#PICKING THEM UP LIKE SACK OF GRAPES AND SPINNING THEM AROUND

[fishbit]

man do u ever love a friend so much u wanna scream it from the rooftops LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANK YOU FOR THINKING ABOUT ME I WANNA PICK YOU UP AND TOSS YOU IN THE AIR AND CATCH YOU LIKE PIZZA DOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[nadiawrites14]

a ukrainian sleepover (part 1/?)

word count: 3.6k

aka, it’s a complicated ukrainian novel, everyone’s got nine different names

for a somewhat innocuous man, pietro has a bit of a history that he’s ought to uncover. he’s hidden it long enough, but how can he keep his to-be family out of it?

For a rather influential president, Pietro Semynovich Naumenko’s house was rather modest. Sandwiched in between two apartment blocks on a Kyiv backstreet, it was a little building only two stories high and with such a bland exterior the regular passerby wouldn’t believe it to be the president’s capital residence. Only a short walk from the blue Dnieper River snaking through the city’s center, though, Pietro Semynovich saw it as good enough for himself and his friends and future family. He’d spent the last day neatening it up, dusting, cleaning, housemaking, hoping that Olesya and her step-brother Olexey would be pleased. While the air was cold and the sky was grey with wintertime, snow had not yet fallen, and Pietro sat on the edge of his armchair, anticipating a week with his growing family. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked back and forth, and he rocked back and forth, and tapped his feet and shifted his position a countless number of times as he waited. How long could a drive from Odessa be? Not long enough, it seemed.

The clock ticked with intensity as he paced, impatient and enthusiastic and waiting for his fiancé. Cars sped by on the street, and he shuffled over to the open window, looking over at the city. While lights still peeked through the towering apartments and from roving headlights, the sun was completely extinguished. And as Pietro leaned out, elbows pressing on the windowsill as he breathed in the cold, metallic air, a snowflake drifted by his face. “Oh!” He slammed the window shut, pressing his face against it like a fascinated child. “Oh!” What started as a single snowflake on the breeze had already intensified, and he smacked himself. The fireplace! He hadn’t even thought to light the fireplace. But as he descended down the ancient row of stairs to do so, the sound of a fading car engine and the buzz of his charging phone on the kitchen counter was enough to send him charging for the door. Throwing on a pair of slippers and flinging the door open, he ran onto the porch with a smile. “The Shevchenkos!”

With the porchlight bouncing off of Olesya’s slick brown hair, she looked almost like an angel with a halo. Pulling her long dress above her ankles she joined Pietro’s side, greeting him with a kiss. “Hi, darling,” she murmured, grinning. “I missed you.” “I missed you too!” Pietro mirrored her grin, grabbing her hands and walking her in. “You made it just in time. It just started to snow,”

“A little help?” Olexey demanded, hands full with suitcases in the doorway.

“Right… How about I go help Olexey? Get comfortable. I, um, put out snacks. Grapes, like you like them.”

Olesya disappeared into the kitchen, and Pietro joined Olexey out on the porch. “Olexey Dmitrievich…”

“You touch my sister and you’re dead,” Olexey muttered, shoving two suitcases into Pietro’s open hands. 

“Kinda late, we’re already engaged,” Pietro replied, circling by Olexey with a smile. “I appreciate the loyalty, though.”

“None of the comedian crap either, Pietro Semynovich, please. You’re in a position of great power, now, I’d appreciate it if you took it seriously.” He stood in the doorway, watching silently as Pietro struggled with the trunk. “It’s locked.”

“Whoops. Right. Do you have anything else, or…?” 

Olexey reached into his pocket and fiddled with the car key, allowing Pietro to retry his hand at opening the trunk. Pietro smiled, and Olexey nodded, pushing the curly hair out of his face as he vanished into the house. Pietro sighed, bending over and picking up the last of the bags in the trunk before setting the door back down.

Placing the bags in the foyer, he stepped into the kitchen to find Olesya sat on one of the stools, legs crossed, and Olexey hunched over the fireplace, charcoal and lighter in hand. “You know how to do that?” Pietro asked gently.

“I work in the energy sector,” Olexey snapped, pressing down on the handheld lighter and watching the flames spring from the top. 

