#much to the chagrin of said visitors

[ganymedesclock]

I think knuckles is the only character we haven't heard much about- whats he up to in your verse?

You ever meet Some Guy on a legendary lost sky island and he almost exclusively talks in a language that went out of style thousands of years ago and he punches you because something something averting the apocalypse? Yeah, man, what's with that guy?

[aemondwhoresworld]

ELOWEN’S SECOND VISIT

a drabble & part of: y/n, ewan and elowen mitchell

summary: elowen returns to the house of the dragon set with you and ewan, eagerly awaiting a reunion with her favorite “uncle” tom glynn-carney. while it’s her second visit, the experience is just as magical as the first, filled with love, warmth, and playful interactions with the cast. elowen’s bright energy lights up the set as she bonds with the actors and crew, especially her beloved uncle tom.

warning: english is not my first language. pure fluff, contains overwhelming amounts of cuteness.

Elowen’s excitement was palpable from the moment you mentioned she’d be visiting the set of House of the Dragon again. Her little feet barely touched the ground as she bounced around the house, eyes wide with anticipation. She clutched the small dragon plushie Ewan had given her from the last visit and couldn’t stop asking when she’d see “Uncle Tom” again. Tom Glynn-Carney, the actor who played Aegon Targaryen, had quickly become her favorite after their first meeting, much to Ewan’s playful chagrin.

You smiled as you gathered her things, watching as she practically danced around the living room in excitement. Ewan, already dressed and ready to go, leaned against the doorway with a grin, arms crossed. “She’s more excited than the first time,” he noted, glancing at you with a wink.

“I think it’s Uncle Tom’s doing,” you teased, shaking your head.

Ewan chuckled. “Of course it is. She’s his biggest fan.”

With Elowen finally ready and everything packed, the three of you made your way to the car. The entire drive to the set was filled with Elowen’s chatter about dragons, knights, and her favorite “pretend uncles.” She even hummed the House of the Dragon theme song as you drove, occasionally asking how much longer until she got to see Tom. You and Ewan exchanged amused glances but couldn’t help but get swept up in her enthusiasm.

When you finally arrived on set, Elowen’s excitement only intensified. The massive castle walls, dark banners, and smoke from the props made everything feel larger than life. Ewan lifted her onto his shoulders, giving her a better view of the bustling scene below. As the cast and crew went about their work, Elowen waved happily, her little hands high in the air.

“Look, Mommy! Daddy!” she exclaimed, pointing toward the familiar sight of the dragons on set. “Dragons!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” you laughed, resting a hand on Ewan’s arm. “But we’re here for someone else too, remember?”

At that moment, a voice called out behind you, one that Elowen immediately recognized. “Is that my favorite little Targaryen?” Tom Glynn-Carney strode over, a broad smile on his face. He was dressed in his regal Aegon attire, which only added to the magic in Elowen’s eyes.

“Uncle Tom!” Elowen squealed, wriggling in Ewan’s arms until he set her down. Without missing a beat, she darted toward Tom, who crouched down just in time to catch her in a big hug.

“Well, hello there, princess,” Tom chuckled, lifting her up and spinning her around gently, much to her delight. “I’ve missed you!”

Elowen giggled, clutching her dragon plushie tightly in one hand while resting her head on his shoulder. “I missed you too, Uncle Tom! Can we play dragons today?”

Tom feigned deep thought, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm… I think I can make that happen.” He glanced at you and Ewan with a playful grin. “Mind if I steal her for a bit?”

Ewan, ever the protective father, crossed his arms with a mock-serious expression. “Only if you promise to return her in one piece.”

“Deal,” Tom laughed, holding Elowen up like she was flying. “Come on, princess, let’s find some dragons.”

As Tom carried Elowen toward the set, a few other cast members noticed and waved. Emma D’Arcy, who played Rhaenyra, approached with a warm smile. “Well, if it isn’t our little visitor again,” they said, their eyes lighting up as they saw Elowen.

“Hi!” Elowen waved back enthusiastically from Tom’s arms, clearly enjoying all the attention.

Emma ruffled her hair gently. “How have you been? Are you ready to see more dragons today?”

Elowen nodded eagerly. “Yes! And I’m gonna fly with Uncle Tom!”

“Is that so?” Emma chuckled, glancing at Tom. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full today, Aegon.”

Tom smirked. “What can I say? I’m a popular uncle.”

You and Ewan stood back, watching the scene unfold with smiles. It was heartwarming to see how much love the cast had for your daughter. They didn’t treat her like a simple visitor—she was family. You noticed Matt Smith, who played Daemon, walking over next, his hands casually tucked into his costume pockets.

“Well, well, well,” Matt drawled with a smirk. “Look who’s stealing the show again.” He winked at Elowen, who beamed in response.

“Uncle Matt!” she giggled, clearly having assigned honorary “uncle” titles to all of Ewan’s co-stars.

Matt gave a mock bow. “At your service, princess. What mischief are you getting up to today?”

Before Elowen could answer, Tom chimed in, “Flying dragons, of course.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Flying dragons, huh? Sounds dangerous. You’d better keep an eye on her, Aegon. She might take over the throne if you’re not careful.”

Elowen, ever quick to play along, puffed out her chest proudly. “I’m gonna be the queen of dragons!”

“That’s the spirit,” Matt grinned, offering her a high-five.

As the day went on, Elowen explored the set with Tom, her eyes wide in wonder as she watched the actors rehearse scenes and the crew work behind the scenes. She was particularly fascinated by the dragons—especially when Tom lifted her up so she could “fly” with them. You and Ewan followed closely behind, content to let her enjoy every moment of the magic around her.

At one point, Tom knelt beside her, pointing out one of the large dragon props being prepped for a scene. “Think you could ride that one someday?”

Elowen, with all the confidence of a true dragon queen, nodded. “I could! I’m not scared!”

Tom smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “That’s because you’re the bravest little Targaryen I know.”

The rest of the visit was filled with laughter, warmth, and joy as Elowen soaked up the love and attention from the cast and crew. Even between takes, actors would come over to say hello, some offering small props for her to play with, while others asked about her day. It was clear that she’d become the little darling of the set.

As the day drew to a close, and you and Ewan prepared to head home, Elowen clung to Tom’s leg, not wanting to leave. “Do I have to go, Uncle Tom?”

Tom knelt down, looking at her with a soft smile. “You’ve got to come back soon, though, alright? You’re our good luck charm.”

Elowen nodded solemnly, and Tom gave her one more big hug before setting her down gently. “I’ll miss you, princess,” he said, his voice warm.

“I’ll miss you too,” Elowen replied, her eyes already sleepy from the excitement of the day.

As the three of you walked back to the car, with Elowen happily nestled in Ewan’s arms, you glanced back at the set one last time. It was amazing how much love and warmth surrounded your little family there. What started as just another workday had become a cherished memory, filled with laughter and love.

Elowen’s second visit to the set was, without a doubt, a magical one—and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

[tragedy-of-commons]

call to action

boothill x gn!reader | wc: ~1.4k

Always get your hopes up.

tags/warnings: alcohol mentions and references (reader actually doesn't drink explicitly), romantic tension, ipc cog reader, mental gymnastics, pining in a weird constipated way

notes: this is a request from a lovely ao3 commenter, aqua! "...i'd like to request a Boothill x IPC reader if that's fine?" + i also combined this with a dialogue prompt from @/promptlyprompting!

“You’d be a fool to say no.”

Boothill’s voice remains a coarse drawl that almost sounds scolding. Even if your way of running the show has always been at odds with his, he’s never outright called you a fool of all things. His offer hangs in the air, making the sticky atmosphere of the bar even more unbearable. The bulbous red light fixtures sway overhead as the ringleader of a nearby group slams an animated fist on the counter, licks of crimson fleetingly painting the tops of your heads.

You laugh, drink going untouched as it always does; at the end of the night, when you both fight over the tab, you always surrender yours over to him as a peace offering. Maybe tonight you’ll need to give more than that to appease him. “I’d be a bigger fool to listen to you. You aren’t exactly known for being the most reasonable of the bunch.”

“I don’t extend this opportunity to just anyone,” he reminds you, lips curling into a toothy grin. “To me, it seems like you’re looking for excuses to miss out like you always do. That mind of yours ain’t too rigid for Galaxy Ranger business, y’know. I bet you’d make it work.”

Boothill is weird, that much is apparent, yes, but only he would ask you to join him on his journey, call you a fool, and then compliment your mindset all in the same artificial breath. His audacity is so offensive that it’s a wonder that Lan themself hasn’t struck him down. He gets away with so much - including making you hope for a different future. Including making you hope for a different future with him.

The exterior of the bar is just as cramped and loud as the interior. Visitors modding their vehicles on the outcrop of the main strip—Mechanic’s Haven—shout and drill away at the innards of spaceships, drones, satellites, and whatever else - wayward sparks landing at the feet of shoppers and pedestrians. There’s something to be said about an IPC lackey and a Galaxy Ranger walking into a bar, but he wisely refrains. 

You sigh. “You know I can’t. As fun as chasing pipe dreams with you would be, I’m locked into a contract with the largest corporation in the whole known universe,” you make a point of gesturing to your uniform. “That kind of obligation doesn’t just go away, even if you run from it.”

He snorts, an empathetic little thing. Boothill then pops his hat off and situates it on your head, much to your chagrin. The noise you let out is affronted, the brim of the relic obscuring the better part of your vision. How disgustingly fond of him. “I see where you’re comin’ from, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you to reconsider. You’d be a much better fit here than there.”

(The unspoken words stick to the roof your mouth. You’d be a much better fit with me than with them.)

Part of you agrees. There’s always been a scale in your head that weighs the fairness of each step you take - measuring the footfalls of others in tandem with yours; you know what it is like to have a strong sense of justice that itches to be upheld. Boothill witnessed this side of you firsthand, when the first words you ever spoke to him were something along the lines of: “Leave the freelancers here alone. Those are the prices, and they’re that steep for a reason. Pay him in full or I’ll make sure you’re in need of a few more repairs.”

