#from a request

Attempt at liege fighter rooster

hiii yes ofc!! here u go!! <33

Felix sat at his unassigned table during lunchtime, swinging his feet even though he’d always ridiculed Teddy for it. His stomach growled quietly, but he was used to that. He never had anything to eat until he got home.

Across the cafeteria, Ozzy was already halfway through with his sandwich. He kept glancing over at Felix, who was just sitting there, hands folded on top of the table.

“Why don’t you ever have lunch?” Ozzy had asked him once.

“I don’t find it very necessary if we are only here for a few hours,” Felix had shrugged.

That afternoon, when Ozzy’s mom picked him up, he tugged on her sleeve before they even got to the car.

“Mom? Can you pack me two sandwiches for tomorrow?”

“Two? Are you not full after one?”

Ozzy looked down at his sneakers. “No… It’s for my friend.”

His mom smiled and ruffled his hair. “Alright then. Two sandwiches.”

The next day at lunch, Ozzy sat at Felix’s table uninvited and sat next to Felix, not minding Teddy next to him. His lunchbox was clutched in both hands. Felix raised an eyebrow. They usually sat across the cafeteria from each other, never at the same table.

“What do you want?” Felix asked. “I’m discussing business.”

“Nothing,” Ozzy said quickly. He opened his lunchbox and pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in plastic wrap. He held one out to Felix. “Here.”

Felix stared at it, as if it might bite him. “What’s that for?”

“To eat, duh.”

“I know that. I mean, why are you giving it to me?”

Ozzy’s face went a little pink. “Because you don’t have one.”

Felix didn’t move for a long moment, just looked at the sandwich, then at Ozzy, then back at the sandwich. Finally, he reached out and took it, his fingers careful around the plastic wrap.

“…Thank you,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Ozzy smiled, unwrapping his own sandwich with a loud crinkle.

They sat there together, chewing quietly. Felix took small bites at first, like he wasn’t sure it was real. But then he took bigger ones, and Ozzy noticed he was smiling just a tiny bit.

“This isn’t that bad,” Felix admitted.

“Yeah, my mom makes pretty good sandwiches,” Ozzy said proudly.

After that, they didn’t talk much, just ate their sandwiches side by side while the other kids played and chatted around them. When Ms. Margret called them to go to recess, Felix carefully folded the plastic wrap into a tiny square.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” Ozzy asked, zipping up his lunchbox.

Felix nodded. “Yes. We will converse tomorrow.”

helloooo!!! here u go! my friend helped me come up with this so thanks to her </33

The October air was crisp and perfect, the kind that made everything feel like it belonged in a movie. Kidd adjusted the basket on his arm and looked up at the rows of apple trees stretching out in front of them.

“This was a good idea,” Billy said, reaching up to pluck a bright red apple from a low-hanging branch. He tossed it to Kidd, who caught it easily.

“I have good ideas sometimes,” Kidd replied, inspecting the apple before dropping it into the basket.

“Emphasis on the sometimes,” Billy teased, bumping his shoulder against KIdd’s as they walked between the trees.

“Okay, so we need like… how many apples for the pie?” Kidd asked, peering into the basket. “Six? Twelve? A million?”

“I think somewhere between six and a million,” Billy laughed. “ I think the recipe said eight or nine.”

“Then we need twenty.”

“Why twenty?”

Kidd shrugged, already reaching for another apple. “Un case we mess up. Or in case we get hungry and eat half of them before we even start baking.”

“Good point.”
 They spent the next hour wandering through the orchard, picking apples and arguing playfully about which ones were the best. Billy insisted on the perfectly round, unblemished ones. Kidd kept picking the weird-shaped ones with character.

“This one looks like it has a face,” Kidd pointed out, holding up an apple with a peculiar bump.

“You’re ridiculous,” Billy stated, but he was smiling.

“You like that about me.”

“Yeah,” Billy admitted softly. “I do.”

Back at Kidd’s house, they dumped the apples onto the kitchen counter with a satisfying tumble. Billy pulled up the recipe on his phone while Kidd searched through the cabinets for a peeler.

“Okay, step one: peel and slice the apples,” Billy read aloud.

“I can do that,” Kidd beamed confidently, wielding the peeler like a weapon.

“Please don’t hurt yourself,”

“Have some faith in me, Billy.”

