Faz Cams when necessary, apparently.

“Any and all Faz Cams you collect can be brought back to the security office at the end of your shift.” He leads you to a different door and, through that, into the blandest hallway you’ve seen in this entire building. Beige tile walls and linoleum floors, not a poster or product placement in sight. Honestly, the cold and clinical feeling it gave you was almost eerie.

The security office is thankfully nearby, and with a swipe of his ID, the door sweeps open with a heavy clank, and beyond it is a sudden return to the Fazbear decorating scheme. Checkerboard floors and mascot faces plastered everywhere, and sitting before a massive screen displaying a multitude of tinier screens, you finally see another human being other than Rodney. The security guard startles a bit at your sudden appearance, letting out a hiss as coffee splashes over the rim of the paper cup in his hands. You wince in sympathy as he snatches a wad of napkins from the desk and dabs at his pant leg furiously.

Rodney grunts, but you can’t tell if it’s apologetic or not. “Guard, newbie. Newbie, guard.” 

“Nathan, it’s Nathan,” the guard says, setting his cup aside and quickly getting to his feet to offer you a hand in greeting. You take it and give him your name in return. “Nice to meet you, I’m usually the one on shift here.” He looks nice enough, if a little nervous. A mess of brown curls escapes from beneath his security cap, and when he smiles a dimple appears at the corner of his lips. 

“You know how to contact security already through the watch, right?” Rodney asks, his nose once again buried in his tablet. “Great. Then let’s go, you need to help open the course.” You barely get the affirmative out before he’s leaving the room, and you throw a hasty goodbye to Nathan, who gives you a pitying look, before scrambling out after him.

By the end of your first shift, you can’t wait to be left to the wolves. Having Rodney hover over you throughout every single task was driving you up the wall. He doesn’t help with any of the jobs, just . . . watches. You have no idea what he’s doing on his tablet, but you’re convinced he’s taking notes or already filling out your employee report. Periodically, guests stop you to ask for directions, where certain animatronics are at the time, or, in one man’s case, to notify you that he’d somehow launched his golf club into one of the trees and needed a new one. Rodney piped up every now and then, but it was clear this was a test run for you. There was no doubt that if he didn’t find your work adequate today, you might find yourself cut from the Pizzaplex sooner than you planned.

The manager over in Bonnie Bowl, Pam, hadn’t been much better during your first month, but she’d delegated your training to one of your co-workers. You suppose it makes some sense, you’ve been working here for a bit already and if you’re going to be going around mostly on your own it stands to reason the manager would want to know you aren’t entirely incompetent. But every raise of his brow and grunt makes your gut twist with nerves.

A wave of relief washes over you as you check off the final task on your Fazwatch, just a couple of minutes before you’re supposed to clock out, but Rodney clears his throat and you immediately tense once again. You turn to Rodney expectantly. You did good today, you know you did, but that didn’t matter. What matters is this old guy’s opinion.

He glances back at the now empty golf course, scanning the area as if he’s searching for something out of place. You bite the inside of your cheek, cold sweat clinging to your upper lip. Honestly, you can’t figure out if you’re worrying about being fired right away, and thus being a failure, or being deemed competent enough to return to this place tomorrow. Then, finally, he turns to you. “A decent start. I expect you know the policy for clocking in?”

“No more than two minutes before or after my shift without prior approval,” you recite. No getting a head start on work for you.

“Good. I’ll send you a review of your performance today. I believe in constant self-improvement and genuine hard work here.”

God, he was one of those bosses, huh? “Understood.”

---

With a yawn, you shrug on your jacket and sling your bag over your shoulder, novelty keychains clattering against each other. The locker room smells of sweat and someone’s forgotten lunch, but you’ve been in here enough that you’re getting used to it. It’s all but deserted by now with only a few stragglers like yourself shuffling about, with the exception of a single woman two lockers down from you. The security guard.

She looks wide awake, if not a bit grim-faced, as she tugs her blonde ponytail through the back of her black cap. A flashlight hangs at her belt along with a pronged baton the length of her thigh. You have to withhold a shudder at the sight of it. How many volts did it take to incapacitate an animatronic? It was only a precaution, you’d been assured the first time you’d seen your manager brandish it proudly, since all of the bots and animatronics were programmed to the teeth with the sole purpose of protecting their charges and wouldn’t in a million years be capable of harming a human–and yet.

Your job wasn’t all sunshine and roses, sure, but at least you weren’t the night guard. The thought of those creepy STAFF bots skittering about in the dark sends a chill up your spine.

“Cute magnet.”

You give a start at Vanessa’s comment, a small flush of heat crawling up your cheeks as you follow her gaze. The inside of your locker is pretty sparse, apart from a few sticky notes and some cheap round magnet clips to hold reminders, but near the top is a Glamrock Bonnie magnet, smiling cheekily and winking. “Ah, thanks,” you say, more than a little surprised that she’s spoken to you. From what little you’ve seen of her, she doesn’t go out of her way to talk to anyone first. 

She doesn’t come closer, but tilts her head a bit, still admiring it. “They don’t sell those anymore, right?”

You frown a bit and nod. “Got it a couple months ago.” 

Vanessa sighs. “It’s a shame they got rid of him, I always liked rabbits.” 

“Me too,” you say, and the conversation dies there. After an awkwardly silent second where it becomes clear neither of you have anything to bring it back to life, you shut your locker and Vanessa blinks, and maybe it’s just the shitty lighting, but the dark circles beneath her eyes seem heavier than before. “Well, uh, have a good shift.”

Vanessa’s lips quirk, a shadow of a smile lightening her features. She lifts a single hand in a lazy wave. “Thanks. See you around.”

[brittle-doughie]

Had an idea ever since I read the 'biggest fans' thing....what if they fell for y/n when y/n was on a rival team...like y/n also plays 3 cookie volleyball and plays against the cherry stars? How would the obsession start and how would they take care of the...opposing sides problem? Also curious how they'd act when they play against y/n!

Foul Play (Cherry Stars)

I actually had a bunch of ideas for this one too lol

It was after a match that the 3 cookies of Cherry Stars return to their break room after escaping the reporters that tried to swarm them, exhausted and out of energy after another effort to win is out the window. The sudden knocking at their door made them jump, weren’t reporters kept from this area?!

Cherry Ball knowing this went to answer the door and came upon a supposedly new face to her that greeted Cherry once the door opened!

You introduced yourself as Y/N Cookie that came by and wanted to congratulate them!

Purple and Green Cherry Star Players wondered what you were talking about, they didn’t even win the match!

You added on that it was the effort they put in the match that made them winners in your eyes, they came a long way from their beginnings to where they were now at the big leagues here, it was like their first match back at your local town was just yesterday.

That line made them pause for a second before the memory of their first game got to them, you were that enthusiastic cookie in the crowd that cheered them on! One of their very first fans…seeing you here just as enthusiastic as you were back then did lift up the players’ spirits, but they didn’t get ahead of themselves, they still lost the match..

“Happy to hear you’re behind us all the way, but we’re sorry for disappointing fans like you back there.”

“Yeah..we hoped we could win something to make you fans proud..”

“Sorry, Y/N Cookie. We hope we can do better this next match! We won’t give up just yet!”

You had faith in them, they just needed to be led in the right direction and what better way to do that then to receive help from the other cookies in the stadium! You knew a couple of them, so it was easier on the introductions and get straight to the advice! The Cherry Stars were taken back by your will to help them out, you didn’t seem to want anything out of it and you’re here willing to lend them a hand? They…don’t know what to say!

“Thank you, Y/N Cookie. You truly are a fan!”

———————————————————————

“Y/N Cookie!”