“We know,” Olesya replied, grinning as Olexey gave her one of his looks. 

“Okay, Pietro Semynovich can do it, then, in all his presidential-level glory,” he dropped the supplies on the floor and joined Olesya at the tableside, popping a grape in his mouth. “That’s a challenge, by the way.”

“Of course it is.”

“You can do it, Hercules,” Olesya said encouragingly. “Complete the lightning god’s impossible task.” Olexey scoffed at the metaphor and leaned back, crossing his legs and watching Pietro with deep interest. “Go on.”

Pietro crouched over the firewood and tapped the handheld lighter against it, putting on his best confused face, before setting it alight and backing up with haste. The flames already burned with intensity, licking over the firewood and filling the house with the warmth it desperately needed. “There you are. I did it.”

Olexey still looked unimpressed, but Olesya nodded with pride, joining her fiancé’s side. “Petya did great.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyone could have done it.”

Olesya scoffed, picking up the edges of her dress and flopping onto the couch, kicking off her shoes and stretching her arms up to the ceiling. “I think the house looks great too! We left it a pigsty last time, I’m pleased to see it looks much better. Did you rearrange the…?”

“Pictures on the mantel? Yep, yes. I did!” Pietro picked up a few of the frames, wiping them down with his sleeve and facing Olesya. “Our Lviv Academy class photo…”

“Damn, you look so much younger.”

“That time we went to Croatia. Man. The beach. How’s the beach in Odessa?”

She gazed at the photographs longingly, and sighed. “Crowded. Lyosha and I barely get to go. I’m busy teaching Tolstoy and Lyosha’s been… hm… Lyosha, have you told Petya about your project?”

Olexey looked up from the generous portion of grapes he had helped himself to. “The— the project? Erm, Olya…”

Pietro beamed. “I’d like to hear it.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’ve been on the road lately. I’m trying to figure out that whole wind and weather fracking thing. But mostly, uh, solar power,” Olexey nodded as if what he was saying made any sense. “It’s not anything of serious importance. And you’d have to know about the whole energy thing to really grasp it. You’re not too keen on that, are you, Pietro?”

Pietro shrugged.

“Maybe you should put some money into the energy sector, then, Pietro.”

He shrugged again. Olesya glared at her stepbrother, unhappy. “How about we just have dinner, and maybe not discuss politics? I’m sure Petya is real tired of it, and you must be, too. So why don’t we all relax and talk about the weather or something?”

Olexey shifted, eyebrows furrowed. “But--”

“Or if that’s not plausible, how about…” Olesya held up a finger and strode over to her bag, whipping out her oversized copy of War and Peace and holding it up. “We can do some reading? Naumenko-Shevchenko book club? Hm, I may have a few more copies…”

Olexey clamped his hands together, grinning. “Dinner is fine, then!”

*

Pietro was hunched over the sink, whistling as he ran the dishes under the cold tap water. The winter must have broken through to the city pipes, he thought, as he held his hands beneath it. Despite him turning the knob as far as he could, it was not a drop warmer. He shivered, and then felt a hand on his back.

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Olesya asked. She’d changed into something more comfortable, sweatpants and a camisole, as had Pietro. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his sweater to clean, but dropped them back down as he followed her up the carpeted staircase. He shut the guest room door behind them.

Olesya stood on the tips of her toes, granting him a long kiss on the lips. Her hands found their way to his, and she stepped back. “I’m sorry for bringing Lyosha along. He’s been on you since we got here.” 

“It’s okay,” Pietro said, releasing a bated sigh as he squeezed Olesya’s warm hands. “I think he’s serious about objecting.”

“We can just... not invite him?” she offered, shrugging as she leaned her head on Pietro’s chest.

“I don’t know. I feel like I owe him something. If I didn’t get the job at the energy sector then I wouldn’t have gotten the job in Parliament, and then where would we be?” Pietro released another panicked exhale and smacked his forehead. “I haven’t given him anything.”