Ten minutes later, Kidd had peeled exactly two apples, and Billy had peeled six.

“I think you’re better at this than I am,” Kidd admitted.

Billy grinned. “Just a little bit.”

They worked side by side, peeling and slicing, tossing the apple pieces into a big bowl. Billy measured out cinnamon and sugar while Kidd attempted to roll out the pie crust, which kept sticking to the counter.

“This is a lot harder than it looks,” Kidd muttered, flour dusting his nose.

Billy leaned over and wiped it off with his thumb. “You’ve got a little… there.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment they just stood there, smiling at each other like idiots. Then Kidd flicked flour at Billy’s face.

“Hey!”

“Whoops.”

“Oh, you are so paying for that,” Billy scoffed, grabbing a pinch of flour.

“Don’t you dare—“

But it was too late. Soon they were both laughing, covered in white powder. The kitchen a complete mess. Finally, they called a truce and got back to work, assembling the pie with hands that kept bumping into each other, neither of them minding.

An hour later, the pie was in the oven, and they were sitting on the kitchen floor, backs pressed against the cabinets, waiting. The whole house smelled like cinnamon and apples.

“This was fun,” Billy declared, his shoulders pressed against Kidd’s

“Agreed.”

“We should do this more often.”

Kidd raised an eyebrow. “You want to make pies with me regularly?”

“I want to do anything with you regularly,” Billy chided, then immediately went red. “That sounded less cheesy in my head.”

Kidd laughed and leaned his head on Billy’s shoulder. “I liked it. Cheesy is good sometimes.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, listening to the oven hum, until the timer finally went off. Billy jumped up, pulled the pie out carefully, and set it on the counter to cool.

“Look at us, we made that all by ourselves,” Kidd sounded amazed.

“Yup.”

“It actually looks edible too.”

“You could have a bit more faith in us,” Billy hummed.

Kidd pulled Billy into a tight hug, right there in the middle of the messy kitchen, and Billy hugged back, tight and warm.

“Thanks for coming apple picking with me,” Kidd murmured.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Billy smiled. “And for getting flour in my hair.”

“That was an accident.”

“Sure it was.”

Your cindix fics are really good and I like them a lot!!

Would you be okay with writing Lilget??? Literally anything works!!

It’s oki if not though I understand

HIII!!! YESYES HERES YOUR LILGET!!!! I had fun writing this

Lily always had a flower in her hair—every single day. Sometimes it was white, or yellow, or pink. But today, when she walked into the classroom, her hair was empty.

Nugget noticed right away.

He tilted his head, watching her sit down at her desk. She looked… wrong. Not sick-wrong, but sad-wrong. Her shoulders were all slumped, and she kept touching the spot where her flower should be.

During their free time, Nugget walked over to her.

“Nugget wants to know where the pretty Lily’s flower is,” he whispered.

Lily’s bottom lip wobbled a little. “I lost it,” she said quietly. “It fell off on the way to school, and I couldn’t find it anywhere. It was my favorite one.”

“The pink one?”

She nodded, looking down at her hands.

Nugget frowned. This was not okay. Lily needed a flower in her hair. That’s just how things were supposed to be.

“Nugget will fix this,” he announced, walking towards the door.

“Nugget, stay inside the classroom,” Ms. Applegate groaned, rubbing her temples.

He sat. But he was already making a plan.

At recess, while the other kids ran to the monkey bars and the playground, Nugget went straight to the fence at the edge of the playground. He’d seen flowers growing there before, little white and yellow ones in the grass.

He crouched down, searching carefully. Too small. Too wilted. Too… wait.

There. A bright yellow dandelion, standing tall and perfect.

“Nugget found it!” he exclaimed to himself, carefully picking it up. He held it up to the sun. It wasn’t pink, but it was pretty. It would work.

He ran back across the playground, the dandelion clutched in his fist. Lily was sitting on the grass by herself, picking at the grass.

“Pretty Lily!” Nugget skidded to a stop in front of her, breathing hard.

She looked up, surprised. “What?”

Nugget held out the dandelion, a little squished but still bright. “Nugget found the pretty Lily a flower for her hair!”

Lily’s eyes went wide. She stared at the flower, then at Nugget, then back at the flower.

“You… you got that for me?”