When you said you knew the cookies around the stadium, the Cherry Stars players weren’t expecting Orange and Lime Cookie to straight up head towards you as they gave you a big hug. They were willing to give the players advice on what they knew about coordination and working together, but at the same time, they were also split on speaking to you as well. Seeing this, for some reason, it wasn’t sitting well for the three players

“They..really like Y/N Cookie it seems. Like they’re fans of them of too!”

“I know they’re here to help us out, but I can’t shake off this feeling when they speak to them..”

“What is Y/N’s history with these two…?”

———————————————————————

“Ah, Y/N Cookie. Have you seen my match?”

You admit that you did as you handed her a handkerchief, she was pretty cool in scoring victory in the last act of her match, she kept her cool under the pressure.

“You’re too kind, Y/N. Say, do you happen to be free after Sports Day?”

Oh! You appreciated the offer, but you were actually here to see if White Choco can offer advice to the Cherry Stars on what they could do to improve themselves!

“Of course! But just know, I didn’t hear a no for my offer hm?”

You chuckled as you awkwardly rubbed the back of your head as White Choco gave you a smirk.

If Orange and Lime didn’t raise alarms before, White Choco certainly was.

“White Choco is so bold..I wish I could be like that..”

“Y/N…really knows a bunch of cookies, huh?”

“They’re awfully close for fellow players…”

———————————————————————

“You helped me too! Talking with you helped me organize my thoughts! Let’s keep enjoying what we love! I know that no matter what, there are still cookies out there who will support me and my team no matter what!”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, like Y/N Cookie! They’ve been there since the start and I want to make them happy for all they’ve done for me today!”

“Wait, Y/N Cookie? THE Y/N Cookie?!”

“Yeah! What’s the matter?”

“They didn’t tell you, did they? Well…”

———————————————————————

The Cherry Stars next match was up as they took to the field, the opposing team making their way out as well, Cherry Ball didn’t want to believe what she was told, you didn’t look like the volleyball player type, you were too gentle for a high stakes sport.

The look on their faces when they spotted you coming out last in the line as you took to the center of your team, the role of team leader. Your team voiced their enthusiasm and support for you as you gave words of encouragement to the reporters.

Your team were the hyped bunch, you were their star player in both the games and as a person, you were able to unify a team that worked hard and played hard! They gave you a pre-game congratulatory group hug as good luck for the match. A gesture the Cherry Stars didn’t appreciate, how come these cookies get a hug from their fan before they did?

The Cherry Stars’ admiration for you peaked when the match was occurring, being able to coordinate your team well and with such sync, they thought you all shared a brain. Having to play against didn’t help the Stars, but you’ve helped them throughout the day, it would be a shame if all that help went to waste if they choked up now!

You called out to Cherry Ball that she needed to make this shot to win!

She didn’t want to do it, she didn’t want you to lose! Your team looked so stoked to be here and a loss for them worried Cherry that they’ll begin to resent you! She didn’t want that for her earliest fan!

She’s worked up the whole day for this moment, do it and make the shot! She’ll not only make her team proud, but you proud as well!

SO DO IT! TAKE THE VOLLYBALL SHOT!

And so she did it. She jumped in the air and slung the volleyball back into your court with all she had, she closed her eyes while doing so. Green and Purple gasped as the ball flew right back into your court…and straight for you.

The resounding hit echoed across the stadium as the spectators came to a silence, as did both teams. Cherry Ball hesitantly opened her eyes…and was horrified to see that the ball had struck you and sent you to the ground.

Not caring about anyone else at the moment, Cherry rushed to you as she held you in her arms, pleading for you to get up and please…forgive her. She’s sorry, so sorry! She didn’t care for the stares of horror and anger sent her way by your team.

You coughed awake as you looked at her way, tears streaming down her face as she apologized over and over again. Green and Purple head on over to you as well to check on you, completely blocking off your team from getting to you.

You…you….YOU DID IT, CHERRY!

The cookies on the field and the ones watching were baffled that you were happy that the Cherry Stars won as opposed to being furious that they hit on the side of the face with the ball. Well…if you were okay with it, the sports commentators declared the Cherry Stars as the winners of the match!

The three girls wouldn’t stop apologizing to you as you returned to reporters with an ice pack for your face. It was water under the bridge, their victory made you happy so you didn’t care you got clocked on the face. Your team didn’t share the sentiment, how did these cookies think they were to show their faces again after what they did!

The Cherry Stars butted heads with them as they took you into their arms, if you were okay with it, then you were okay with it! Your team shouldn’t be allowed to just ban them from seeing you again! You were their earliest fan and no way will they allow the competition to ruin that!

“It ’s for the best that Y/N Cookie comes with us! We can get food to celebrate our win and for all the help they’ve given us”

“Not to mention that you cookies sound crazy, you can’t keep Y/N from us forever!”

“We’re only spending time with our fan here, what’s the big idea?”

And if your team started to cause far more trouble in the future..well, the Cherry Stars will cross that bridge when they get there..you should be on a team that will treat you with the love and care that they can show you…

Your team will just have to accept that facts that when it comes to vying for your affection, they’ve already struck out

[youtellmeman]

Montegues and Quaritchs alike

Part 1

Lo'ak x human! Reader

Prologue - part 2

Warnings- gun? some foul language

Tawtute- human

Yuh prologue and first chapter in one day cause i wanted to give yall something else. As usual everything under the break.

Lo’ak knew somehow this would fall on him, maybe that’s why he didn’t immediately call for his father over the com in his ear. He’d already been scolded today for being on the battlefield when he knew very well his father had already told him he was forbidden to go anywhere where there might be a chance of sky people. Let alone on the forefront of the battlefield. 

All he’d wanted to do was help. That’s all Lo’ak ever wanted to do when it came to his father, prove that he could be of some assistance, that he could be useful. And maybe if Eywa hadn’t meddled in this whole situation he’d have been able to take out this random sky person, been able to prove that he was a strong ally to have on the field. 

No, instead here he was trying to question it, or her he should say.

“Who the hell are you?” He pushed all the authority he could into his tone.

“Nobody, I’m nobody.” You say as you slowly lower the things in your hands to the ground in what would’ve been a show of submission. Had you not dropped the basket in favor of moving to grab the pistol from your holster, immediately taking aim. “So why don’t we call it and move our separate ways huh?”

He should’ve shot you when he had the chance, now instead he was stuck in standoff with a sky person. And even he knew that gun against bow, he wasn’t coming out on top. So instead he did what his father would’ve told him, for the first time ever maybe, and fell back. Taking slow steps backwards letting himself disappear into the brush, or at least that's what he lets you believe. Because as he backs off so do you, waiting until you can't hear his footsteps anymore before booking it back in the direction you came. Not bothering to pick up what you'd dropped instead keeping your gun held high as you ran through the forest ragged breaths leaving your chest, trying to stay as aware of your surroundings as possible with them changing so rapidly.

You’d ran straight for a long moment before finally pausing for a breath, trying to analyze what had just happened. Your father had raised you to believe that these savages would kill you on the spot. The tall blue people had filled your nightmares as a child and now your very first run in with one , not only had he not killed you, but spoke to you in your own language.

The interaction would plague your thoughts for the rest of the trek home, once you had returned, and through the next couple of days. Well in between being scared shitless about what would happen if your father found out you'd snuck off the compound. Thankfully though it seemed he’d remained unaware and so the next time you were given a day to recuperate, you did it again. 