You’re also aware of the strange role you play in this. Being on the IPC’s payroll, the contractual thing to do was to report the outlaw to your superiors immediately and enjoy the generous bounty on his head, but you didn’t. You didn’t because when you came face to face with the Boothill, you were ambushed with a childlike wonder you hadn’t felt in years, even if your righteous admonishment didn’t reflect it.

Nowadays, this dingy old bar with no name isn’t the same without his wild tales. Mechanic’s Haven isn’t the same without him at your side as you weave through the clusters of people, him poking fun at your job and your unwillingness to turn him in. When he calls you one of the good ones, you begrudgingly call him a pretty stand-up guy. He gets a kick out of that.

This planetary pitstop is growing more suffocating by the minute. You tip the hat upward to let it sit on your head at a higher angle so you can actually see, narrowed eyes trained on your companion. “You think so? And what makes you so sure, huh?”

He makes a show of flexing his fingers before balling the scrapwork appendages into a fist, taking great care in placing it over where his heart would be, if he was not the thing he is now. The look he fixes you with is complicated, layers of something hidden behind that thick accent and the centers of those crosshairs. “Call it a gut feeling. Y’know, as arbitrary,” he enunciates the word painstakingly, “as the universe is, there’s a reason we met. You got what it takes… and I ain’t afraid to shy away from that truth like you are.”

There it is again. “I’m not afraid. I just happen to think before I act.”

Boothill sighs and swipes your drink that’s been collecting dust with a deft hand, knocking it back. He recovers, gaze raking over your form. It isn’t salacious in the slightest, you think, the way he starts at the tip of his hat’s feather to the silver insignia resting over your heart. Maybe his eyes lingered on your lips too, but that could be you injecting something pointless like hope into this relationship that doesn’t need to be there. That seems more likely. 

“A little too much if I do say so myself,” he guffaws, much to the displeasure of the other patrons. He plucks his hat back off your head with something like amusement, returning it to its rightful place. “You’re as stubborn as a mule, but I know when I’ve been bested. Come on, it’s gettin’ late.”

You two don’t fight over the tab this time around, him sliding a generous amount of credit to the barkeep who just looks slightly bewildered at two of his regulars not verbally fistfighting each other like they normally do. The question in his stare makes your cheeks feel hotter than lava, and you walk with Boothill out of the bar without much fuss, greeting the mild night cold. The silence that you share isn’t uncomfortable, but there’s more to be said. You know he wants nothing more than to hear a yes from you, which sends your mental equilibrium into dizzying contention.

Something is not right, and it is your fault.

With an audible swallow, you fight the butterflies in your stomach and nudge his side. The raucous song of Mechanic’s Haven harmonizes with the thrumming in your ears. “Hey.”

He turns to look at you, whistling a tune you can’t place.

“I’ll give it some more thought. Don’t get your hopes up, because becoming a fugitive by association seems like a lot more trouble than it’s worth,” you cough.

Boothill beams and it just serves to confuse your internal scale even more. One would think you’re suddenly inorganic with how it feels like you’re short-circuiting. Is this an acute onset of cardiac arrest? Or is it something else you’ve been pushing away for months on end?

He nudges you back. “I knew you’d come around! And the first lesson of being a Galaxy Ranger,” he starts, “is to always get your hopes up.”

Yeah… it’s definitely something else entirely. Something that, in all likelihood, is going to get you into massive trouble. You understand the risks that come with fraternizing with an outlaw, have weighed them heavily against your heart, and have reached only one verdict:

You’ll sleep on it.

(You’ll end up following this cowboy no matter what. Even you, deep down, know that he’s been sticking around the area for way too long, like he’s waiting for something or someone. It just so happened to be you. Dang it all to heck and back.)

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee, @singularity-sam, @harque, @thestarswhisper

[aviiarie]

˚ ₊ ‧ ♡ HOCUS POCUS — feat. shinobu event masterlist.

synopsis. you found out the hard way that the 'witch' that lived at the end of your street was telling the truth about her magic, after you knocked over a potion in her house and accidentally cast a spell on yourself. warnings. none. notes. requested by 🌷 anon. witch!shinobu. gn!reader. 1k words. this one is a little shorter, i apologise ;-;

The first few weeks after your newest neighbour arrived were relatively peaceful, a gentle calm before the inevitable storm. She moved in seemingly overnight, but it wasn’t until a couple of days later that you properly met her, after a sharp knock at your door woke you up at exactly six in the morning. When you opened the door, her introduction was brief, cutting straight to the point before you could say a word.

“Hello. My name is Shinobu Kocho. I am a witch. I moved in a few houses down, and I wanted to introduce myself to my new neighbours.” Her smile was soft, and her words softer still, so much that you almost missed what she said entirely.

“Oh! It’s nice to meet you. My name is—” You paused, your mind finally catching up to what she said. “Wait, did you say you’re a witch?”

And ‘witch’ she was, as you would come to learn. She invited you around for dinner one night, and you got your first glimpse of her home.

“Wow… this is some… uh, interesting décor.” You gazed around the room in wonder, eyeing the overflowing shelves that were practically spilling over with paper and books of all kinds. Among them, there were countless plants filling the space, as well as an assortment of strange objects. Potions stored in ornate glass bottles, brightly coloured candles, even a bubbling cauldron in the corner.

“Thank you,” Shinobu said politely, shutting the door behind you. “Follow me, please. I've already prepared dinner.”

Despite her oddities, the woman was pleasant company. The sweet smile on her face never wavered, and her wide, bug-like eyes didn't seem to blink, but she laughed at your jokes and filled any awkward silences with bizarre and charming stories of her own life.

The dinner ended with you being invited over at the same time the following week, and a new friend successfully made. You left her house with a warm feeling in your chest, and the hopes of seeing her again.

-----

In the end, it was all your own fault.

You had been warned—once, twice, too many times to count—that you needed to be careful when you visited. And you had been, the first few times. But maybe you had gotten a little too comfortable once you’d become a regular visitor, and all of the solemn warnings about how you needed to take caution in where you stepped just… slipped from your mind, like butterflies fluttering away.

Shinobu, to your chagrin, was unfazed by the mistake. She stood over where you were sprawled across the floor, scrambling to make your limbs work the way you wanted them to. It was humiliating, utterly humiliating, slipping over the floorboards and falling into a clumsy pile on the ground.

Every part of you tingled with an odd sensation that you couldn’t shake, like all of your bones had been broken and rearranged. You craned your neck up to look at Shinobu, who—despite being a rather petite woman—was about as large as a giant compared to your newly shrunken form.

Your new shape was much smaller, and much hairier than you were used to. Your limbs had been replaced, trading out two arms for a second pair of legs, all covered in a thick layer of fur. On the top of your head, a pair of ears twitched in the cool air, flicking in sync with your tail—tail, you had a tail and it was the strangest feeling that you had ever experienced. Your body felt wrong, almost like…

A cat. The potion had transformed you from a human to… a cat.

“Oh dear,” Shinobu hummed. Her smile hadn’t faltered in the slightest; if anything, there was a sparkle of amusement in her eye. “Well, that wasn’t a very good idea, was it now?”

You meowed in indignation—meowed, because you were a cat now—and she only clicked her tongue.

“Enough of that,” She crouched down so she was closer to your level. “What did I say about being careful when you walk around my house, hm? Did I tell you to be careful because there were dangers that your silly human mind couldn’t comprehend? Do you remember me telling you that?”

You weren’t sure whether she was talking to you like you were an ignorant child because she was angry at your carelessness, or she thought you were stupid. Knowing her, it was most likely both.

“Turning you back is a complicated process, you know.” Shinobu’s hand reached out, ghosting the top of your head. You dodged her attempt, hissing as you tried once more to get on your feet. “It requires an all new potion that will take a week to brew, at the earliest.”

With a forlorn yowl, you fell into a heap on the floor. There was no point in trying to preserve your dignity now, any chance of that shattered with the potion bottle that you had spilled on the floor. Shinobu tsked at your pathetic form, kneeling on the floor beside you.

Slowly, she placed her hand on your fur, dragging her nails across the top of your head. The sensation was oddly calming, and before you knew it, you were melting into her touch, letting your body relax and a low rumble sound from the back of your throat…

Wait. What were you doing?!

You snapped out of it, scrambling away from Shinobu’s hand and hissing half-heartedly at her. You might be stuck as a cat, but you weren’t going to be treated like some animal. She didn’t look surprised by your sudden mood shift, only shaking her head in amusement.

“Don’t give me that look,” she chided. “This is your own fault.”

She was right, of course, but the words were still a slap to your face.

“Don’t worry,” Shinobu sighed, swiftly scooping your fluffy body into her arms before you had a chance to protest. “You’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

You wriggled around in her hold until you found a comfortable position, miserably slumping against her chest with a muffled mrrp sound. A smile curled over the edge of Shinobu’s lips, the most genuine expression you’d seen on her yet.

“In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.” She shook her head, almost fondly. “And I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson about carelessness. You should always listen to witches.”

🏷️ taglist: @mollzaj, @mitsvriii, @an-angstyteen

�� aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[honey-beann]

Sooo does this mean we can get some nines fluff? plssss?

Sweet, and Soft, and Gentle

Nines x Reader

Well, this certainly isn't the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but here's a little fic that I wrote randomly last night because I am weak to whatever the hell this trope is haha. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1,643

The front desk assistant walked quickly into the bullpen, looking a little bit nervous as he cleared his throat slightly, catching the attention of everyone there as he did so (much to his chagrin).

Today was his very first day without the desk manager present after she had called out sick, and of course that also had to be the day that an unexpected visitor with an almost unbelievable reason for coming in waltzed her way into the office, asking for someone that the poor assistant had never once heard anyone ask for before.