“I’d still love you, president or not, Comedy Central. That’s what matters. Look, we can worry about this when we’re making our roster, but I really, really want to enjoy this week with you. I’ve missed you so much,” Olesya replied, tucking her bangs behind her ear as Pietro gave her a kiss on the forehead. Suddenly, like a burst of lightning, she straightened her pose. “I have to tell you something.”

Pietro’s hands looped her waist. “What is it?”

“The job in Kyiv. Here. The University... I was accepted. I’m so sorry, I’ve been so preoccupied with the drive and Lyosha and—“

Olesya didn’t have time to finish before Pietro was spinning his wife around, his face glowing. “I knew you would! Gosh, my wife, professor at Ukraine’s second-finest institution. Besides Lviv Art, of course.” Brown eyes shining, he dipped his wife as she wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

“How soon we forget,” she replied, beaming up at him and coming in for a kiss. This beautiful moment, of course, was interrupted by the knocking of a door, the sound of a few footsteps scurrying towards it, the twisting of a doorknob, and a horrified yelp from Olesya’s dearly beloved stepbrother.

“Where’s Pietro Semynovich?”

Posed in the door with snowflakes entangled in wild blonde hair was (de facto) President Alla Pivovarova of the Donbass’s upper half. Thrown over her shoulder like a primely selected sack of potatoes was Misha Slobodyan, Alla’s presidential second half.

“Like I’d ever tell you!” Olexey gasped, pressed against the wall, hands searching for a potential weapon. Standing like a true soldier, he jabbed a lamp in Alla’s face. “Get out of my country.”

“Your country? Who are you?” Alla bent at the knees, keeping a hand slung over an unconscious Misha as she slipped off her high heels. “This is Pietro Semynovich’s country, as far as I’m concerned, and I would like to speak with him, please.”

“Well I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Olexey stuttered.

“Or what? You’ll bludgeon me with a lamp? Golly, I’m horrified. Shaking in my nonexistent boots. Please, can I have the pleasure of knowing your name? Handsome man.” Alla shook the snowflakes from her nest of hair and draped the poor unconscious man across her back, gripping onto his feet and wrists. Olexey shook his head and Alla grumbled. “Fine, be that way. I need to talk to Pietro.”

“I’m here,” Pietro said, standing like a proper soldier in his oversized hoodie and with one arm wrapped protectively around Olesya, who also happened to be armed with a lamp. “What do you want?” he asked, sounding more exhausted than menacing. 

“Oh, Pietro Semynovich, you know. Me and my dear friend Misha— you know him better as Olek, say hi!” She raised one of his limp wrists in a mock wave, and grinned back at an unamused Pietro. Alla furrowed her brows at the flat response and continued with an increasing urgency.  “We were out in Kyiv, because, as you know, for all the Christians out there, they get this week off. And I’m no Christian, just to preface. Nor is he. Or any of us, I think, really. But that is beyond the point, darling Semynovich. Because Misha over here had far too many vodkas and beers for a man of his small stature, hm? And this is not regular vodka I’m discussing. This is full-on backwater alleyway crap. So, yeah, too much, I’m carting his fat ass through the snow, and I’m right by the Maidan. What’s right by the Maidan? Pietro Semynovich’s house. Boom. Here she is, your lady of the night. Obviously, can’t stay in any hotels. Can’t really do all that hostel crap either, us two prefer the luxury lifestyle. So, dear Pietro...” she took a deep breath, steadying her words with a smile. “I’d be eternally grateful, if, in all your kind hospitality, would house Misha and I. Just for the evening.”

The room was in silence for a lingering moment, as Pietro calculated his next move, his next line, adding onto his everlasting improv skit.

“And what’s in it for me, Alla Mykolayvnia?”

“I would owe you one.” In a perfect, political universe, this conversation would be conducted with much more dignity, formality, and grace, with talks of accords and treaties and quid pro quo intertwined in rivers of red tape. This isn’t a perfect world, however, and in this world, a President of Ukraine, his fiancè, his soon-to-be brother-in-law, are bent over a couple of prominent, criminal, and dangerous political rivals, one of which is blackout drunk. This means the red tape can be ducked, and Pietro ducks with it, descending down the majestic row of stairs and meeting Alla’s side. 

“How big of an owe-me-one, Alla?”

“Define big.”