And this time you did it with the hope of meeting that same na’vi man again, plus you wanted to get your basket back. So here you were once more moving through the almost luminescent forest that covered the majority of pandora, this gun out to lead with. In no time you’re able to find the spot you’d first met him, and luckily your spot still lay where you’d left it and though your samples had wilted that was the least of your concern right now. Not when you were scanning the trees for any sign of blue skin or those piercing lime green eyes. You didn’t find it, not then, not in the next five, ten minutes, half hour, hour. And so you call it. Resigning yourself and instead moving to focus on the flora like you’d intended the first time you’d ventured out into the wilderness.

Unbeknownst to you someone else had been hoping to see you today. In fact Lo’ak had been hoping on running into for the last few days,coming to the same spot, though instead of approaching on foot he'd been in the trees, waiting and watching. Just as he was now.

Everything he’d learned about sky people was encapsulated by the fact that they were takers. The sky people only knew how to take and take and hurt. You however proved to be slightly different. 

You still took, you took pieces of plants,flowers, roots, and seeds. Placing them in a basket. The difference was you didn’t seem to want to cause pain. Despite raising a gun to him you didn’t fire, and even in your taking of their forest plants you never took too much. Never uprooting the whole plant, killing mercilessly, instead taking small bits and pieces of what you wanted, leaving the rest unharmed. 

So he sat watching, simply learning, trying to understand why Eywa had stopped him from extinguishing you. At least he had intended to simply watch and learn. But you were starting to lean towards an extremely dangerous plant for a small of its flowers.

“Don’t do that.” His voice cut through the ambiance of the forest. Perching himself on a branch in your eyeline. His voice has you whipping your gun from its holster in seconds pointing it in his direction. This time you find while he’s still armed his bow is thrown over his shoulder. No arrow pointed in your direction and hands empty. “Its fumes are poisonous and so is the sap covering its stem and leaves.”

“Oh.” Is all you can let slip from your lips. Confusion laces the one word you muttered and Lo’ak finds himself chuckling at your obliviousness. 

“Oh is right. So unless you want to be dead in minutes I’d leave that alone if I were you.” There’s something analytic behind the playful grin he wears that you can see ever so clearly. Though you step away from the plant you still making no move to lower your gun. “Humans are so foolish. You should not touch things you know nothing about, Tawtute.”

“If I'm so foolish, why not let me figure it out on my own?” You ask and after a moment your head tilts in question, “Taughtoo?”

“Tawtute.” He repeats this time slower and you let your mouth try to form each syllable of the word silently. “It means human.” He clarifies.

“Why call me that; tawtute?” You ask, arms lowering as you continue to speak.

“That is what you are. No? Plus you haven’t exactly given me a name to work with.” He says before jumping down from the branch he was previously perched on. Now standing a few feet in front of you. “Unless you expect me to call you Nobody?” He asks playfully with a small squint of his eyes and a shake of his head to move the small braids that had fallen into his line of sight. You can't help the small grin that grows in response to his playfulness, finally holstering your gun once more before giving him your name, your first name only.

With whatever comradery you have growing between you two you don't need it sullied by what your father had done before your birth.

Lo’aks body relaxes slightly once you’ve put away your firearm, in fact once it's away completely he begins to circle you, not predatorily. Just curious, like you’re some kind of animal he’d never seen.

“You know usually when someone tells you there name, you introduce yourself back?” You comment, standing still letting him finish whatever investigation he had going on as he circled you. 

“Usually people do that when the first meet instead of point a gun at you.” Lo’ak can’t help the way you intrigue him, the way you entrance him like a lighting bug a child. 

“To be fair you aimed first.” You say finding his gaze once more, having to crane your neck to do so, with a small shrug. He looks you up and down from one more time from in front of you before locking eyes with you unblinkling before chuckling dryly with a small nod of his head.

“Lo’ak te Sully of the Omiticayan clan, second son to the Olo’eyktan.” Lo’ak chooses to introduce himself formally, giving a half bow while he watches you through his lashes and the few braids that fall forward. He doesn’t miss the flash of recognition on your face.

“...Sully?” You question and you can’t help the way you tense once more, every part of you that was once at ease now on high alert. “Like, like Jake Sully?”

“You know of my father?” Oh well this wasn’t good, you figured. Of course the first na’vi you meet happens to be the son of you fathers archnemisis. The whole reason youre on the damn planet is because of Lo’ak’s father.

“Him and my dad used to know eachother.” You mutter lowly, now refusing to meet his eyes.

“I take it by your expression they didn’t get along very well.” Lo’ak is quick to draw conclusions, but he isn’t exactly surprised. Save for the human allowed to stay on pandora not many sky people liked his father wether they used to know him or not. He just didnt know how much your fathers didn’t like eachother yet.

You’d heard the story of how Jake Sully betrayed your father tons of times, the way his wife had shot him nearly ending your his life, and the way your father tried his damndest to kill Jake and failed. It was one of the things you’d used a many times to piss him off.

“Understatement of the century dude.” You say to yourself before meeting his eyes. You weren’t sure how he’d react if he knew who you were, who your father was. So you said nothing. Rather safe then sorry. “Yeah well you know he kinda betrayed us, you can see the issue I’m sure.” You try to keep the answer casual and bare minimum, unaware that Lo’ak heard what you’d muttered below your breath. He chooses not to comment on that though, instead,

“My father didn’t betray anyone, he chose to learn and grow. Something the rest of your people should try out.” Quick to defend his father it seemed. Despite the way they might clash Lo’ak could never let anyone speak ill of his father .

“He chose your people over his own kind, that’s called betreyal.” You bite back, you knew what you’d learned and you had no reason to believe any different now, wether you were getting along with one of the blue bastards or not.

“He chose peace over war while your people chose war over peace. He fought for those who wanted peace, that is called maturity. Something else I see you all lack.” Lo’ak steps forward with that comment glaring down at you; he can’t help the way you glaring back so unafraid fills his veins with something electric. 

It’s you who breaks the glaring match, rolling your eyes and sucking your teeth. Grip on your basket tightening in irritation when you step back from him. You think this has been enough time in the outdoors for today.

“See you around Lo’ak.” You respond curtly, ending this…whatever this had been. Turning to walk away, back to the compound, chest heavy with what you’d learned.

It was only once you were in bed later that night, undiscovered once more that you’d realize he’d never answered your question. Why not let you learn the hard way when it came to dangerous things?

—————

Reblogs appreciated <3

Chapter brought to you by my y2k playlist and brisk ice tea

Taglist (reply to be added!)

@wakanda-forever-andotherfandoms @bambithewriter

[trulybetty]

oct' 02 x apple scent

Prompt: apple scent Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Bryony Morgan (OFC) Word Count: 908 Warnings: un-beta'd is the name of the game, mentions of food, implications of alcohol, Dieter's shameless flirting, hints at spice, but it goes no spicier than cinnamon for our favourite trash panda. this is fluff Summary: set who knows when in the Chiffon universe, slice of domesticity for one of my favourite character pairings

x. masterlist

The day had been long, too long.

The kind that sucked every ounce of energy out of you and still demanded more

The meetings were relentless, back to back, and some simultaneously both in person and over Zoom. By the time Bryony had closed the door to her office and waved good-bye to Tim at security she was well and truly drained. 

The only thought that kept her going was the sanctuary of her sofa and the blissful idea that she could go completely off the grid until ten the next morning.

As she pushed open the heavy front door of home, her senses were instantly flooded with the comforting aroma of apples and cinnamon. Already halfway out of her jacket and kicking off her heels before the door had closed behind her, she called out into the house, “Dieter!” Her belongings dropped unceremoniously in the hallway as she headed toward the source of the scent.

In the kitchen, Dieter was busily putting the finishing touches on a home-cooked dinner, an apron wrapped around his waist.