So now, here he was, walking as quickly as he could without causing alarm in an attempt to stay ahead of you so that he had the opportunity to ask the many precinct workers if they happened to know anyone by your name.

Sure, you had requested one man in particular, but he just couldn't imagine what someone like you could ever need someone like him for, so he opted instead to announce your presence to the entire room in hopes of someone you actually knew telling him that it was okay if you came in to visit without a supervising attendee present.

"Sorry to bother you guys, but I have someone by the name of-"

"Nines?"

Your voice was a little quiet and hesitant as you spoke, as if you were worried you might be in the wrong place.

Immediately, all eyes shifted from the front desk assistant to you, including a pair of steely gray orbs that had notably not been watching the man standing at the front of the room prior to your voice being heard.

To everyone's surprise, the android who went by the very same name you had spoken stood up, abandoning his coat on the back of his chair, which he left two entire feet away from his desk as he made his way over to you.

And that alone was a shock.

Nines was the office neat freak, and regardless of weather, when he moved away from his desk he always put that jacket of his on, no matter how brief the trip away would be.

And to leave his chair out of place?

It was almost unthinkable to imagine he would do something like that. Hell, he even begrudgingly pushed Gavin's in when the detective left it sitting away from his desk.

But here Nines was, walking toward you, a stranger to damn near everyone in the office, as if nothing else in the world ever had or ever would matter more.

You let out what appeared to be a sigh of relief at the man's approach, smiling tiredly up at him as he offered you a faint grin, one that touched his eyes far more than it did his lips.

"Button."

He said as he grew closer, causing nearly the entire office to look around at one another in surprise.

Had Nines just used a pet name?

You blushed a bit but took a few steps forward, meeting the android closer than you would have otherwise as he reached down to cup the side of your cheek, allowing you to lean into his touch contentedly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden visit?"

He asked gently, causing you to shrug your shoulders a bit in response, cheeks still pink with embarrassment.

"I uh, I had to make a delivery next door and thought I would pop in to say hi, but then I learned that I wasn't actually on your guest list yet so I tried to back out of it, except I didn't want anyone at the desk to think I was just some weirdo who had been trying to get in randomly so I decided to ask if someone could escort me in to say hello... Kind of a dumb idea in retrospect..."

You sighed, gaze cast downward as the android in front of you raised a brow at your words, clearly confused about something, but more than patient enough to allow you to finish your thought.

"I'm sorry for bothering you at work."

You continued softly, refusing to make eye contact with Nines until he tutted and used two of his fingers to lightly push your chin upward, all but forcing you to look him in the eye as he spoke.

"Listen to me, Button."

He said almost sternly, though his eyes were alight with a slightly smug amusement,

"You're never a bother."

You sputtered a bit at the kindness of the android's words, but had very little time to reply before Nines was turning towards the desk assistant.

"Why couldn't you find her on my accepted visitors list? Is the system down?"

He asked, his tone full of a nearly unkind sternness far different from the one he had regarded you with as he spoke.

The assistant blanched.

"To be honest Detective, I never checked... During my training I was told that you never got visitors, so I had assumed that you just didn't allow for them..."

Nines scoffed, turning his attention back towards you, expression as apologetic and soothing as ever,

"It was only a misunderstanding."

He said gently, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear as he glanced back toward the desk assistant,

"One that I am sure will be remedied in the future."

That sentence was damn near growled, and the assistant was quick to nod before rushing off under the guise of work.

Strange, considering his lunch break was only three minutes away.

Nines however, could not have cared less about how much he had undoubtedly frightened the young man, and instead leaned forward, bumping his forehead lightly against your own as he sighed, murmuring a quiet apology before you shook your head and stood on your toes in order to press a sweet kiss against his lips.

Nines seemed a bit surprised at this, but grinned nonetheless, reaching an arm around your back and using it to tug you closer before he gently applied a downward pressure, urging you to stand normally as he leaned further forward to better accommodate for the height difference the two of you shared.

The entire room watched on in awe save for a few pairs of exasperated eyes, which remained mostly trained on the screens in front of them.

But to everyone else, this was far too jarring to even imagine looking away from.

It just didn't make sense.

You were sweet and soft and oh so gentle, everything a city like Detroit could've eaten up and spat out in a second.

And Nines was well...

Nines.

Even those who were closest to him would call him unyielding at best, and occasionally outright cruel at worst.

No one had ever seen him bend to the will of anything.

So why was he quite literally bending down to press his lips to yours as you all but melted into his touch, obviously soothed by his typically threatening presence?

The entire precinct watched on in shock as you smiled against the rk900's lips, pulling away after a few seconds to plant a gentle kiss to the very tip of his nose as he chuckled quietly, his eyes rolling ever so slightly in a way that made it obvious how much he enjoyed your foolish expression of adoration.

"You have a very interesting way of saying hello, little one."

Nines said softly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he regarded you with amusement, eyes following the gentle curve of your smile lovingly.

You blushed a bit, but couldn't help but grow giddy beneath his gaze, mouth opening slightly to comment,

"Are you not a fan?"

You asked, watching as Nines all but scoffed before shaking his head,

"No, I think I prefer the way you go about things presently over anything else you might come up with."

He teased before planting a soft kiss against your forehead and pulling away, glancing towards the bullpen full of officers and detectives who were staring shamelessly at the two of you.

Usually, he would roll his eyes, or even laugh if he caught the entire room watching him like that, but this time he ignored them completely, glancing down at you and offering his arm before speaking again.

"How about I take you out to lunch to make up for all of the confusion, hmm little one? Make coming to visit a little bit more worthwhile?"

You grinned and nodded in response, grabbing his arm and taking a few steps towards the exit alongside him when you suddenly stopped, gasping lightly as you realized that Nines was missing something he would typically consider important.

"Your jacket!"

You announced, dashing over to the garment before knocking the chair it had been hanging on back into the spot against his desk with your hip thoughtlessly, your smile dangerously close to contagious for all who watched as you rushed back to the man who remained standing near the doorway, amusement evident in his expression.

"Thank you, Button."

He said genuinely as you grew closer, holding his familiar white jacket out to him,

"Whatever would I do without you?"

You laughed cheerily at that, and everyone watched as you took Nines' arm once more, walking out of the building and into the warm afternoon air side by side.

The room was silent for a few moments afterward, before murmurs began breaking out around the office, until finally everything got quiet again after Gavin piped up rather loudly,

"Who the hell was that?!"

He shouted, a confusion that nearly everyone in the room shared evident in his tone.

But still, not everyone had been left in the dark, and three men sitting at their respective desks spoke up in accidental unison to prove it, all of them sounding mildly exasperated and reasonably amused.

"His wife."

[forsakenmissives]

Jamie does not eat lunch alone. No, seriously. Most of the lads usually gather in the cafeteria together and eat, even Will Kitman stopping by sometimes. So, Jamie is very used to company while he goes absolutely crazy on some grilled chicken because he acts all composed on the pitch, mostly, but he’s usually fucking starved by the time lunch rolls around. That being said, he is completely unprepared for Roy Kent to shoo the rest of the guys away and take the seat next to Jamie — not that he minds, the other Greyhounds still eager to chat about Zava and Jamie decidedly not so. Still, he’s so unprepared that he actually looks unattractive for once, mouth hanging open, chicken half-chewed on his tongue.

Quickly, he swallows. “Did I do something wrong, coach?” Because why else would Roy break his sacred solo lunch time to speak with Jamie?

“You’re favouring your left leg,” Roy says. “We’ll stretch better before training tomorrow.”

Jamie knows he’s not talking about what they just got done doing outside. They finished their second private session that morning, and Jamie’s proud to say he’s gotten with the program quick as a whip. Roy tried critiquing him, but outside of basic form, Jamie was a certified trooper, and Roy found himself biting his tongue, much to his chagrin and Jamie’s joy. He takes another bite of chicken before nodding. “Yeah, alright. And I’ll stretch better before training tomorrow.”

Roy huffs and nods, but he doesn’t leave. Jamie sets down his fork. Stares expectantly at him. Still, Roy remains silent, though one of his hands rests on the table, nails scraping the tabletop in a slow back and forth rhythm. 

“Anything else for me?” Jamie finally prompts.

The cafeteria has a quiet hum about it, a steady white noise that is the blending of various voices all speaking at once. Roy looks around, taking in the other visitors, but they’re all at other tables or by the doors. He turns back to Jamie. “I wanted to . . . apologise.”

He shouldn’t, because he’s sure Roy is either being or about to be very vulnerable with him, and Jamie’s not actually dumb and he’s certainly not dumb enough to take a wrecking ball to this thing that looks a lot like a friendship he can see being built brick by brick, but he’s so shocked by the admission that he blurts, “You want to apologise to me?”

“Fuck off,” Roy immediately snaps, but when Jamie just remains there, now twirli​​ng his fork between his fingers, he rolls his shoulders back, tilts his head, and continues: “I was a . . . a dick. About training.”

“What d’you mean?” Jamie asks. “Bit Spartan, yeah, but you’re a good coach, coach.”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge the compliment nor the backhanded part of it. “At Ola’s, you asked me when we’d start, and I smacked your food out of your hand, and that was a dick move of me.”

Jamie’s lips form into an ‘o’. Not a single ‘fuck’ in that sentence. Damn, Roy really prepared for this. He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Testing my reflexes, weren’t you? Don’t worry about it.”

“You flinched,” Roy replies, finally meeting his eyes. “You fucking put your hands in front of your face. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Reflexes,” Jamie repeats, but they both know it’s a lame excuse. He drops his fork, drumming his fingers on the table before reaching over and curling them around Roy’s shoulder. He can feel the way Roy tenses under his touch, but he leaves his hand there, lips curling at the corners and brows drawing together. “You’re a good man, Roy Kent. I appreciate it.”