“Nugget saw that the pretty Lily was sad. The pretty Lily needed a flower in her hair, so Nugget got one.”

A huge smile spread across her face, the kind that made her eyes crinkle up. She took the dandelion carefully, like it was made of glass, and tucked it behind her ear.

“How does it look?” she asked.

“Nugget thinks it looks perfect.”

And then, before Nugget could even blink, Lily threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Nugget froze for a second, not sure what to do with his arms, but then he hugged her back.

“Thank you, Nugget,” she said to him on his shoulder.

“Nugget is happy to help,” he grinned happily.

When she let go, she was still smiling, and the yellow dandelion was still tucked behind her ear, bright as the sun.

“You’re like… my second-best friend after Billy,” she beamed.

“Nugget is happy with that,” he approved.

I AM SO SO SO SORRY FOR GETTING TO THIS SO LATE 😞😞😞 sorry it’s a bit short 😢

The garden was Emmy’s favorite kind of quiet, just the wind through the bean poles and the occasional bee doing its rounds.

She crouched down at the far corner plot, the one she’d claimed back in March when the ground was still cold and a little mean about it. Most people walked past this corner. Too shady, they said. Nothing pretty grows there.

Emmy had proved them wrong, slowly and on purpose.

The blue flower had taken its time—a Centaurea, cornflower blue, the specific shade that had made Penny point at a picture on her phone three months ago and say that one, that’s my favorite color, it looks like something out of a fairy tale—and Emmy had quietly filed that away like she did with most things Penny said.

She filed away a lot of things when it came to Penny.

The way Penny stirred her coffee counterclockwise. How she always held doors open a beat longer than necessary, for people who were still pretty far away, because she didn’t want anyone to have to rush. The fact that she cried at nature documentaries but claimed she didn’t. Emmy knew all of it, the same way she knew which plants needed more water than they asked for and which ones just needed to be left alone to figure themselves out.

She’d been tending to this particular feeling for about as long as she’d been tending to the flower. Both had required patience. Both had made her a little nervous every time she checked on them.

She snipped the stem clean. Then a few others to keep it company: some white alyssum, a sprig of lavender, a couple of those little yellow things whose name she could never remember but that smelled incredible in a way that felt almost unfair. She wrapped the bundle in the brown paper she’d remembered to bring, which felt like a small personal victory.

Her hands were only a little unsteady.

Penny was sitting on the front steps of her apartment building when Emmy came around the corner, reading something on her phone with her legs stretched out in the sun like a cat. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and her face opened into that easy smile — the one that Emmy had spent a considerable amount of time trying not to think about.

“You’re actually on time,” Penny said, delighted. “I was going to give you seven more minutes.”

“I’m always on time.”

“Emmy, last week—”

“That was a soil emergency and you know it!” Emmy stopped in front of her and held out the bouquet before she could think about it too much.

Penny looked down. Then she looked up. Then she looked down again, slower.

She took the flowers carefully, like they were something that deserved to be held that way, and Emmy watched her find the blue one nestled in the center—the cornflower, exactly the shade from the photo, from the throwaway comment Penny had made in October, like it wasn’t going to rearrange something in Emmy’s chest.

“Emmy,” she said softly.

“It took a while,” Emmy said, a little fast. “That variety is actually pretty finicky, I had to work out the drainage situation in that corner plot and then there was a whole thing in February with the frost—”

“Emmy.”

“—and I looked up about four hundred articles about partial shade growing conditions, which, honestly, is fascinating stuff—”

“Emmy!”

She stopped.

Penny was looking at her the way she sometimes did—like she was reading something and had just gotten to the good part. She stood up from the step, which put her close. The bouquet was between them. The lavender smelled like it was trying to help.

“Did you grow this for me?” Penny asked. “Specifically for me?”

A beat.

“No… I grew it for me,” Emmy said. “I’m just giving it to you.”

Penny laughed, surprised and bright, and then she kissed her—soft and unhurried, one hand still holding the flowers and the other coming up to Emmy’s jaw like she’d thought about where to put it.

Emmy had also thought about this, for the record. At length.

When they pulled back, Penny looked down at the bouquet again, then back up, glowing a little.

“You’re going to have to tell me all the botanical details,” she said.

“I have so many,” Emmy smiled.