The sight was enough to bloom the first genuine smile she’d had since she had left him reluctantly in bed that morning with his promise of an evening of just the two of them. But Bryony’s overrun day had put a shot to that, she was home three hours later than she was supposed to. It was just as dark out as it was when she’d left that morning.

“It really is infuriating how good you are at this stuff.” Bryony commented, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

“Jealous Daff?” Dieter quipped, turning to catch her in an embrace.

She raised an eyebrow. “No,” she grumbled but melted into the warmth of his arms, feeling the tension of the day drain away. “It’s like I have my own little Stepford wife.”

Dieter chuckled, “Ah, but unlike them, I come with added benefits.”

As she surveyed the kitchen, she had to admit: Domesticity looked good on him. She had wondered how he would fare taking a hiatus from acting, but he seemed to be thriving. She playfully reached for a piece of the pie's crust, only to be swatted away.

“Ah-ah,” Dieter swatted her hand away, winking, “good things come to those who wait.”

“Okay, fine,” she held up her hands in defeat, “I’ll wait.”

Dieter smirked and handed her a generously filled glass. The bubbles fizzed around the lime garnish and ice. She didn't need to taste it to know what it was. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” she said, taking a sip.

Throwing the dishcloth he'd been holding over his shoulder, Dieter's broad shoulders became even more pronounced under the fabric of his thin flannel shirt. “I don’t need to ask to know you likely forgot lunch, refused to ask your assistant to grab something and drank nothing but coffee all day.”

As if on cue Bryony’s stomach grumbled loudly.

“You know me too well,” Bryony remarked, holding the glass to her chest.

Dieter laughed, his eyes narrowing playfully, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I can read you like a book,” he paused for theatrics as he moved in closer to Bryony, “a very steamy, page-turning book.” he finished with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, not immune to the charm but too tired to engage fully. “Flatterer.”

“It's one of my many skills,” he winked. “Along with cooking, making women swoon, and being irresistible even in an apron. Does any of that ring a bell?”

“Mostly the apron,” she retorted with a cheeky smile, taking another sip of her drink. “It really does add a certain je ne sais quoi to the whole Bravo experience.”

Dieter leaned in, his voice dropping to a sensual murmur. “Oh, I've got plenty more experiences to offer, just say the word.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I'm too tired for experiences right now, and you know it.”

“Ah, so it'll have to be Dieter: The Home Edition tonight,” he grinned, planting a quick but tender kiss on her lips. “Go change, and let's have dinner.”

She hesitated, her eyes searching his for a moment. “I'm sorry for coming home late, I wanted to be here.”

His expression softened, his flirtatious air replaced by genuine warmth. “It's okay, Daff. I know how much your work means to you. Besides, this gives me an excuse to indulge you a bit.”

She smiled, genuinely touched. “I'll be right back.”

Despite the fatigue that was soaked into her bones Bryony headed up the stairs to their bedroom to change. Happy to shirk the confines of the semi-formal attire the day had called for and released from the restrictions of underwires, she changed into more comfortable clothes and headed back downstairs. As she re-entered the kitchen, Dieter was just placing the final dish on the dining table.

“Ready to eat?” he asked, the suggestive glint in his eye did not go amiss.

“Starving,” she said, taking her seat and reaching for her drink Dieter had brought to the table, “for food, mostly.” 

“Mostly,” he winked as he sat across from her. “Well, the night is young, my love. Who knows what other appetites we might satiate.”

She couldn't help but laugh. “You're incorrigible.”

He raised his glass for a toast. “And you wouldn't have me any other way.”

“True,” she agreed despite shaking her head playfully, clinking her glass against his. “Very, very true.”

[kiatheinsomniac]

.・✫・゜・。. ｡⋆ʚ[ 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐏! ]♡⃛ɞ

──── 𝐃𝐀𝐘'𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 ˊˎ - ☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: feb. - mar. 2023: second supporter @tired-lime 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor Kenway x reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 0.5k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none

Connor’s large hands very slowly and carefully repositioned your shoulders as you drew back the string of the bow, your eyes trained on the squirrel that had paused midway through climbing up a nearby tree. You had convinced him to teach you how to hunt and two spooked dears and 4 missed birds later, you had nothing to show for your efforts. He was masterful in shooting a rabbit earlier, the two of you hardly had to wait at all and you knew that it would serve as a hearty ingredient to tonight’s dinner but you had wanted to contribute something too. 

“Hold your breath…” His voice was barely a whisper against your ear. His hand covered yours to draw the string back even further, feeling it lightly press to the corner of your mouth before he released you and let you aim for yourself. With a steady exhale, you let the arrow fly but, like all the other times, you missed your mark and the creature scampered off out of sight. 

You let out an annoyed groan as you dropped the bow to the ground and turned to face Connor who was kneeling beside you, his broad palm coming to rest on your arm and rub up and down to assure you that it was alright. 

“I wanted to get us something too…” You frowned in disappointment, knowing that it was growing late and the two of you would have to wait for more game to present itself in the area after firing that arrow. 

“The rabbit is enough, I said so earlier.” He spoke as he rose up and offered you his hand to help you up too, pulling you to your feet with such strength, even with so little effort put behind it, “But if you really want to bring something back, why don’t we check some of your snares before heading home, hm?” He suggested. 

“Ok…” You agreed dully, feeling disheartened and far from optimistic about having caught something in a snare either. You just wanted to show that you could be a provider too and, so far, you weren’t doing a very good job of it. Connor’s line of work was dangerous and there was always the chance that he could become severely injured; if, gods forbid, that time ever came, you wanted to give him the security that the two of you would be alright and you would be able to look after him. 

On the walk back, you felt his calloused fingers brush against yours before taking your hand, following the trail in a peaceful silence as you took in the sounds of the woods around you. Not too long later, you reached the snare closest to the manor and watched Ratonhnhaké:ton’s broad back as he crouched down to check the snare. You could still feel the warmth of his palm against yours and you couldn’t help but smile a little at your gentle giant of a lover. 

“It looks like-” He turned around, holding up a rabbit, “-we have more meat for our stew tonight.” You let out a triumphant exclaim before reaching forward to take his hand and drag hm back once more, eager to get cooking after a long day in the outdoors. 

☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not:  ∘ buy me a coffee?  ∘ commission me? ∘ join my taglist  ∘ consider following/reblogging

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[sunshinesdaydream]

I had a real hard time trying to think of a song to send you for the song prompt. After hunting through so many of my playlists I settled on : Cop Car by Keith Urban https://youtu.be/tBn6rKEmJy8

I really don't know how close this is to the song, it's just kind of what came into my head when I was listening to it.

Also another song I haven't heard before. But un surprising since most of the music I listen to is old!

Thanks for the ask and the new song to listen to.

Pairing: Thrill (Corrie Guard Clone OC) x Reader Content Warnings: "chase" scene. Word Count: 568

You ran, swinging upwards towards the roof tops.

“Thrill,” Fox said sharply.

“Sir?” Thrill answered.

“Catch up with that one,” Fox gestured to the roof. “The usual questions,”

“Yes, Sir!” Thrill returned as he followed you to the rooftops.

You ran at full speed, knowing you were no match for a clone. Few nat borns would be. But you figured you had a few things on your side.

First of all, it was the middle of the summer. At least it was in this hemisphere of the city-planet. You wore minimal clothing and though it was well past sundown the air was still stifling. Sweat poured down your body as you jumped from rooftop to roof top. If you were overheated in little clothing, how long would the trooper in full gear be able to go?

Second, did this clone know the city as well as you did? You were born here, raised here. You knew the streets blind. The beat of the city was in your very blood. The rooftops had been your playground since you were a teen. You've never seen a clone run the rooftops well.

Sure they could, but without practice it was purely physical skill and none of the instinct.