Roy rolls his eyes, shaking off Jamie’s hand, but he’s not half as stiff as before, and he’s actually kind of shit at hiding a smile. That, or Jamie knows him too well, and isn’t that just a dream come true? He gives a pat to Roy’s shoulder one last time before Roy pushes himself up from the bench. “Finish your food, Tartt.”

“Right, right, coach.” Jamie goes back to his plate, and Roy turns to leave, but before he can, Jamie finds himself reaching out, though he never actually makes contact. Roy looks down at him, brows raised. Jamie swallows, though he hadn’t even picked up his fork again. “Uh. Thanks, though. I really do appreciate it.”

A pause stretches between them, and Jamie’s hand draws back to rest on the table. Finally, Roy nods. “‘Course.” And then he turns and he goes and Jamie watches his back until he rounds a corner and Jamie can see him no longer. Months spent being an absolute shit . . . Jamie’s mouth finally splits into a proper grin. He should’ve known. Roy’s eyes have been on him the entire time. 

He bites the tines of his fork, the metal clinking between his teeth. Across the hall, he catches the eye of one of the chefs. “Agnes!” he calls, and she moves as if to rush over, but Jamie waves a hand, halting her action. “Great work on the chicken today. Fucking delicious.” Those who remain in the cafeteria all turn to look at the chef, whose face is quickly turning puce from the force of her blush. Jamie takes another bite and nods. “Yeah. I absolutely love it.”

because sorry but i refuse to let roy be another angry man in jamie's life, even if he is a man that can be very, very angry and they did throw hands a couple times. whatever. anyway that bit of the scene was so insignificant but it still itched at me to write this lol

[authorautumnbanks]

Brat Tamer (3)

Read chapter 2

Satoru sits down at the table with the questionnaire in front of him. He picks it up and glances at the back. Double sided. For some reason, he expected more from her. Like a binder filled with kinks for him to list out. He's getting ahead of himself. Truthfully, he doesn't know much about Kagome, except she's hot as fuck and apparently gets off on teasing him. Satoru spikes a hand through his hair and sets the paper down. He grabs the pen and moves on to the first question.

Anal play: receiving, giving, or both. Satoru pokes the inside of his mouth with his tongue. Can he do that with Kagome? They haven't gotten into boundaries yet, but it's obvious she wants to control the relationship or whatever this is. He circles both and moves on to the next questions.

Age play: Nah.

Biting: Why not?

Blindfold: Seriously? Sure.

Cuckolding: Fuck no.

Spanking: Fuck yes.

Flogging: Sure, he doubts it will actually hurt.

He yawns as he finishes the rest of the questionnaire. Does she give this to everyone? Something akin to jealousy swells in his gut. He wants to be the only one. Satoru stands and hesitates. He should push the chair in, but if he doesn't, will she punish him for it? His cock aches. He was so close to coming and she just blue-balled him. Satoru eyes the chair and then pushes it in. If he behaves, then she'll reward him, right? Give and take. Grabbing the questionnaire, he heads out of the house and to the souvenir shop.

The shrine must be closed for the day because there are no visitors. How many times has he passed this shrine and never thought to check it out? Weird because the energy around this shrine is like nothing he's felt before. Come to think of it, the shrine lacks the residue of cursed energy except for his and even that seems to be fading away as though the shrine itself is constantly cleansing itself.

He slides open the door to the souvenir shop. A small shop that consists of a counter for ringing the purchases and rows and rows of trinkets, sutras, and other goods. On the counter is a donation box. The shrine is either doing well for itself based on the sheer number of items in stock or the shrine is having difficulties selling its souvenirs. Satoru leans towards the former because Kagome does not give off the air of being stressed.

"All done?" Kagome asks, not looking at him. She pulls out keychains from the box.

Those aren't normal souvenirs. He looks around. None of the items here are normal, but he doesn't think—doesn't want to believe— Kagome is trying to harm the general population.

"Satoru?"

"Huh! Oh yeah, I'm all done." He holds out the paper. "What's with those?"

Kagome turns and holds up the keychain with a pink ball at the end. "It's the Shikon no Tama. Not the real one, obviously. I bless them along with the protection sutras." She doesn't take the paper from him, much to his chagrin.

She blesses them? Well, Kagome is technically a priestess if her family owns a shrine.

"You bless them?" He holds out the paper for her to take and peers into the box. It's all Shikon no Tama, the majority of them pink, but there are some blue trinkets and some red. He squats and reaches into the box as if some other force compels him.

"What are you doing?"

He pauses. His hand hovers over the items. "Uh... checking them out? You said you bless them, and they feel..." How do they feel? Intoxicating? No, that isn't the right word. Kagome flares her energy and Satoru nearly falls forward. He shudders as he wraps his arms around himself to stop from reaching out for her. "Kagome... Kagome-sama," he groans, voice thick with need.

"It wasn't on the list, but we can add energy play to this," she says as though she isn't setting his body on fire. He doesn't dare look at her, not yet. Can't have her knowing how her energy is fucking with him.

"Energy play?" Satoru swallows. He wants to scream fuck yeah, but he also doesn't want her to know how badly he wants to feel her energy again. "Something you've done with someone else?" Damn it, now he sounds jealous. He is, but she doesn't need to know that.

"No."

"Oh?" He turns away from the box and looks up at her. "Never?" The thought is so implausible that he gnashes his molars together to stop from lashing out. Would she really start this thing—this relationship off by lying to him? Hot or not, he needs to be able to trust her.

Kagome crosses her arms. "Satoru, you're the only sorcerer I've been with." She wrinkles her nose. "You know what I mean."

He rolls his shoulders back and stands. Needs to feel more like himself. Something about being on the floor, looking up at her, waiting on her command, has him all out of sorts. "So, it's just been normies, then?"

"Are you jealous?"

"No." He scoffs. "Why would I be jealous of someone from your past? They don't have you now." His lip curls up in a half smirk. Kagome won't look at another man when he finally gets his hands on her. He angles his head to the side. "You're mine now."

Kagome levels him with a flat stare. "So yes or no to the energy play?"

"Yes—wait." Satoru takes a step toward her. "I don't want you to overdo it trying to please me. You only seem capable of managing these flares in short bursts and I don't want you to end up in a situation because you don't have any left to fight off a curse."

Kagome bites her lip and then laughs. She clutches her waist and turns away from him. Satoru frowns. He's being serious here. Kagome is weak, and he doesn't want to see her getting hurt. Her taking out that curse was just a fluke.

"Kagome, I'm being serious here."

"Kagome-sama," she reminds him. She wipes at her eyes and then looks at him with such disappointment, it threatens to knock him back down to his knees. "It's not about pleasing you, Satoru."

Not about pleasing him? But everything is about his pleasure. Even kneeling at her feet brings him pleasure, but he would love to be kneeling for a different reason.

"I will let it go this time because you seem to be concerned for me. Don't be. I can handle a grade one curse or special grade just fine. Teasing you isn't going to deplete me of my energy." She snorts. "Besides, if I went around flaunting my energy like you do, it would attract too much attention." She looks up at him and then makes a point of looking at his groin right as her energy flares once more.

Fuck.

Satoru grits his teeth. His breath is labored. Okay, he gets it. One flare of her energy and he's losing his mind.

"Finish putting those keychains away." Kagome turns on her heel and heads towards the door. She glances over her shoulder. "Do you have any other missions today?"

Satoru blows out a breath and tries to ignore how his cock throbs. How much it pains him to pretend everything is fine. "I've got a lot of missions today." Missions he's pushed back so he can spend this time with her doing menial labor. "Need me to do something else?"

"When you get done here, I expect all the keychains to be put away and the other two boxes to be unpacked." She points to the boxes on the left, next to the counter. "Break down the empty boxes and place them in the shed where the tools are in a neat pile. After, meet me in the kitchen. I will make lunch for us before you head off to your next mission."

"Yes, Kagome-sama," he says with a smile on his face. Lunch is code for something. Maybe she'll let him eat her out.

Turns out, making lunch was code for actually making lunch for them to eat. Not that he didn't enjoy the meal, because he did, but he isn't going to lie to himself and say he wasn't hoping for dessert. Satoru stuffs his hands in his pockets as he walks down the street. It's late now, a little past two a.m. and he still isn't done with missions. He just has one more and then he can call it a night.

Satoru pulls out his phone and double-checks the mission location. He sent Ijichi home hours ago. His pulse quickens. How'd he miss a text from Kagome? He clicks on the text and then squeezes his eyes shut.

"She's fucking with me," he mutters. "Has to be."

A picture of her in white lace on a bed that is far too small for both of them. He sucks in a breath and tries to calm down. It's just a picture. It isn't even explicit and yet he's panting like a dog. But he can make out the curve of her breasts and how her hips flare. How toned her legs are. Satoru swallows back the groan.

It's a picture to start wars over.

When did she send this? Around 1:40 a.m. She's probably asleep now, but there's a chance she isn't.

Satoru: Can I come over? I've been good today.

A long shot since she's probably asleep by now, but he hits send and then turns left down an alley. The mission site should be this way. Grade one curse. His phone buzzes in his hand. Oh? She isn't asleep yet?

Kagome: That's not how you ask.

He wets his lips, ignoring the drunk partiers stumbling past. That wasn't a no.

Satoru: Kagome-sama, could I please come over?

Kagome: Good boy.

Is that a yes? He waits for her to respond, but she doesn't. She is teasing him, messing with his head, and instead of anger, he's excited to see how she leads this. Well, the plan was to wait, but Satoru is an impatient man, at least when it comes to Kagome. He wonders if she did something to him that day.

Satoru: Kagome-sama?

Kagome: No. I'll see you in the morning at 9. Same place. Don't be late this time.

Satoru scratches the back of his head and sucks his teeth. He should have known. Of course, it isn't going to be that easy.

Kagome: And remember what I told you. Goodnight Satoru.