“That’s what she said.”

Cue collective groan.

“Alright, alright. How about something… diplomatic? A peace treaty, perhaps, and then we can all go home and be happy and end this stupid conflict that’s gone on way longer than it should.” Pietro flashed some weak jazz hands.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I was thinking more like beating up Zhenya Morosov or Ben Hunter for you, personally, but I’ll give some thought to that offer, Pietro.”

“And you say that with honesty?”

“Well, we have witnesses here, don’t we?” Alla tilted her head in the direction of Olesya and Olexey, still standing slack-jawed and shocked in their original positions, frozen in place. “Sure. I say it with honesty.”

Normally, this transaction would involve a document of sorts, but instead, “Pinky promise?”

“I pinky promise,” Alla declared, linking her pinky with his. 

Pietro nodded, pulling his hand back and wiping it on his sweater. “And you better stick to it. I believe there’s a few vacant rooms on the upper floors, why don’t you go have a look?”

Shifting Misha across her back and studying Pietro with narrowed eyes, then shifting her focus to Olexey, then Olesya. “Your wife’s hot,” she commented.

“Fiancé,” Olexey snapped, once again jabbing the lamp in Alla’s face. 

“In-law, I’m assuming? Still don’t have the pleasure,” she offered a hand to Olexey, who was quick to swat it away.

“No.” 

“Have it your way, handsome,” she turned away, heading up the stairs. “And put the lamp down. It makes you look like an idiot. A man like you could use a sword, or something.” Shifting Misha once again into her arms, as if he were a bride on her wedding day, she glanced at Olesya. “And you’re… Olivia?”

“Olesya Ilyanova.” With her hands folded behind her back and knees pressed together, Olesya offered a nervous smile. 

“Olya…” Alla nodded, turning back to face a stoic Pietro. “Lucky guy. Alright. Night, losers.”

The blonde head of hair and her second half disappeared into the darkness of the second floor, and everyone seemed to shift. Pietro crouched, hands on his knees, releasing a long-held breath, Olexey collapsed against the wall, and Olesya folded onto the banister.

“Great, Pietro, now you’re hosting an alcohol poisoned war criminal and his weird-somewhat-girlfriend. What in god’s name were you thinking?!” Olexey snapped, slamming his hand into his face as he slid to the floorboards. 

“I wasn’t,” he muttered, head in his hands as he leaned against the counter.

“Well we can’t just kick them out now!” Olesya exclaimed, joining her family as she scaled down the stairs. “Can we?”

“Why would I actually feel bad if we kicked them out?” Olexey muttered, pushing his hair out of his face. “They’re evil people.” “Yeah, they’re evil, but they’re human, and if there’s one thing this will do, it’s hopefully convince them to make a deal with me. Look. There’s no Russia anymore. There’s no reason for them to be holding onto something that isn’t there, despite their own experiences and vendettas that are causing them to feel this way. Maybe we can change their minds?” Pietro said, gesturing haplessly as he took a seat.

“Can people like that be changed?” Olesya asked, pulling her stepbrother up with an outstretched arm.

“I don’t know about Alla that much. She’s just weird. But Misha Slobodyan? That’s a war criminal. And he’s gotten away with it too, Pietro! And nobody cares! You’re just going to be complicit in that?” Olexey grabbed Olesya’s hand and pulled her aside.

Pietro tapped his fingers on the table. “No, no, of course not. You’re right, he needs to be taken care of. I’ve neglected it, and I’m sorry. But maybe this’ll change things, hm? I think we can finally bring him to justice after this. But they’re people too, and--”

“Alright, I’ve had enough. Olesya.” Olexey released her hand, trudging upstairs and not looking back as he shut an upstairs door behind him. Olesya stared at her feet, deep in thought.

“Olya-” “No, I see what you’re doing. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I’ve seen it. We went to school in Lviv, we saw all of this firsthand. And I know you’ve been busy with the whole Hunter-Nielsen thing, I- I get it. Okay? I get it,” she inhaled, lifting her head to face her fiance. “And I don’t even think they intend to hurt us. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this’ll change things? Nobody’s gotten anywhere in the past 20 years. Just fighting.” Olesya turned to look out the window. Snow piled outside, and Alla’s footprints were just barely visible on the lawn. “Perhaps you’ll be the first to actually change things.”