You were growing concerned because this particular clone wasn't only keeping up, he was catching up. You put on a burst of speed and began a descent to the street level, planning on heading to the lower levels.

He followed, still gaining. Two levels down, a third, now it was starting to become more sketchy. Neon lights from multiple dive bars glowed, people stumbled around mostly drunk this time of night.

The trooper caught up with you in a narrow alley as you were about to go down another level.

“Hey, wait,” he gasped, breathing as hard as you were. He grabbed your hand.

“Wait for you to arrest me?” You ask, attempting to pull your hand from his. “No thanks,”

“No, kriff,” he swore and used his other hand to pull his helmet off.

You took in his sweat sheened face, star tattoo and lime green curly mohawk and multiple piercings.

“Give me a minute to explain,” he said, “Damn you are as fast as a fathier,”

“Explain what?” you ask, paused by his appearance.

“The commander sent me, I'm Thrill,” he said.

“Nope, my cue to leave,” you said, trying to turn.

“Just give me a minute!” He insisted, “I don't want to hold you down, just want to talk to you,”

“Isn't this about the demonstration?” You asked.

“No, kind of...” he began. “Look, we know you are one of the good ones. Someone who wants to help us and not just cause trouble and make a lot of noise.”

“Sometimes that's what it takes,” you respond, stubborn.

He laughed, still breathless, “You are right, but I think your talent is elsewhere and I can put you in contact with the people you would be able to help the most. Would you be interested?”

“And if I were?” You asked.

“I'd give you a com frequency to contact, they'd give you the details I don't know,” Thrill answered.

“And you?” you asked.

Thrill grinned, “I'd give you mine and hope you'd contact me, it would be more fun to run with you,”

Song Fic Request- Send me another song!!!

[legendofzoodles]

Cute LU Headcanons

Wind has the largest sweet tooth of the chain thanks to all his Grandmother’s baking. After hearing this, Wild made it a point to bake treats for him regularly. Wind’s favourite is sugar cookies

Speaking of sweet treats: 

Time, for some reason, likes sweets that have spices/herbs in them, like ginger, cinnamon and mint

To I, Warriors is a citrus kind of guy, having a preference for desserts like lemon meringue pie. Or a cheeky key lime pie

Legend’s delicate palette has a fondness for unnecessarily luxurious desserts. Too much so for me to risk elaborating further...other than to say he likes chewy textures

Four adores it when desserts have fruit in them, not that preserved stuff though, the fresh stuff that grows on trees. I would tell you more, but I’ve only ever been raspberry picking

Twilight takes the ‘sweet’ out of ‘sweet treats’. My man over here prefers coffee, dark chocolate and only the saltiest of salted caramels. Bitter is better

Hyrule is nutty about nuts. Whether it’s walnuts or almonds, as long as it provides that cronch™️, he’s here for it. He likes honeycomb too for the same reason

Sky likes fluffy light sweets. The kind that are verging on sickly and melt effortlessly in your mouth, like cotton candy. If you took the ‘meringue’ out of ‘lemon meringue pie’ that’d be another favourite of his

You know the drill by now when it comes to Wild and food, he eats everything. Although if he had a preference, it would definitely be anything dairy based, like clotted cream and milkshakes

Warrior, Legend and Time are the spearheads when it comes to interacting with high society: 

Warrior knows all the rules and how to navigate the world of the rich. On the surface, it appears like he’s in his element when conversing with them fancy folk 

Legend’s sister is literally the princess (yup, over here Fable and Legend are half siblings), so he’s got the chops

Time is aware of the certain manners that are expected, due to etiquette he had to learn when he was in the Hyrulean army and as always just years of life experience

Wild, although rigorously trained in the past, has unfortunately forgotten a lot of it. But the learned manners quickly become second nature to him with practice

So, when speaking with rich nobles, royalty or attending balls, those three take the lead. Though, most of the time Warrior is alone in this. Because Legend would rather just not thanks and Time will willfully ignore the rules and purposefully annoy the nobles. Because life is short and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass

Although when Warriors is left to his own devices he’ll often string along a clueless and awkward Twilight, so he can suffer with him for the funnsies!

Four adores reading. While he loves the way hardback books look on shelves, he prefers paperbacks when on the road because they’re lighter and more practical 

Wind doesn’t like reading. He’s fine with maps and navigation charts, but if you remove pictures from the equation and replaced it with a long story, he’ll lose interest. To him it’s pointless. Why read about an adventure when you can go out and experience it yourself? On the flip side, he’s always liked being read to

Time can’t read. Well he can, but very slowly and with a lot of pausing. He’s too stubborn to let Four or Sky teach him directly, but they have subtle ways of getting him to practice and improve

Warrior needs reading glasses. They’re thin gold rimmed with oval lenses and that chain thingy old people have

Wild doesn’t sleep enough so he’s prone to napping in unusual places. As an experienced survivalist, he’s guarded, even in sleep. It’s an impossible task covering him up with a blanket without trying to dodge a flying right hook or stray kick. But sometimes he’s so exhausted that he doesn’t move for hours and the chain have to check up on him

Whenever Wild is asleep at camp, the chain suddenly become uncharacteristically quiet

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY: the queen elizabeth the second the second

The twins attempt to revive the past. The parents wish to change it

⁂

Patton watches, amused, as Remus looks in the mirrored wall of the elevator, stick his hands into his hair, and deliberately mess it up.

“Kiddo,” Patton says, his voice coming out a touch too wheedling for a father speaking to his eleven-year-old. “Not even a little hint about where we’re going?”

“Nope!” Remus says in delight, shaking out his hair like a dog, and Patton stifles the urge to reach out and even out the collars of his shirt; one poking up, one tucked inside his jacket.

Knowing Remus, that’s an intentional part of the whole ensemble. He’s wearing a almost chromatically green silk shirt with some kind of rippling design reminiscent of tie-dye. He’s paired it with his little leather jacket and a black pair of dress pants, and also his lime green Converse. Patton supposes you can’t win it all—mostly formal is still a major win in the books in terms of the Remus outfit appropriateness for the occasion meter.

“Not even after I point out how many surprises I’ve had today?”

“Nuh-uh,” Remus says, licking the palm of his hand and running it along the back of his head to make his cowlicks stick up even more than they already do. “You’ll love it, Pa, trust me.”

“You understand why that makes me nervous,” Patton says. The elevator comes to a stop, and Remus skips out of the elevator.

“Hey,” Patton calls, hurrying after him. “you get why that makes me nervous, right?!”

“C’mon, Pops!”

Patton follows Remus out of the front door of the hotel, where Remus has paused. Then Remus grabs his hand and starts hauling him toward—

“We’re going in a limo?!” Patton says, shocked.

“Apparently.”

Patton turns to see the voice, and nearly does a double-take.

Janus is devastatingly handsome. 

He’s wearing a pair of elegant earrings, dangling circular diamonds surrounded by gold, cascading down like clusters of grapes ripe for the picking. 

He wears no necklace to match them, which only serves to accentuate his long, graceful neck, his collarbones and shoulders, which are bare to the evening air—the neckline is straight across, perhaps an inch or two below those very collarbones Patton had once pressed kisses to, with only a pair of little straps to show that the shirt is clinging to him via some means other than magic or the sheer, brute strength of Janus’s strikingly good looks.

His pants are tailored, fitting well—Patton absolutely refuses to gawk at him for any longer—and he completes the look with a little clutch he’s holding tightly in one hands, a checkerboard black-and-white shawl he’s somehow managing to keep up with his elbows. Patton would’ve dropped it five time already, but Janus, as always, makes it all look so effortless.