Remember what she... ugh. As if her words have power, his balls ache, reminding him of how long it's been since he's gotten himself off. He closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. Tries not to remember how her lips felt on him. How pretty she looked on her knees with his cock in her mouth. Can they have a repeat of that?

Satoru: Goodnight, Kagome-sama.

He pulls himself together long enough to finish the mission with minimal property damage. Just one shattered window and a broken door. Nothing too crazy. Satoru drags himself to bed, hair wet from his shower, and sits down on the bed. Why is he putting himself through this? Denying himself just because she said to? He picks his phone up from the nightstand and pulls up the picture of her.

Tease.

She wants him to act out. What was it she called him? A brat? Satoru runs his tongue over the top of his teeth and clicks on the camera icon. If it's a brat she wants, then he may as well do as he pleases. Satoru hits record and grips his cock, trying to mimic the way she stroked him earlier in the kitchen.

He can't wait to see her face when he sends her the video. He comes with her name on his lips, chanting: Kagome-sama.

Will she punish him for it?

Put him in his place right there at the restaurant?

He hopes so. Wants to see how she looks when she takes charge. Fuck, he is losing his mind.

***

A/N: I hope everyone had a wonderful week and I wish you a wonderful week ahead. Can't believe it is like 10 nights until Christmas and I have no decorations up besides the tree and even that isn't decorated. Been dealing with ear infections since November (My kid) so it's been a little rough over here, but I'm hoping next year will be better.

Take care of yourselves! Stay hydrated and enjoy the little warmth we have now until the snow comes in.

[cantstoptheimagines]

Seafoam Hue (Prince Eric | The Little Mermaid)

Summary — Eric realizes he’s fallen in love with a local historian.

Warnings and Other Tags ➳ Fluff; literally just Eric admiring the Reader in every sense of the word; a reference or two to Tangled (not a crossover though).

Notes ➳ Word Count is 761. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them).

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule 

Eric’s eyes stared across the marketplace. The flurry of colorful fabrics and the sound of music, both of which he would usually pause to admire, had no power against his pounding heart.

In his hands, he held a rolled up piece of parchment. He, along with his crew, had just returned home from yet another adventure on the open seas. With them, they had brought back a host of treasures and discoveries from other kingdoms.

His boots dug into the sand with every step he took towards a small beach house. His sun-kissed skin glowed in the warm summer air. Having not even gone to visit his mother since his return, much to Grimsby’s chagrin, he still smelled heavily of sea salt and driftwood.

He admired the fresh flowers that grew around the beach house. Bursts of pinks and oranges, along with other shades of a setting sun, brought a smile to his face.

Pushing open the door, he gazed around the main room of the house. It was empty of people, but still filled with life by objects from distant shoes. Fine silks and other fabrics, gemstones, paintings, and other wonders of the world decorated the house’s interior.

To anyone else, it may have appeared like the place needed a decent cleaning. To Eric, however, it was a treasure trove of items waiting to be studied and admired.

Instead of venturing further into the collection, Eric turned and quietly entered another door that led into a much cozier atmosphere. The new room was slightly smaller than the last.

His eyes first came upon an unmade bed, blankets thrown about haphazardly. There was also a desk that was littered in writing materials as well as a few gemstones.

On the other side was a small kitchen and dining area. In a pot, stew was being prepared. Steam was billowing out an open window, mingling and disappearing into the soft breeze of summer.

But what really caught Eric’s eye was you.

Another door within the room, which led outside into a beautiful garden of flowers, vines, and trees, was left open. You sat just outside the threshold, unaware you had a visitor.

A book rested in your palms. Eric could tell you were enthralled by whatever its contents were. Hopefully you would feel the same about the rolled parchment within his grasp.

You looked up, startled by a sudden call of your name. Once your eyes met those of Eric, however, your expression burst into a wide grin. The book was quickly placed aside and you rose to greet him.

“You’re back!”

“With a gift,” he smiled, holding out the parchment. “I had it created for you when we visited one of the coastal kingdoms.”

Eric watched with anticipation as you quickly unraveled the parchment. The quiet gasp that escaped you and the way your eyes brightened made his heart race.

His smile widened, “I assume you like it then?”

“Like it?” you asked, finally meeting his gaze. “Eric, I love it! Thank you!”

On the parchment was a painting, filled with hues of violet, pink, and blue to create a midnight sky. Specks of yellow and orange lit up the night in a stream of glowing lanterns over a shimmering ocean. In the background was a kingdom with a large castle at its center. The work was completed with both the artist’s signature and the kingdom’s name in the corner.

“We made some trades at another kingdom’s ports,” said Eric. “They were holding an annual lantern festival for their princess, who had recently returned home. I thought you might appreciate the beauty of their customs, even if you weren’t there to see the festival for yourself, so I had this commissioned for you before we left. I suspected you’d enjoy adding it to your archives.”

Eric’s eyes softened at the smile on your face. The way your eyes lit up as your fingertips gently traced over the painting’s edges sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach.

With nothing but the sounds of distant gulls calling and waves softly crashing onto the shore, Eric lost himself in his thoughts. Unable to contain himself, he placed a hand on your shoulder to bring your attention to him.

Eyes meeting, you could sense the new tension in the air. You allowed Eric to shift closer, his hands softly caressing the skin of your cheeks. You admired the seafoam hue of his eyes, which now emitted the flurry of emotions he had been feeling since the day he met you.

“I missed you so very much.”

[thats-not-okie-dokie]

I turned myself into a puppet!

In other words, meet my puppetsona for Welcome Home. This is Oaksley, a shy and imaginitive nerd who writes novels for a living. He runs a library with shelves absolutely lined to the brim with books. Though, he has a hard time enforcing any due dates for late books because he hates confrontation and would rather jump off a cliff than have an argument with someone. He's the introverted type who likes to hide away in a good book and curl up by a fireplace. That's not to say he isn't a team player, because he can easily be dragged into things by the other neighbours. He's lenient to a fault and insecure about himself and his actions. He couldn't crack a joke on the spot to save his life, but he will absolutely infodump for hours if given the chance

As for his dynamics with the other neighbours, I have the full list:

Barnaby would be constantly making bad puns about poetry and book titles, and sometimes visits his library just to make jokes about the titles and covers, much to Oaksley's chagrin, since he does not have an inside voice. It disturbs anyone else who is quietly reading in there, but he can't build up the courage to kick Barnaby out, since he does occasionally say something he finds funny and checks out joke books in the end. Oaksley's tried riding on his unicycle once (because Barnaby kept egging him on until he relented) and crashed into one of the neighbour's houses. He hasn't tried since, and almost broke his nose because of that

Wally is a fellow artist, so they gravitate towards each other whenever either of them are low on inspiration. As seen above, Oaksley will read a part of his latest story out loud and Wally will paint what is described. Wally has tried to show Oaksley how to draw before, and he sometimes scribbles on his papers when he gets bored because of this. Wally's always excited to see these sketches. They have a mutual agreement to go and ask for help together if something is wrong or if either of them have a problem. Wally helps Oaksley feel less alone as an introvert and gently nudges him to advocate for himself. Wally is one of the few neighbours Oaksley actively goes and visits first instead of being approached by them instead.

Frank and him get along pretty well, and he's a frequent visitor at the library. Think of a favourite customer sort of deal. He's the non-fiction to Oaksley's fiction, and they get into friendly debates often, especially when Oaksley's reading him a manuscript of his stories. Frank points out every scientific inaccuracy and Oaksley justifies them, usually by explaining it away as magic or that it HAS to happen for the plot to move forward. Frank voluntarily helps him organise the library books when others mess the shelves up

Sally barges in to drag Oaksley into her plays sometimes, and he doesn't like it. He's a writer, not an actor, and she's constantly telling him to be more expressive and confident in his performances. He'd much rather stick to the sidelines and watch other neighbours perform. Sometimes, she'll steal his glasses, because she finds that he's more expressive without them. In reality, it just makes him freak out because he can barely see anything. She manages to reach the end of his slow temper the most often. They don't get along that well. On occasion, he does ask Sally for writing advice for character dialogue, since she can act out what's being said and they can guage if it sounds natural, and she makes suggestions for changes. Mostly, he tries to avoid her as much as possible in fear of being picked on

Julie is similar, but Oaksley tolerates her a LOT more. He's not big into physical activity and games, but her energy manages to get to him, and it makes him more outgoing and willing to try them. He loves when they settle down for board games or word scrambles. She's like the extroverted friend who carries Oaksley outside and gets him to go to places besides the library or quiet spots. She's the reason he managed to get to know every neighbour well, since she introduced him to everyone when he first got to the neighbourhood and left NO room for awkward avoidance or hesitation. They can be found together if Julie disappears for a while

Poppy treat him like a son. He always gets some of her freshly baked cookies, and he never manages to startle her because of his soft spoken voice and attitude. Though she can be very overprotective because of this, and he has to reassure her that he can do things on his own. He gets a lot of hats and scarves from her, often inspired by the stories he tells. They write and knit together by a fireplace in comfortable silence as music plays from a radio. He visits her whenever he needs to have a break, and Poppy's happy to oblige

Eddie is someone he doesn't get to see as much, since he's constantly running around, but he requests for more notebook paper from his post office whenever his stack runs out. It's a nightmare for Eddie at times when he's particularly inspired and in the zone. They are both very scared of bugs, so they can relate to each other a LOT whenever one of them startles or leaves a room because they noticed one crawling around somewhere nearby. I imagine that Oaksley used to work for Eddie as an assistant before he founded his library, so they know each other very well as co-workers

Howdy gives him a hard time when he comes around to his shop. Oaksley can't crack jokes in an instant like Barnaby can, and he always needs a few minutes to come up with one. They often fall flat, and Howdy just gives him what he's buying out of pity because Oaksley starts getting really flustered that he can't get it right. Howdy is quite intimidating to him. He talks fast, and he has a hard time comprehending everything that he says all at once. He'll blankly blink at Howdy after he says a big paragraph of words and stutters a response out. Howdy will often compare how he reacts to Wally, because he just stares, but he's very thankful that he's not an apple thief like the former

[lordgrimwing]

In Town #1

Three horses stood at the hitching post in front of the general store. The men riding them quickly dismounted and tied the reins loosely around the metal pole. A little boy, he couldn’t be much older than four or five years, stayed mounted on one of the mares, his bare little feet hardly stuck out past her back. The group of elderly women sitting in rocking chairs on the veranda running along the storefront, gossiping and knitting, watched with interest.