“... I hope.” Pietro tried to smile reassuringly, but his attempt failed as his anxiety ate at him.

Olesya’s face fell, and she put her hands on her diaphragm, keeping her eyes off Pietro’s nervous expression. “How- why did she say that?” “Say what?” 

“She said you know him better as Olek. Misha. I thought that was his first name, is it not?”

Pietro bit his lip and pushed his dark hair away from his face. “Olek Mikhailnovych. He goes by Misha, his patronym. Vasylovich told me that.” 

She turned to look at him again, her face betraying disbelief. He glanced at his feet, lips pursed. Olesya walked over, gave him a kiss on the cheek and grabbed his hand. “Alright. You’ll be fine. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She disappeared upstairs, and a creaky door was shut gently behind her. The first floor was dim, the only light beaming from the kitchen and the dying fire in the furnace. Pietro waited, shut off the lights in the kitchen, then doused a cup of water on the last of the flames. A chill seeped through the room and a shiver ran down Pietro’s spine as he walked up the old staircase. He passed the second floor, past his sleeping guests and relatives, and up to the third floor. At the top of the stairs, he groped the ceiling, and found the wire that hung loose from the top. The attic opened, a cloud of dust dropping with it.

Maneuvering inside, trying to keep warm as he started digging through the old boxes, Pietro pulled his sweater over his hands, holding himself tight as he started through an old cardboard box. He was certain this was where he had left it.

His eyes didn’t see it as he searched through the rows of folded blankets and old shirts, stuff his future family wouldn’t think twice to look at, but his hands found the old scrapbook with haste, and he dropped it onto the floor, sweeping away layers of dust. The single faint light in the attic was enough for him to find the exact photo as his fingers nervously slipped through the pages, anxious and unnerved, either from the cold or his own apprehension. 

This was the page. He remembered the soft tear on the top-right corner, now browned with age and disregard. Stuffed in the spine was a movie stub for something he didn’t quite recall seeing, and to the right of it was the photo. He remembered ripping it, trying to wear it down with a pencil tip and always dangling it above an open candle, but never having the heart to destroy it. For the longest time, he always wished he had. But now, Pietro began to feel as if his own apprehension towards burning it up and watching the image morph and disappear had been correct.

His fingers removed it from its plastic prison, and he cupped it in his hands, careful to not damage it more than he already had. With his breath still bated, and the dust stinging his eyes, Pietro held it beneath the dim orange light.

Two adolescent boys with acne-marked faces grinned at the camera. The colors were diluted with age, but the soft brown eyes and long face on one were unmistakable next to that indisputable red birthmark on the other’s face. Beneath the aged image was a vague date and caption, scratched in faded red ink. Pietro ran a finger across, sweeping away the grime and smeared ink, and let out a little exhale. His breath was visible in the frigidity of the attic.

Pietro + Olek, Donetsk City, 2015.

[burchbooks]

Reminiscence

Peridot reminisces about homeworld whilst harvesting potatoes and playing pool. Amedot Fluff.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897012

Shards of stone and rock glistened under the light of the sun as though they were fragments of gems themselves, each one scattered along the base of each stalk. Peridot almost reflected upon this as she uprooted another potato plant, sending the specks of light cascading down alongside the dirt they were found in. She was much more preoccupied with the heat, however. It was one of the Earth's idiosyncrasies that she found herself surrounded with since she had started anew. Homeworld didn't have heat. 

Well, it'd probably be more accurate to say that Peridots didn't have heat. The richest, oldest gems could afford heat, and by proxy their pearls as well, of course. It reminded them of older times, of comfort, before the X32 star had faded out and they had gone in to decline. Now, most of the gems were left with the coldness of space itself and an almost blue orb that blocked out a third of the sky at any given point.

Peridot had never known heat. She'd never known clothes or organics either, yet here she was, in denim dungarees, harvesting potatoes with the warmth of the sun on her back. It was such an odd concept, to be honest. Accessorising with clothes other than your default standard had felt strange at first, but Amethyst loved it. She also loved potatoes, which was why Peridot had planted so damn many of them.