Patton had almost hoped that ability of his had faded through the years, or perhaps quelled itself in the face of Patton being engaged to another man.

“Hello, Papa,” his other son says.

“Hey there, Rome,” Patton says, trying his best to snap out of it, Parker, by wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and tugging him into his side, lest he mess up Roman’s hair, which looks very particularly coiffed. “You look great, sweetheart!”

He’s dressed in a much more classic suit style than Remus—white shirt, red tie, suit with a red pocket square folded carefully, and Oxford shoes. Patton does spy a little peek of bold red patterned socks, though. So he is still an eleven-year-old boy putting some fun in his outfit.

“So, erm…” Janus leans in, rising up on his tip-toes slightly to whisper in Patton’s ear. And there it is, that smell, that intoxicating smell that’s haunted Patton for years: freesia, sandalwood, sage. “Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?”

“Not a clue,” Patton murmurs back.

Janus pulls back with a sigh, tapping his clutch against his hand. “Right.”

Patton clears his throat, stepping forward and opening the limo door.

“Gentlemen,” he says to his sons and ex-husband, “after you.”

⁂

“Where are we?” Janus asks, even as Patton hustles around the car to open the door for him.

Patton offers a hand. Janus, almost like he can somehow not think anything of it, clasps Patton’s hand in his own, pulling himself to stand.

Janus’s hand meets his own, and suddenly it’s years ago, and they were giddy with new, young love, and yet at the same time they’re older, father to twins, and Patton’s calloused hand is holding Janus’s smooth one and once they were married and he had been allowed to hold Janus’s hand like this all the time and how sweet it had been then, how bittersweet it is now—

And Janus lets go, and Patton swallows, returning his hand to his own side

“Boys,” Patton says, “I don’t really see a restaurant here… is this where we’re eating?”

“No, actually,” Remus says, grinning brightly, and he points across the water.

Where a yacht is waiting.

Patton’s starting to have a very nervous feeling about this.

“That’s where we’re eating.”

And so Janus and Patton are promptly hustled down the dock to a small speedboat that carries them the short distance across the water to the boat.

Yes. They are boarding the boat. He’s once again boarding a boat with the man who had once been his husband. Who he’d met on a different, very large boat. This is somehow real.

“So,” Janus says, with a wry twist to his mouth as they ascend the stairs. “How exactly are we paying for this?”

“We’ve pooled our allowances.”

“Remus,” Janus scolds.

“All right,” Roman cracks first. “Grandfather chipped in a bit.”

“Roman!” Patton exclaims.

“Okay, he chipped in a lot,” Remus says with a laugh, before he speeds ahead of them all. “C’mon, you guys are gonna love it!”

Roman gently nudges past them to join his brother, before they both turn to face them with a choreographed flourish.

“Patton,” Roman says.

“—and Janus,” Remus says. Patton is slightly cheered that the oddity of being called his first name by his child is not only strange to him. “Your dinner—”

“—awaits,” Roman says, and together, they pull open the door to reveal the boat’s interior.

There’s a rear wall, painted blue, with several nautical-themed paintings along the wall, but the real star is directly in front of them: they’re near a massive window open to the outdoors, which means the boat is practically open to the bay all lit up, the city lights glinting off of the water.

“Boys,” Patton says, slightly choked up.

It’s beautiful. Dark woods and white tablecloths and blue accents, candles flickering in spare corners to provide the whole area with a soft, warm glow; the windows to the interior are lined with heavy-looking blue velvet curtains, which look comfortable to the touch.

Janus clears his throat. “The table’s only set for two.”

Patton blinks at him, then looks down at the table.

Yes. He’s right. There’s a floral arrangement of roses in the middle of the table, two tall candles on either side, two empty, silver plates with silverware, napkins folded into little boats, and two chairs, made from the same dark wood as the rest of the place.

“Oh,” Remus says, sounding like he’s barely quashing his laughter. “That’s the other part of the surprise. We’re not joining you!”

“You’re not?” Patton says.

“No,” a familiar voice says, “but I am.”

And then, clad entirely in white, one of Patton’s most favorite faces rounds the corner.

“Good evening, I’m Virgil, and I’ll be your sommelier this evening.”

“And I am Logan,” Janus’s cousin says, rounding the corner, in matching naval whites with Virgil. “Your chef.”

“May I offer you both a glass of the bubbly, in the hopes that you will perhaps not yell at us for following the orders of these particularly brazen eleven-year-old boys?” Virgil says, presenting a bottle to Patton in a well-practiced gesture.

Patton’s about to speak, but Virgil taps at the label. Which makes Patton inadvertently read it.

A 1988 Ruinart. Oh, Virgil knows Patton’s wanted to try a Ruinart from 1988 practically the moment since the champagne had been bottled, darn him. Buttery and hazelnutty, with a hint of honeyed lemon at the finish, or so he’s heard—and the cool spring and sunny summer meant an excellent harvest that year, it’s meant to be divine.

Patton wavers, looking from the bottle, to Janus, back to Virgil and Logan.

“It is rather sweet,” Patton admits in a quiet voice.

“Oh!” Remus cries out, and they all turn to face him. “We forgot the mood music! Roman, hit it!”

“Just relax,” Roman says as he clambers for a remote, “Sail through time… back to yesteryear…”

He hits the play button as both twins depart behind closed doors.

I love you for sentimental reasons… I hope you do believe me…

And Patton’s eyes at last fix onto one more decoration.

A life preserver, painted with familiar eleven-year-old handwriting.

Queen Elizabeth II ��� 1986 ♥

“They’re recreating the night we met,” Patton says. “The boat, the music…”

“Yes, I’d gathered that,” Janus says dryly. “Virgil? I’ll have that drink now, if you don’t mind.”

Virgil pours two flutes of champagne with a practiced hand, setting the bottle in an ice bucket before he ferries them over.

Then he and Logan bow out.

And Janus and Patton are alone.

Truly alone.

Well. As alone as you could get, Patton thinks as he spies two identical heads peeping through the door’s port windows, on a ship like this.

But then, he and Janus had made that work quite a bit to their advantage over a decade ago.

“Now I know how a goldfish feels,” Patton murmurs, tilting his head in the boys’ direction.

Janus turns and offers a truly impressive Paternal Look Of Scolding. The twins both hastily duck.

Patton clears his throat, gesturing to the vantage point that looks out over the bay, a little further away from everyone else’s viewing stations, and Janus seems to understand his gist. They step away together. 

“You know, I haven’t been on a boat since the QE2.”

“No, nor have I,” Janus agrees, then looks down at the champagne glass. “Erm. Well, here’s to…”

“Our sons.”

Janus looks at him. His eyes, in the low light of the candles, the distant city lights, the shimmering reflections of the water, are all tourmaline: inviting, captivating, glittering, but inscrutable to him.

“Our sons,” he agrees softly, and gently clinks his champagne flute to Patton’s.

Patton chances another look to the windows; empty. So either they’re alone, or the twins are crouched somewhere out of sight with their ears pressed against the door.

“You know,” Patton says, quietly. “If you don’t mind—now that we’re alone—I wondered if…”

Patton gathers his nerve. 

“I may never be alone with you again,” Patton starts over. “So… only if you’re comfortable—can we… talk? About us? Those few weeks feel so hazy to me now. It ended so fast.”

Janus smiles, a bitter little thing. “It started so fast.”

“Oh,” Patton says, quiet. “That part isn't hazy to me at all. I remember that bit perfectly.”

Janus smiles, sipping his champagne.

⁂

“Seems like it’s going well out there.”

“Yes, it rather does.”

“Feels a bit silly for us to be spying on them in the same way as the kids.”

“...yes, it rather does.”