“I’ll be back thoon,'' one of the black-haired men said to the boy. “Don’t go getting yourthelf in trouble.”

The boy huffed and folded his arms over his checkered shirt. 

The women watching thought it was very cute. 

The three companions, brothers, headed for the store, leaving the boy to kick his feet idly atop the placid mare.

“Afternoon, ma’amth, Mith Ann.” One of the other black-haired men said as they passed, tipping his hat politely.

“Good afternoon, Caranthir.” Said a woman with long gray hair pulled up in a loose bun at the nape of her neck so it wouldn’t interfere with her yarn. Maryann Richards ran the boarding house on the other side of town with her rheumatic husband. “What brings you boys into town?”

Caranthir paused and his blond-haired brother, Celegorm, smacked the back of his head as he walked past him and into the store. Caranthir looked completely unbothered. 

“Ma sent us for extra flour and sugar.” He said carefully, paying close attention to the ‘s’ sounds. His pronunciation wasn’t perfect, but still far better than the lisp his family usually used. 

Maryann dropped her knitting needles and clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, that was wonderful.”

He grinned and continued. “We got some family coming over the mountain for a while, so Ma wants extra things for them.” 

She nodded, familiar with the motherly desire to have good food for visitors to eat. She intended to ask if he and his brothers would be bringing their visitors into town at all as she’d like to meet them, but just then Celegorm stuck his head back out the door and snapped, “Cara, thutup!”

Caranthir offered the women a chagrined farewell and hurried into the store.

Maryann sat back in her chair with a little smile, knitting forgotten on her lap. The other women, all of them old enough to be his grandmother, tutted and whispered amongst themselves about how he really was as wonderful as Maryann kept insisting. Wasn’t he just a diamond in the rough, and didn’t anyone have an eligible granddaughter in the surrounding counties who might be convinced to visit for a month or two? 

The boy left to cool his heels on his father’s horse watched them for a minute with an expression that said he wasn’t sure what to make of what he just saw. Eventually, he said, “That’th my uncle.”

Maryann leaned forward. “He’s very nice.” She assured him.

The boy made an exaggerated skeptical face that made the women chuckle. “Uncle Cele thaid he needth to grow thome ballth.”

Maryann’s companions dissolved into unladylike laughter.

The mare furthest from them pinned her ears back and snorted.

The boy squinted at them, perhaps confused as to why they found his uncle so funny. Quickly giving up on deciphering the oddities of townswomen, he occupied himself with braiding the mare’s mane, or at least the small section he could reach.

[rosie-love98]

Ask-Anything: The Snape-Hardbroom-Hobbes Family: Context And Rules:

Part 1: The Early Years:

Severus Snape and Constance Hardbroom first met back in 1977 as students. Constance’s school-Cackle’s Academy-was visiting Hogwarts for the Spring Term. Over time (and with the secret help of Lily Evans and James Potter), Severus and Constance began a bit of a romance. But, this was short lived. After Constance, Severus, James and Lily had to fight off a Death Eater attack at Hogwarts, Snape was confronted by his Slytherin peers-reminding him of his true loyalties.

 When Constance and the rest of Cackle’s students returned to their Overblown Castle, Severus continued to work with the Dark Arts. As for James and Lily, though they were upset about Severus still being into the Dark Arts, the two couldn’t help but sense the best in him. A feeling James and Lily kept to each other. Even in their last days.

Then came September 1st, 1982. It has almost been a year since Lord Voldemort’s defeat at the cost of James and Lily Potter. The then 22-years-old, Snape worked as Hogwarts’ Potions Master much to his own chagrin. With his own personal demons, Severus proved himself to be unpopular among staff and students alike. He was arrogant, antisocial and outright petty. With him being head of the Slytherin Household, Severus could let his underlings get away with murder. Yet, on this day, Albus Dumbledore announced to all that Cackle’s Academy was going to make a longer visit than last time; from October all the way to July.

Halloween arrived in a flash and Cackle’s Academy made their much awaited arrival. Among the visitors was one of the younger teachers; Constance Hardbroom. Now in a long, black dress, and dark-brown hair wrapped in an extremely tight bun, Severus was surprised to see her again. This was said for Constance as she always thought Severus would never-for any reason-return to Hogwarts after graduating. Not to mention, she was still mad at Severus for not keeping in contact with her as he had promised.

While they had an awkward start, a couple of incidents would drive Constance and Severus to let love bloom. Albeit in strict secrecy. And when July arrived, the pair wrote dozens of letters to each other. The relationship got so serious that marriage was often brought up. 

Given his past and current situations, Severus was reluctant to take such a step. Eventually, Severus would buck up the courage to marry Constance. But not without confessing his Death-Eater ways, his job as Dumbledore’s agent and even what had happened to Lily Evans. While that was a lot for Constance to process, she would decide to marry Severus on August 1, 1983. With retired Minister of Magic, Elphinstone Urquart, officiating the elopement, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Amelia Cackle served as witnesses.

At first, the newlyweds were in bliss in spite of having to continue their long-distance romance due to their respective jobs. But, as time went on,  problems would start to resurface. And when it’s discovered that a baby was on the way, a scared Severus put divorce on the table. As a result, a heart-broken Constance decided to put their upcoming baby up for adoption in hopes to give him/her a stable upbringing. Something Constance nor Severus could give.

Throughout the months, Constance would hide away in the Flamel House in France thanks to Dumbledore’s friendship with Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel. Amelia Cackle, Minerva McGonagall, Elphinstone Urquart and later Poppy Pomfrey would be around to help. As for Severus, he would visit when not teaching or spying. Yet, he and Constance would hardly speak with each other. 

Then, on Christmas morning, a son was born; “Nicholas Brian”. Ecstatic as they were to see their son, Severus and Constance forced themselves back to earth. They finally got around to signing both the divorce and adoption papers and gave the nine-day-old newborn to Elphinstone who would give the baby to Kezia and Huw Hobbes.

In his grief, Severus decided to do something drastic; collect his memories in flasks, put those in a box and have Dumbledore obliviate any memories that involved Constance and their son. A task a solemn Dumbledore agreed to do. As for the box of memories, it would be given to Dumbledore and then to the next headmistress, McGonagall to give to Nicholas Brian if he ever arrived at Hogwarts.

Part 2: Resurrections And Reunions:

  In 1998, the Second Wizarding War was fought and won by the Order of the Phoenix. However, among the casualties was none other than Severus Snape. Hated by the Order, it was Harry Potter who would clear the air and explain Snape’s true intentions to the Wizarding World. Yet, Severus had to have his funeral without his corpse for, during the battles, he would be whisked away by an obscure, but dangerous group known as “R”. With most of their former members dead, the remaining party, Verruca Snyde, Patricia Rakepick, Eustace Burke and Kazuhiro Shiratori had managed to escape Azkaban during a 1997 mass breakout. Trying to gain their goal of immortality, the smaller “R” often tried and failed to reach it. Then they came across a peculiar formula that holds to the key to revival. And once finding the body of Severus Snape, they took their chance.

Once the corpse was in their hideout, a concoction was made with the tears of a phoenix, the wings of fairies, the horn of a unicorn, a few plants and the Resurrection Stone. This, the Revival Potion, was what brought Severus Tobias Snape back from the grave with his scars and infamous Death-Mark gone. But this potion came with a cost; with the Resurrection Stone being one of the main properties, Snape’s DNA has been mutated; gaining the Hallow’s powers, he could summon the Heaven-bound at will. All while both of his palms bore the symbol of the Deathly Hallows with the stone emblem being the most pronounced.

Disgusted with what’s been done to him, Severus escaped his captors and lived on his own in the woods of Great Britain. Over time, he created unique potions and mailed them to apothecary shops and St. Mungo’s Hospital under the alias, “Sephtis Surgo”. He would obtain a good portion of wealth as a result, yet remained in isolation. All Severus would have for company were the summoned Dumbledore and Lily Evans.

Then, in the spring of 2006, a potions experiment caused a terrible house fire which would’ve killed Severus had he not been rescued by students of the nearby Cackle’s Academy. As he was cared for by Amelia Cackle and the school nurse, Constance Hardbroom was shocked and lost for words when finding Severus again. Over time, she and Severus had to work to rekindle their troubled flame. Not only that, they would reunite with their long lost son, 22-year-old Nicholas Hobbes of Weirdsister College.

The Characters You Can Ask:

Severus Snape.

Constance Hardbroom.

Nicholas Brian Hobbes.

Ethel Hallow.

Mildred Hubble.

Harry Potter.

Ginny Weasley-Potter.

Ron Weasley.

Hermoine Granger.

Minerva McGonagall.

Albus Dumbledore.

Amelia Cackle.

James Potter.

Lily Evans.

The Rules:

Questions must be appropriate and family-friendly.

Must be on topic to anyone on the questionnaires. 

Get creative with your questions!

Just so you know, this will be in written form so it’s best to not expect any comics concerning this Ask-Anything. I’m drawing other stuff still but not for this.

Please be patient.

Now with all of this in mind, ask away!

@theworstwitch @queen-ramsey @yaviae @mmad-lover @constancehardbroompics @theworstwitchforever @phantasmhoran @nimielsy @ladyemeraldpigeon @dandelionscarf @danse-de-macabre @big-scary-bird @mildred-hubble-bubble

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 9 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Carlos Martinez   

The next morning, I come downstairs at six on the dot and find Detective John Turner already up, fully dressed and ready to go.