She pulled up another stem and started dusting off the next plant. Steven had been horrified to find out that Amethyst and Peridot had been eating them raw. Apparently, they were different to his "apples" and had to be heated up until they were mushy on the inside but not on the outside.

It seemed tedious and burnt her mouth, so she just ate them raw.

Not that she ate a whole deal. It was unnecessary and she was indifferent to it as a whole, but it did make her feel like an upper-class gem. It made her feel as though, for reasons she couldn’t pin down just yet, she had made it in life, even though she thought the notion that a raw potato meant anything symbolically was quite ridiculous.

"Hey, 'Dot!"

Her reflections were shattered by the voice that hollered across the field. She could just about see Amethyst's purple hand waving about in the air from where she was, under the massive door to the barn.

"Come play pool with me!"

What the hell was pool?

"OK! I need to finish up and then - "

"Forget the potatoes!"

Well, there was always tomorrow.

"Alright," she hollered back, standing up and giving the plant in her hand one final dust before putting it in the canvas bag to join the rest of them.

Homeworld didn't have games, either.

Amethyst was standing in a shaded corner of the barn, leaning against a table with three legs and crunching on the end of a beer bottle. She had been staring at a pool table. The dark green pelt was peeling up at the corners, slightly, and had one major scuff that went diagonally and was almost impossible to miss. The wood looked sturdy, and the design on the legs had, at some point, been intricate; however, all that was left of it now were scuffs and scratches.

Peridot put the sack of potatoes next to the doorway and fished one out, offering it to Amethyst. She strolled up and took it, eating it whole before putting a white ball down on the table.

"Here," she said, offering the cue to Peridot, "you can start."

Peridot looked from her smile, which looked genuine enough, to the stick, and back to her.

"How do you play pool?"

"You, uuh, put the balls in the holes. You see the holes in the edges?" She gestured towards the table. "Yeah. You put the balls on the table in to the holes. Whoever does that the most wins."

Peridot took the stick and walked up to the table, studying it for a moment in slight confusion. She looked to the white ball, separate from the others. She looked back up to Amethyst, who gave her a smile and a thumbs up, then back down. As it was clearly worth the most points, due to it being separate, she picked it up and put it in the closest pocket.

Amethyst just laughed.

Amethyst's laugh was different to the others' laughs. She doubled over and grabbed her side, laughing louder than anyone else in the area. Pearl's laugh was condescending, and Jasper's laugh was meant to intimidate, but when Amethyst laughed it was out of pure joy. It sounded different because it was different, and that was the beauty of Earth.

People had different laughs because they could.

None of the gems on homeworld laughed. Homeworld had a strict philosophy which stated that if no one had any emotion, there could never be sadness or negativity. The truth, of course, is that when there is no emotion, sadness blossoms and fills the void. Not that any of the gems had been equipped to deal with that.

Amethyst walked forward and plucked the white ball out of the net and placed it back where it had been, completely undoing all of Peridot's work. Peridot went to grab the ball and put it back, but Amethyst's gentle hand on top of her own stopped it mid-air.

"Watch, like this." She placed the cue in to Peridot's hands and lined it up with the ball. "You've got to put your left hand here," she said, moving Peridot's hand so that it could guide the ball, "and your right hand here," she continued, moving it so that it was under her own hand.

"Then," she said, applying pressure to Peridot's back with her own chest, so that Amethyst herself was almost in the right pose to take a shot, "you bend forward. Look down the cue and you'll be fine, P-dot."

That was very easy to say when you didn't have another person pressed up so close to you that all you could think about was how much of you was touching them, and the fact that she could hardly see because she kept on getting distracted by the scent of Amethyst, which was somehow like grapes, and the sensation of her cool fingertips dancing around and brushing over her own hand, and-

"Peri. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm, I mean, I will be, I'm." She stopped and took a breath. "I'm god. Good! I'm good. The writer made a typo."

Amethyst just chuckled. "Take your shot then, 'Dot. I'm on the edge of my seat here."