“Guess we should probably occupy ourselves with the next course. Um. What is it?”

“Oh! It’s a vichyssoise. Potato and leek soup.”

“Huh! Sounds good.”

“I can ladle you a sample, if you’d like. Certainly the boys don’t seem too inclined to it—what are they doing out there?”

“Playing poker, I bet.”

“Oh, goodness. Yours is a poker fiend as well?”

“Oh yeah. He’s banned from playing with customers, he swindled someone out of almost a hundred bucks once.”

“Goodness!”

“Yours?”

“Oh, yes. Him and my Uncle—Janus’s father—if you walk into the study while they’re together, they’re almost assuredly playing. Here you are.”

“Oh—thanks… hey, that’s really good!”

“Thank you.”

“Do you like to cook?”

“I do. Most people wouldn’t expect it, but I’ve always rather enjoyed chemistry. It’s simply a different application.”

“Applications of chemistry…?”

“...yes…”

“...maybe I should, um. Check the wine stores.”

“Oh—yes. That’s probably a good use of time. I’ll… go serve.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“...”

“...”

“...after you. It’s, um. It’s a bit of a squeeze in here, isn’t it?”

“Quite right! Yes. Erm—I’ll just… go—! Oh, I hope I didn’t step on your foot just now!”

“Oh, no, you’re—you’re fine. Ah, sorry I grabbed you—”

“Quite all right. I fear I might’ve fallen. Ah. If you’ll…”

“Right, yeah! Yeah. Letting go now. Um. Good luck with the soup.”

“And good luck with the wine.”

⁂

Patton’s almost better than he remembers.

Which is, Janus thinks, absolutely disastrous news for him.

“So,” Janus says, fishing for a change of subject. “You seem to have done well for yourself, haven’t you?”

Patton shrugs, all bashful and unintentional charm.

“Your own vineyard—that old dream of yours actually came true.”

“Well, yours too,” Patton says. Still uncomfortable with too much of the attention on you, I see. “You were always drawing on napkins and corners of newspapers, and now you’re this major designer. Vogue! You were always reading that, and now you’re in it!”

Janus cannot help but grin at the memory.

“We both actually got where we wanted to go.”

“Yeah,” Patton says. “We did.”

“And I thought I’d never see you again,” Patton says, very quiet.

“Isn’t that part of it?” Janus says bitterly. “Never seeing each other again. Is that part of why we’ve let things lie the way they have, for so long?”

“Not we, Janus,” Patton says.

Janus sighs, reaching for the champagne, wishing it was a pack of Parliaments. “Well, you know, that part’s become hazy to me too, over the years.”

“You don’t remember the day you packed?”

“Oh, no, I remember that perfectly,” Janus says with a cringe. “Did I end up hurting you when I threw that…?”

“The hairdryer?” Patton says and, lucky Janus, his voice is all wry amusement now. “Not enough to leave a mark that’s lasted this long.”

“Right,” Janus says. “Erm—sorry. That was… rather too far of me.”

Patton swallows, suddenly very preoccupied with fiddling with the place setting.

“So,” Patton says, voice very soft. “That day… why’d you go?”

“Oh, Patton,” Janus sighs. “We were both so young, I had such a temper… we said stupid things, and I packed. Got on my very first plane and…”

Janus looks down at the champagne, swilling it about the glass. It’s a lovely color, a soft flaxen yellow, and the combination of bubbles and the cut of the glass catch the light in a very interesting way.

It’s an easier thing to focus on than to look Patton in the eye while he admits this old heartbreak. A ridiculous one, to be sure, but one that he still holds, cradled deep in his heart and undisclosed to anyone.  

“You didn’t come after me.”

He takes a sip of the champagne, attempting to seem unaffected as he looks up. 

Patton looks stricken. It’s as if someone has stolen the residual joy that seems to sit everpresent upon Patton’s face, from the crinkles that are starting to form at the corners of his eyes to his resting, generally pleasant expression.

It’s as if Janus has stolen all the joy from his face, Janus corrects himself grimly. It is Janus who has put this suspicious shine in his eyes and the way his fists are clutching, uncertain, at his once elaborately-folded napkin.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

The words are barely a whisper.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore now—it’s all done with.” Janus clears his throat. “Anyway—what are we going to do about the boys?”

“I want to be in Roman’s life,” Patton says immediately, then he clears his throat, rubbing a finger under an eye. 

“And I want to be in Remus’s,” Janus says. “We’re in total agreement on that.”

“Good,” Patton says, looking relieved. “And the boys—they’ve met, the court can’t keep them apart after all this, can they?”

“I’d certainly hope not,” Janus says, frowning. 

They both fall briefly quiet as Logan serves them a vichyssoise.

“I’ve never been sold on that judge of yours,” Logan says, with a scowl on his face. “Psychologists say that separating siblings, in the short term, cause stress and greater potential for sadness and loneliness. In the long-term, it could cause traumatic effects—there was recently a study revealed that intentionally separated twins and triplets into adoptive families without disclosing to those families or the children until they reached their adult lives.” 

“Was there?” Patton says, startled. 

“Oh, yes. It’s an ongoing conversation—especially concerning the ethics and potential coercion.”

“I’ll take your word for it—I’m not exactly the bookish type,” Patton says, with a little self-deprecating laugh. “Goodness, how awful for those poor people. But—but if all the common ideas now say so, then they’ve got to agree to a reworking of the custody arrangement, don’t they?”

“It’d be madness if they didn’t—ongoing psychological trauma!” Janus says. “We’d contest it, of course.”

“Of course!” Patton says. 

“What was the name of that lawyer we used last time? If he’s still in practice, we may as well get someone familiar with the case.”

“Remy,” Patton says. “Erm—Remy… gosh, how do you spell his last name. It was really long, I remember that. Remy… Zatawski? Zawikowski?”

It takes the rest of the soup course for them to remember that his last name is Zawistowski, and even then it’s because at last Logan takes pity on them and goes looking for a phone book that, fortunately, has his law firm listed.

“He’s probably not in the office right now,” Patton points out.

“Sure,” Janus says. “But we can call and leave him a message, can’t we? Here—you should probably leave your number for him. International calling’s hell on the phone bill.”

They both pause.

“How much international calling do you think the boys have done in the last month?”

Janus sighs, pressing his palm to his forehead in an attempt to stave off an upcoming headache. “I’m sure we don’t want to know.”

“Probably,” Patton agrees. “All right, here goes.”

He dials in, putting the phone on speaker. Sure enough, they hit an answering machine.

It beeps.

“Hi,” Patton begins. “This is Patton Parker, myself and my—my ex-husband were clients of yours about eleven years ago? Janus James, there was the matter of international custody—”

Janus figures their case is probably fairly unique.

“Anyway, we’ve recently had a meeting and we’ve decided we’d like to rearrange our custody agreement. Let us know if you’re capable of taking our case back on again, or if you have any recommendations for us. Thanks so much for your time. Oh, I should leave my phone number so you can reach me—”

Janus absolutely tries his best not to memorize the digits that Patton reels off in an exceedingly well-practiced way, but, well, he says the phone number three times, and what if Janus has to call him in the future regarding the children? No, knowing his phone number is for the best in the long run, surely.

Janus figures that will be the end of it.

And it is, until they reach the end of the entrée—they’ve mostly chatted about the children, though there were a couple momentary side-tangents into their respective businesses these days—when a splitting beeping echoes through the air.

Patton blinks at him, but he returns his hand to his pocket.

“That’s my phone,” he says uncertainly.

“Go on.” Janus says, gesturing with his fork.