He sits at the table, drinking coffee and munching on a protein bar while he reads the news on his phone. 

When I enter the room, he looks up and frowns. 

I'm still dressed in my underwear.

"Sorry. I... uh... I thought you'd make me breakfast." 

I rub the side of my neck and grin cheekily.

Turner's expression doesn't change. 

He gives his attention back to his phone and waves at the kitchen area. 

"Help yourself to coffee and a nutrition bar. Then get dressed and don't wander around my house in your underwear."

Pretending ignorance, I blink innocently. 

"Why not? We're both guys, aren't we?"

"Exactly. I don't want... 'anyone'... to get the wrong idea."

My face heats with indignation at the implication, first that he doesn't want anyone to think he's gay and second, especially not with me and I glance around the empty house pointedly. 

"Like who? All your other guests?"

"Believe it or not, Martinez but I do have visitors from time to time, some of whom are colleagues."

Both annoyed and chagrined, I drop the pretense. 

"I said you could call me Carlos."

"That's what you'd prefer?"

I nod.

"Well, I'd prefer you didn't wander around half naked, Carlos. You respect me and I'll respect you. Deal?"

I play off my embarrassment with a shrug. 

"You got it 'Jefe'."

Even so, I make a point to take my time getting a mug of coffee and choosing a crunchy nut bar from the box on the counter before retreating back upstairs to get dressed.

The whole time, I can sense Turner's eyes on me but I make a point not to look at him again.

Our first stop is the station, where I sit around like a bored kid on 'take your kid to work day' while Turner does paperwork.

"You want a coloring book or something?"

I look up from a random informational pamphlet on the hazards of date rape which I've read three times already and find Turner watching me. 

"What?"

"You're fidgeting."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You want something to do, you can make a list of all the people with a connection to both you and Kyle, however tangential and write down everything you know about Kyle's routine. Places he went, things he did. Anything could be important."

He hands me a notepad and a pen and I sigh. 

"Yes, Daddy."

He squints at me. 

"What did you say?"

"I said... good idea."

I take the proffered articles and get to work, ducking my head. 

Only an idiot keeps harassing a dog once it growls.

The list is longer than I anticipated. 

While his aunt is the only person Kyle had close dealings with, the number of people we both interacted with forms an expansive network. 

At the same time I can't imagine there's much significance in the fact we belonged to the same gym.

Turner seems pleased, though and suggests we start at the top, so when he finally finishes his 'desk work,' we pay a visit to Aunt Lucille.

He parks nearer the crest of the hill than I did, maybe to diminish the risk of having his doors ripped off by runaway trucks. 

As we get out and approach the antique house, he mutters instructions to me under his breath.

"Let me do the talking," he says.

"You observe. Look for ghosts or whatever it is you do."

He mounts the steps to the porch and rings the bell.

I stand at his side, doing my best to play the Mulder to his Scully or vice versa.

As she did when I visited alone, Lucille takes her time answering the door. 

Unlike me, though, Turner is patient and only rings the bell once. 

I realize why when, after Turner identifies himself, Lucille opens the door wide enough for me to see she walks with the aid of a cane.

"Yes? What can I do for you, Detective? Have you found my nephew's killer?"

"Afraid not, ma'am," Turner says deferentially.

"But that's why we're here. I know you've already been interviewed but I was hoping you'd be willing to answer some more questions about Kyle."

"If it helps, certainly. Come right in."

She backs away and holds the door open a little wider, at which point she registers my presence for the first time and frowns.

"What is he doing here?" she asks.

"Mr. Martinez has generously offered his services to assist in this case," Turner says smoothly.

"We're grateful for his expertise."

"Services? Expertise?" Lucille scoffs.

"Do your vehicles require onboard mechanics these days? Remind me to vote on the next public services referendum."

Turner smiles and turns up the charm. 

"Something like that. I assure you, Carlos is well-qualified and has every interest in securing justice for Kyle."

Lucille shoots me a skeptical look but seems to buy it. 

Meanwhile, my heart accelerates and butterflies swarm in my gut.

It feels alarmingly good to be praised and I tamp down on the feeling angrily.

‘Turner doesn't even mean it,’ I remind myself.

‘Just shut the fuck up and play along.’

Inside, Lucille leads us into a musty-smelling living area and invites us to sit.

 All the furniture looks at least a hundred and twenty years old and a coat of dust covers everything. 

I sit gingerly in a spindly-legged chair that creaks as it takes my weight, while Turner settles on a wicker loveseat with enviable ease.

"Would you care for tea or coffee?" Lucille asks, even as she lowers herself into an upholstered chair across from us, clearly with no intention of rising again to get us something to drink.

"Or some sandwiches, perhaps?"

"No, thank you," Turner says, even as, with wonderfully bad timing, my stomach growls.

"No, thanks," I say and smile, though I'm almost hungry enough to eat at Chick-Fil-A. 

‘Almost.’

"We won't take up much of your time, Mrs. Peters," Turner says.

"We just have a few follow-up questions."

"Of course."

He launches into them, leaving me feeling about as useful and welcome as a mime.

I scan the room for any sign of Kyle but don't even get a sense of his presence. 

On the other hand, spirits often anchor themselves to the familiar and as they say there's no place like home.

"Where is Kyle's room?" I ask, interrupting Turner mid-sentence.

Lucille turns rheumy blue eyes on me and scowls, deepening the lines in her face. 

"Upstairs. Why?"

"I just thought..." I glance at Turner, who lifts a brow at me. 

There's a challenge in it and I rise to it. 

I square my shoulders, clear my throat, and adopt a more authoritative tone. 

"I'd like to have a look around, if you don't mind, Mrs. Peters."

She glares at me, then waves a gnarled, ring-bejeweled hand at a steep, narrow staircase half-hidden in shadow against the far wall. 

"Do as you like, young man. Just don't go stealing anything. I'll know it if you do."

Rising, I nod. 

"I've no intention of stealing anything Mrs. Peters. I just want to help."

She waves again, as if dismissing the concerns of a troublesome chimney sweep and gives her attention back to Turner.

I take advantage of this and slip away upstairs. 

[fatedwithmbc]

Everyday is a new adventure, right? Right. Today was no exception, only I did something I’ve wanted to do for years. Yes, I said YEARS.

I ventured with my two best friends to the Lavender Farm where we spent time with each other among the beautiful aroma of lavender, the pollinating bees and three equine friends. When I first decided this was something I wanted to do, we were in the height of the pandemic. The farm wasn’t open to visitors. So, waiting was in the cards. I think, however, it was worth the wait. My 57 pictures from today would probably say the same thing.

We were surrounding by various shades of purple and green emanating their pleasant (and naturally bug repelling) aroma. I could have called this heaven. But that means, I���d need sun screen 24/7 as we were in open fields. The sky was overcast and we did encounter a brief shower - not enough to scare us away though. We ventured the rows of the fields looking for the sprigs we deemed “just right” to snip from the mother plant. The bees were content enough to share, but I am sure they’d prefer if we did not snip their plants for our bouquets for the sole purpose of decor and addition of pleasant aroma to our homes. Surprisingly, there were two horses and one pony in the midst of everything. Much to my chagrin, there wasn’t feed. Therefore, interaction with the beautiful creatures was limited, but much loved.

The farm also had a lovely shop that featured every way in which lavender could be used. For libations, culinary uses, bath and body items and candles, among other things. I purchased a pre-cut bouquet of lavender to hang above my window. For some reason, in my mind - it’s going to bring me positive energies through my window. I also acquired a t-shirt, which if you know me in real life, you know I do NOT need another t-shirt. And lastly, I purchased foaming hand soap and a linen/all purpose spray.

Our excursion was followed up with a much needed lunch. I think we built up our appetites as we walked the fields (although, they were not extensive). Cracker Barrel was a surprise selection for all of us, but we enjoyed the comfort food, and the shop in the front. Maybe we enjoyed the shop a little too much. At any rate, it was a very well spent afternoon. It was one of those afternoon’s that are often wished for, but seldom repeated.

And that my friends, is the worst part, the lack of time available for these types of activities as one ages. Adulthood is wished for by the young with such strong fervor, but there’s no doubt that those wishes come with ignorance to how much being an adult is NOT what we all think it’s cracked up to be. Gone are the days of saying, “I have plans with so-and-so. See ya later, Dad”. Now, responsibility takes over. At 37, I’m well aware of this lesson, but it still “gets” me at times.

Our attempt to avoid the time in between visits is to work on my bucket-Iist. To be honest, I’m still trying to figure half of that out. But as I think of things, I will let the girls know, and I know they’ll be there to do, see, help, accomplish, tackle- whatever the idea brings with it. Our next one is a simple sleep over. Like in high-school. John Hughes movies, pizza, ice cream, girl talk. And we also discussed a trip over seas to Turks and Caicos. I’m all about travel. I LOVE TRAVEL. I just get hesitant to long term plan as I never know what “mood” my body is going to decide to be in and for how long. I know my friends are very patient and understanding when it comes to that part of it, but it doesn’t make it easier for me.

The limitations of my body have been (and continue to be) the most difficult part of my diagnosis. This brings me back to Mom-Mom’s favorite saying, I’ll tackle this “One Day at a Time”.