She was on the edge of a lot of things, but Peridot decided not to comment as she took the shot. The white ball slid along the table, spinning like a planet in orbit as it curved towards the side of the triangle. They both collided with a satisfying clack before the white ball bounced off and continued to hit the end of the table. The triangle had only slightly parted, with many of the balls still clustered in the centre of the table.

"Not bad, Peri!" Amethyst took the cue and took her own shot. It looked quick and sloppy, done in half the time that Peridot took to take her shot, but it still potted a red ball. She managed to pot three more balls before she had to hand the cue back.

"How did you - "

"I've been doing this for three hundred years. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Peridot looked at the cue in her hands. As a technician, it was vital that she was able to listen to instructions and follow them through perfectly. She prided herself on being able to fix foreign engines after having only been told how to once.

"Could you... show me how to do that again? This stupid game makes no sense."

Amethyst walked over and ran her hand down Peridot's arm, lacing her own fingers through hers to show her how to grip the cue.

"Sure thing."

[dudgetlovers]

♥️Fox Nipped 2♥️

Coughs a little and clears her throat. “Sorry for the long cliffhanger everyone. I've been so under the weather for awhile now... my throat feels like I'm swallowing nails, my nose is running like a leaky water faucet, my head is spinning and I almost hugged a monster thinking it was my husband.” she blows her nose into the tissue. 

Dust walks into the room carrying the babies and a big bag of marshmallows. “Good afternoon, sweetheart.” He greets his wife as he walked over to her and took a seat on his side of the bed. 

“How are you feeling?” Gently places the babies on the bed to let them roam around. 

Fidget covers her mouth with her paw as she coughs a little. she sighs and sniffles. “I still have this terrible cold, but it's going away a bit.” Laid her head on the pillow. 

“Don't worry, you’re going to feel better soon. You just need more rest, soup, medicine and care from your family and friends.” Dust puts his arm around Fidget. “Come on, cheer up. I've done some research and I found out that marshmallows can soothe a sore throat. So, I bought a huge bag of them.” Pulled out the bag bug of marshmallows, sat them gently on Fidget’s lap and kissed her forehead. 

Gasped in surprised as she held the bag of marshmallows. “They do?! Whoa, I knew marshmallows should of been a medicine flavor, it would taste so heavenly.” She opens up the bag, scooped up a few marshmallows in her paw and popped them into her mouth one by one. 

“Erm, Sure, whatever you say, honey.” Dust cringed a little by the thought of marshmallows as a medicine flavor, it didn't seem phase him. He always preferred blueberry or grape flavored medicine.

“Hmmmm, this feels great on my sore throat.” She said before she ate a few more. 

“Now, How about you go ahead and finish telling your story? If you think I am mad about it, I’m not.” Dust assures and cuddled up right beside her. 

“Well, Since you put it that way. Okay!” She begins to clear her throat so she could continue with the story. “Here goes.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What'd I do, What'd I do?!” Fidget panicked.

Dust immediately got on all fours and began to sniff around the place as he wags his tail. He was definitely not himself at all in this state, not the tough, noble, strong warrior he was before.

“M-Master?” Ahrah never seen Dust act this way before, it was concerning for him and the rest. He began to study Dust closely, watched his reactions and movements. “My Falana... Whatever that small vile contained, it has done something extremely strange to Dust... I believe he thinks that he's an ordinary fox.” 

“That is correct... Inside that vile was huge amount of fox nip, once the scent has been whiffed by a warmblood fox, they’ll begin to believe they are indeed an ordinary fox.” Sereth sighed as he kneeled down to pick up the empty vile. 

“An ordinary fox?!” She shouted as she glanced over to her boyfriend who was rolling around in the flowers. Fidget could not believe what she was seeing her boyfriend acting like an ordinary fox, she really wasn't sure what to do at this point. 

“Ohhh, Okay, Fidget... stay calm and cool here. I really need a cupcake right now, so I can think of what to do. Where are they?” She checked Dust’s sack for the box of cupcakes. 

“Sweetest cupcakes... The only stress reliever for me, especially when I am stressed out about Dust.” Pulled out a triple fudge chocolate cupcake. 

Dust suddenly smelled the sweet aroma of the cupcake, he quickly ran over to Fidget and snatched the cupcake out of her hand with his mouth.