He opens it, then puts it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hey—Patton Parker, great to hear your voice,” says that breezy New York accent, familiar even after over a decade apart and through a phone line. “I’m so happy you called me back, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for ages, I think you changed your number—listen, you still have time to get in on the suit—”

“Suit?” Patton says, blinking. “Sorry, what suit?”

“The lawsuit,” Remy says.

“I… don’t know about any lawsuit,” Patton says. “Janus, do you…?”

“Why would I know about some American lawsuit?” Janus says, as baffled as Patton.

“What lawsuit!?” Remy says. “Jeez, I really didn’t have the right contact information, did I? Look, there’s a whole situation—the same judge who presided over your case years ago, he’s getting sued.”

“What?!” Janus and Patton both say at the same time.

“Look—long story short—the floodgates have been opened on this guy ‘cause he way overshot his hand in regards to international custody, he’s getting sued for malfeasance, you two definitely have a case given how he’s divided up your boys, do you want in?”

“I—yes, of course,” Patton says, still perplexed.

“Are you telling me,” Janus says, incensed, “that this judge who repeatedly told us that this would be the best for the boys—”

“Didn’t know jack shit?” Remy says. “Yeah.”

And then the rest of the evening is lost entirely to details.

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[ashleyfableblack]

A little moment of scientific method and personal discovery between lovers in the Equestria Girls portion of The Eternal Courtship.

Love never dies in the Eternal Courtship. It only changes form. 👭💜💚💜👭

"Chryssi? I want you to do something for me, something maybe a little strange."

Chryssi looked up from the ledger in her lap. With a raised eyebrow she set aside her inkpen and closed the leather tome, leaving it centered on her office desk. She regarded Twilight with a amorous smile. "Of course, my love. What did you need?"

Twilight approached her partner tentatively. "I want to try an experiment. Would you take your old form for me? The Changeling one?"

The towering woman gave a curious tilt of her head before rising to her feet. With a whip of her translucent spidersilk mane she grinned her ferocious fanged smirk, exuding the confidence of her immortal power. In a burst of emerald fire her human form began to melt away. Limbs extended and twisted. Her hands morphed into cragged, powerful hooves. Smokey black plates of chitin formed across her body as her designer slacks and vestcoat burst and faded into ash. Translucent veins sprouted from her back, grasping the air like tree branches, webbing over and forming insect wings from the jade shell across her back. A meter-long, crooked spire resembling that of an exotic beetle thrust from her forehead. As the flames appeared so they vanished in wisps of sickly green power. In their place stood the massive dark form of the Changeling Queen.

She stamped a hoof, kicking up sparks of jade flame from the stone. She did love being theatrical. The spider-like snake-mare looked down to Twilight with her now saucer-sized serpent eyes and a flicker of her forked tongue. "Done." The monarch struck a statuesque pose, smiling wickedly. "You may behold my glory now" She chuckled, raising a pitted hoof to her fanged lips.

Twilight stepped closer with a giggle as Chryssi made a small circle displaying her body to her now-diminutive love. Her hooves clattered against the polished stone floor. It was a good thing they were in her castle. Her bughorse body was easily the size of a draft stallion, possibly larger and with a much longer neck. As big as she was now, her withers would be banging against the ceiling of Twilight's dormroom. Her head would've been poking around in the room upstairs.

Twilight reached out to touch her neck with both hands. Chryssi grew still at the sensation. She practically purred, something in her barrel making a pleasant chirping sound like the muffled harmony of a group of crickets. She drank in the moment like honey as the two women, one now in the form of a Changeling Queen, examined each other.

Curiously, Twilights fingertips traced the chitinous plates of her lovers neck. She quivered in excitement as she pondered the biological mysteries of her lovers ancient shape. She paused with the rough sensation of every scar, pit and crag. The two larger grey gouges drew particular attention. She considered their similarity to a vampire's bite of legend. Circling the wound-like pits she felt Chryssi shudder. Almost imperceptibly, she seemed to recoil. Something flashed behind her snake eyes for just a moment, something guarded. Something perhaps to discuss later.

"So, where are we going with this?" she asked. Her voice was surprisingly unchanged from her human form, deep, resonating, commanding yet very colored with her affection.

"I want you..." Twilight placed her palm to Chryssi's obsidian muzzle and gently stroked along her cheek "...to kiss me."

"You what?"

"You heard me."

Chryssi's brow knit. "Yes, I did but..." Her emerald eyes scrolled across her lavender beloveds face. Her serpent eyes had two irises, a pale jade outer ring circling a deeper emerald pool. Twilight had yet to ascertain the function of these lenses but currently both had grown to fill the pale-lime sclera. "But why?"

Twilight stroked Chryssi's cheek attempting to calm her. "I need to know something."

Chryssi raised a hoof to draw the lavender hand from her muzzle. Twilight regarded the feeling with a curious smile. Somehow, even without fingers, she could feel that her lover was "holding" her hand. "I need to prove something."

Her snake eyes were so much larger now, shuttered beneath dark eyelids of teal armored plates. Still, in them she saw the woman she had come to love. Her look was imploring. The massive bughorse flickered her tongue, tasting the emotions in the air between them. Smiling, she sighed.

"Twilight, you don't have to do this. You don't have to prove anything, not for me."

Twilight raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" Her violet eyes were practically dancing as she adjusted her glasses with a sassy grin. "Well, what if I want to do it for me?"

Chryssi was taken aback, gobsmacked into stammering. "I- Wh- Well-" She set her chin with an aggravated pout. "Now see here, you little twerp."

Twilight laughed. She'd won this round.

"Come on, Chryssi." she said with a flirty if playfully stern smile. She stomped her foot and flounced. The heavy material of her pleated skirt whispered angrily. Twilight dropped her register an octave. "Do it for your queen."

Chryssi melted. She was defeated. "I... Erf. Very well." She craned her long neck down to meet Twilight's gaze. Those violet eyes held her as a moth staring into a candle's burning taper. "Just be mindful of my fangs, beloved."

Again, Twilight reassuringly caressed the contoured chitin of her lover's face. "We've kissed dozens of times, Chryssi- and then some. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Chryssi straightened, raising a pencil-thin inky eyebrow. The corners of her mouth turned up in a sinister, wicked smile.

In her human form, she had fangs, to be sure. Where the average Homo Sapiens Equus had lateral incisors and canines Chryssi had elongated, sabre-like fangs. In this form, however, her natural arsenal was upped considerably. The Changeling Queen opened her mouth to display dozens of glistening fangs, ranging in size from a pocket-knife to a railroad spike. The sight was akin to staring into the gaping maw of a horse-sized constrictor snake.

"Okay, okay. Fair point." Twilight chuckled.

Chryssi began to say something but her tiny lover cut her off. "Now, if you're finished?"

Hesitantly, almost demurely, Chryssi lowered her head. A forest-green hue had come to the chitin of her cheeks. Parting her chitinous lips slightly, she leaned close to her human love. Heart pounding, Twilight took her partners muzzle in her palms. The lovers closed their eyes as their lips gently touched.

For several hushed seconds, they tenderly, if awkwardly, embraced as lovers do.

As gently as they'd come together, they parted. Slowly, their eyes opened. Each silently examined the other for any tell-tale signs of their experience. Each gave up a somewhat sheepish grin. It was the most vulnerable, almost embarrassed, Twilight had seen her ancient lover in all their time together.

Chryssi finally broke the pregnant silence. "Well? Did you find what you sought?"

Twilight beamed and cleared her throat. She straightened her glasses, biting her lip as she felt the rosettes burning on her cheeks. "Yep." She brushed aside a lock of Chryssis wispy silken mane which had tumbled between her eyes. "You're still you."

The couple shared a giggle as their lips came together once more, perhaps just a bit less awkwardly this time.