One frustration for this weekend coming up, is I want to travel to the family reunion, but my body is not cooperating. A few hours away from home and my body is screaming at me to have pain medication and lay in bed. But when I do so, my mind is racing so much that I inevitably get up and do some small task in my room just to settle that feeling of needing to be in action/move/accomplish/do. I am nervous for my fundraising walk at the end of September. If I feel this way now, can I walk 3.1 miles (5K)? I’ll crawl if I have to. I have too much determination. Not to mention my support system keeps growing my team and I know they’ll help me make it. The entire time, we can push onward with the mantra of “F” Cancer. The girls surprised me with hoodies for the walk that are Metastatic Awareness colors. I cried like a baby, I’ve never felt so supported by my friends - not to say that they’ve never cared, but this is a whole other level of care and concern that is hugely touching and heart filling. I feel lucky for all of the people I have in my life that I have been able to count on during this time and while having this disease. And all I can say, is thank you while doing my best to be there for them to show my gratitude in return.

Well, this was a lengthy one folks. Thanks for bearing with me as I rambled on yet again.

El Fin.

[g0dforb1d]

It’s just slightly too crowded in this bar for dancing to really be an option anymore, much to Nick’s chagrin. Time to bounce, probably; although this proves easier said than done as he attempts to maneuver his way through the crowd to the periphery. He doesn’t recognize how close he to the periphery until someone bumps into him a little too forcefully and he trips a little too clumsily, and he spills out into the seating area on the edge of the dance floor - right into some unfortunate sucker’s lap.

“Fuck,” Nick says, meeting his gaze for a moment before breaking into a grin, “my bad, man.”

Crash was the most social when he’s drank most of the bar dry, when he was cockeyed and unable to form full sentences. Which is why he was usually out late into the night surrounded by strangers he met merely hours ago who said they knew the best spots. Most best spots seemed to be crawling with people which meant the mean mugged young man had enough experience with clumsy club goers getting a little too up close and personal.

A loud belly laugh escaped him as he caught the other man, fingers nimble enough to save the glass in his hand from falling onto the floor. He doesn’t stand nor does he seem too bothered by the unwarranted visitor merely helping the other stand again, casually reaching up to hand him the now empty glass he had in hand.

“Someone’s really having fun, huh?” Another loud laugh as he is quick to wipe off any liquid that was lost in the fall, softly sucking on his teeth as he noticed his drink was also one of the casualties.

[velataluna]

𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐮𝐦, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝟐

​Author's note: This is a Pet Shop AU which draws inspiration from the fanmade game Demonic Ville created by ShieldPlatinum.

The original characters belong to Capcom, I merely borrow and reimagine them for purely literary enjoyment.

To ouvragesdepenny, whose presence and ideas serves as underlying motivation to write and finish this fiction.

☾◌ू࿐ ⸻ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝟷

​​“𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏,” the Owner commented lightly, not seemingly bothered at all at Vergie's apparent observation and bewildered gaze. “I would say that you are more of a cat on your own.”

“Evidently you have spent too much time amongst these animals that you start to liken people to them,” responded Vergie, brows furrowed at the Owner's strange, almost prophetic remark.

The Owner did not answer him, merely leveling an imperceptible look at Vergie that the latter simply turned to the next cages.

Three hedgehogs were crowded over a basin filled with larvae and worms, their spines rigid as they partook of their insectile feast. When Vergie approached and leaned closer just outside the glass wall of their cage however, all three of them ceased their gorging and went toward him instead. Soon, Vergie was entranced with the sight of three hedgehogs adorably pressed themselves against the glass, snout up and twitch uncontrollably it made Vergie wanted to reach inside and poke them one by one, but held back his urge realizing that the Owner might not appreciate such a brazen gesture toward his pets.

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘴~

As if reading his unspoken endearment, two of the hogs suddenly slipped their heads into a paper roll and started slapping one another with it, like a sword duel. The third hedgehog climbed onto a wheel and began an intense running exercise, Vergie could not but imagine an equally intense classical music served as its background music in a comical manner.

“They like you,” he heard the Owner informed from behind him and Vergie looked up to regard the man looking at the showy hedgehogs with a gaze laced with something akin to rebuke. “Otherwise they wouldn't make a show to impress you.”

Vergie could not but let out a noise of amused disbelief. For how could mere animals he had just encountered gained a motivation to impress him? The idea alone is farfetched.

“I am certain they are just feeling active in this particular instance.”

“Don't underestimate how much an animal could perceive and respond to your presence.”

As if confirming the Owner's testimony, one of the first hedgehog broke their toilet paper duel and ran toward him, but the second hedgehog did not relent and went on to chase the first. Cue a pair of hog scurrying around the interior of the cage, one was trying to get away and the other hot on its heels, both still had their paper roll attached on their respective head. The sight was just too hilarious that Vergie couldn't hold back a chuckle.

“What kind of animals are you looking for?” The Owner asked thereafter, pulling Vergie's attention from the hoggy antics.

“I haven't had a particular specification in mind yet, truthfully,” Vergie answered as he straightened back himself and took a step back from the hedgehog cage, feeling rather chagrined now that he had been looking around without making an intent to purchase yet.

A loud rattle startled him and Vergie's head snapped toward the source: a cage at the wall nearest to the counter.

“Not again...” The Owner let out an exasperated sigh and went toward said cage, Vergie in his tow out of curiosity.

The cage that the Owner stopped by housing a bunny coated in light brown fur. But unlike most bunnies in general who would either cower in the corner of their cage or ignored the world about in favor of eating, this one had her face pressed against the cage bars.

“It's not your feeding hour yet.” The Owner folded his arms over his chest in the manner of a chastising papa. “We have a visitor looking around, for once can you not behave to earn his good impression?"

Intrigued and consider himself allowed, Vergie approached the cage to get a better look at its occupant. Mischief glinted over the bunny's beady eyes as they were trained toward Vergie. Her nose twitched uncontrollably as her front paws grabbed the bars of the cage and her ears fluttered back and forth.

𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘯! 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦-𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥!

“Don't let her outward appearance to deceive you,” the Owner warned without any venom in his tone upon noticing Vergie's internal cooing toward the bunny. “She is a handful not to mention a gluttonous eater.”

“I reckoned all bunnies are prone to such traits?“

“Yes, but this one takes that trait far beyond the usual you may find in other bunnies.” Said bunny in the cage recoiled back and landed on all fours, fixing the Owner the equivalent of an offended look were she a human. “And she eats ridiculous amount of chicken daily.“

Vergie's eyebrow arched as he fixed the Owner with skeptical look that said, Surely you jest.

“I wish I did, but no,” the Owner's voice adapted a morose tone. “I lost count on how many chicken lost their lives and I lost my pennies to this bunny's insatiably aberrant appetite.”

Something happened thereupon that Vergie could never imagine a common bunny would ever do: the light brown bunny sharply lifted its right paw and shook it repeatedly, mimicking perfectly the human's equivalent of middle finger, toward the Owner who merely shook his head.

“I see what you meant by a trait beyond usual now,” Vergie remarked with laughter in his voice.

He leaned forward toward the cage, and was delighted to see the bunny abandoning her impertinent stance in favor of hopping closer to him, pressing her face against the cage bars again and Vergie automatically poke her twitching nose with his index finger.

𝘈𝘸𝘸𝘸~ he cooed inwardly, 𝘈𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭?~

The cage rattled again a bit as the bun pressed her face harder as if wanting to get closer to Vergie's fingers and he began to rub her bright head from between the bars, finding it soft and immediately he envisioned himself cuddling with such a creature whilst sleeping, or cradling her upon his lap as he read.

“You remind me of someone else.”

Vergie looked up without ceasing his ministration, finding the Owner looking down at him with an expression a mixture between calculating and nostalgic.

⸻ 𝑒𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒

[killedbyfrank]

I asked the AI to write a story about Riley's emotions meeting Heinz Guderian

Deep within Riley's mind, a surprising visitor materialized before the emotions. It was none other than General Heinz Guderian, the legendary father of the Blitzkrieg. The emotions were taken aback by his unexpected arrival but quickly regained their composure.

Anger, unable to contain his excitement, blurted out, "General Guderian! What an honor to have you here in Headquarters! I've got so many questions for you!"

Guderian, wearing a warm smile, nodded in acknowledgment. "Ah, Anger, I can sense your enthusiasm. I'm pleased to be here as well. How is our dear Riley doing?"

Joy stepped forward, her expression radiant. "She's doing great, General! Thanks to all of us, of course!"

Fear, trembling slightly, mustered the courage to ask, "Um, General Guderian, sir, do you think I could ever become as fearless as a tank commander?"

Guderian's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Fear, my dear friend, bravery isn't about having no fear at all. It's about finding the strength to overcome it. You possess that strength within you."

Inspired by the presence of the legendary general, Anger proposed a challenge. "Hey, General, I bet you're good at more than just military strategy. How about a tank racing online game? Let's see who's the best!"

Guderian chuckled heartily, accepting the challenge. "Very well, Anger. Let's put our skills to the test."

The emotions gathered around a virtual tank racing game, anticipation filling the air. With each intense turn and thrilling maneuver, Guderian displayed his mastery of tank racing, leaving Anger in awe of his expertise.

As the game concluded, Guderian emerged as the victor, much to Anger's chagrin. Anger, though initially disappointed, couldn't help but be impressed by Guderian's skills.

After bidding Guderian farewell, Disgust playfully smirked at Anger. "Seems like boys and their obsession with tanks and guns got the best of you, huh?"

Anger crossed his arms, trying to hide his defeat. "Alright, alright, maybe tanks aren't my thing after all. But I'm still passionate about a lot of other stuff!"

The emotions laughed, the light-hearted moment diffusing any lingering competitiveness. They realized that their time with Guderian was more than just a challenge; it was an opportunity to connect, learn, and appreciate each other's unique perspectives.

As they said their goodbyes, Guderian commended Riley's emotions for their companionship and resilience. He expressed his hope that they would continue to guide Riley with wisdom and understanding.

With newfound respect and fond memories, the emotions bid farewell to Guderian. As they resumed their role in guiding Riley through life's challenges, they carried with them the lessons learned from their encounter with the legendary general.

And so, the memory of their meeting with Heinz Guderian remained etched in their collective consciousness—a testament to the power of curiosity, friendly competition, and the joy of shared experiences.