Fidget smacks her lips together. “Mmm, I love cupcakes.” she brought her hand close to her mouth thinking she was still holding the tasty cupcake and bites her paw instead. 

“Ouch! Hey! Wait just a minute here, where is my cupcake?!” Fidget begun to look back and forth quickly then spotted her boyfriend chomping on the cupcake she was about to devour. 

“Dust Sen Mithrarin!” She shouted Dust’s full name out in anger. places her paws on her hips and began to air tap her foot. “THAT WAS MY CUPCAKE YOU JUST CHOMPED DOWN ON!”

Still chewing on the cupcake and swallows it. he begins to pant with his tongue hanging out.

“Was it good?! How dare you steal a cupcake from your cupcake queen! I-I thought you loved me Dust, but I guess I was wrong!” She hissed and shook her fist at Dust. 

Without any hesitation Ahrah got in front of Fidget. “Fidget, You must calm yourself down! Dust doesn't even know what he is doing. In this state he is all carefree at moment.” Ahrah turned to Sereth. “Sereth, I must ask, is there a way to get Dust back to his rightful mindset?” He asked.

“Absolutely, There is a special gold flower with a foul scent that will cure these side effects our friend is experiencing, however I am the only one who can collect that certain flower. I'll need a special potion bottle to store it in and I wish not to attract any monstrous creatures.”

“It shall be done, Sereth.” Ahrah turned to Fidget who was still steamed about her boyfriend eating her cupcake. “Fidget, You’ll have to excuse Dust, you see he's not in his correct mindset at the moment. He's very carefree about his actions.”

“I am very angry at that man right now. Ugh, stealing his adorable girlfriend’s cupcake...” Fidget crossed her arms over her chest then looked over to Dust.

Sitting on the ground moving his tail back and forth slowly as he stares at Fidget.

“Hmph, I am not talking to you, Dust. I'm very angry with you at the moment, so you can take that bushy blue tail of yours elsewhere.” She turned her back on him.

Dust's ears laid back as Fidget turned around, he then laid low to the ground and started barking at her.

“Dust, barking gets you nowhere-” Fidget blinked a few times before turning back to him.

“Wait, You shouldn't be barking at me...”

“Ohh, Dust... you really do believe you're an ordinary fox.” Fidget leaned over to Dust.

Panting and licks Fidget’s face as he wagged his tail then flopped over into the flowers.

“Gahhh! Dust, don't do that again! Gross! Well, at least you brush your teeth daily, but still that is a no, no!” She yelled with annoyance as she blushed brightly.

Dust huffed by Fidget not liking his kiss and continued to roll around the flowers.

“Fidget, We must be on our way to Archer’s Pass so we can craft a special potion bottle for Sererth. Apparently he knows of a cure for Dust’s side effects.” Ahrah assured Fidget as he watched his master roll in the flowers like a common animal. Ahrah has seen Dust do some silly things in the past, but this was beyond silly. “Erm, Dust... please, stop rolling in the flowers.” He pleaded to his master.

Dust suddenly sat up on fours then bagan scratching himself like a fox would.

“Great, now he has fleas...” Fidget-palmed. “Let's get that potion battle made, I'm sure Reed and Haley are working on Tuesdays.”

“Wise choice, Fidget. Let's be on our way then. Dust, erm, Come here, boy.” Ahrah whistles to get Dust’s attention.

Dust ran over to Ahrah on fours while panting and wagging his tail.

Later at Archer’s Pass.

“Has Dust lost his mind?!” Both Reed and Haley shouted as they watched Dust chew on a rubber mysterious wall chicken.

“See, He's not himself at all ever since be sniffed that fox nip.” Fidget confirmed. “Reed, I'd like to make a special request blueprint for a potion bottle to store a rare smelly flower in. I think Sereth will make into some kind of perfume.”

“Sure, no problem, Fidget.” Reed took out his glasses, gently placed them on his face and got out his blueprint sketch book along with some special white pens.

“I sure hope this works...” Fidget leaned over to pet Dust’s head as he was still chewing on the rubber mysterious wall chicken.

To Be Continued Till Next Week