#I want it as a centerpiece in my new apartment

[mo-mode]

Me, grocery shopping: You know what would be a great holiday gift?

My Mom, wondering where she went wrong: If you say the rainbow olive oil—

Me: ✨ The Rainbow Olive Oil ✨

[justlemmeadoreyou]

4. heat of the kitchen (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here) | (part 3 here)

summary: the day of the gala, but something unexpected happens, leaving you a responsibility that could either make or break your career.

words: 5k

warnings: fluff, a hint of angst.

You had just started falling into a restless sleep when your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, making you jump awake in surprise. Squinting your blurry eyes at the bright screen, you felt a prickle of worry when you saw the time - 4:17am. This couldn't be good news at this hour. 

Sure enough, it was Harry's number flashing on the caller ID. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear. "Hello?"

"[Y/N], hey..." Even through the tinny distortion of the phone line, you could hear the grimness and exhaustion in Harry's voice. "Look, I...there's been an emergency with my family back home. My mom is really sick and not doing well."

You sat up straight in bed now, any remaining grogginess from sleep instantly swept away by a crushing wave of dismay. You listened in silence as he explained in brief phrases about needing to get on the next available flight to go back to New York right away. He said he wasn't sure when he'd be able to return to Chicago.

"I just didn't have a chance to let you know about this earlier," Harry's low, raspy voice crackled with regret. "I've already spoken with Thomason to take over running things at the event today, but...I'm so sorry, [Y/N]. The timing of this could not possibly be worse."

"No no, please don't even worry about that right now," you interjected quickly, your mind already whirling with the huge implications of what he was saying. Today was the extremely important Martin gala event - without Harry there to oversee the execution of his highly complicated, avant-garde centrepiece dish, the whole thing could spectacularly fall apart in front of all the big-name food critics and chefs of Chicago.

And yet...none of that professional stuff mattered at all compared to the intensely personal crisis your mentor was going through right now. "Is everything...I mean, is your mom going to be okay?" you asked hesitantly, not wanting to pry too much but deeply concerned.

Harry let out a shaky sigh that made your chest clench with empathy for what he must be feeling. "I don't know yet. They're running some medical tests on her this morning to get more answers, but...it doesn't look good so far based on what they've told me."

There was a heavy pause before he added in a rough, strained voice, "Looks like I've got another big battle ahead of me here."  

Despite the gravity of the situation, you felt a pang of fondness at those terse words that sounded so quintessentially like Harry - tackling this heart-wrenching personal turmoil with the same determination and head-on approach he always brought to challenges in the kitchen.

"I'll be okay," Harry stated in a tone that made it clear he didn't want or expect any sympathy or reassurance from you about it. "Right now, all I need is for you to promise me that the gala event today is going to be a complete success no matter what else is happening. Can you handle being fully in charge of running the whole operation and making sure my vision for the centerpiece dish comes out perfectly?"

He didn't need to go into more detail - you knew full well the enormity of the responsibility he was asking you to take on here. Tremors of nerves joined the waves of sympathy and concern roiling through you at the weight of this task. But you didn't hesitate at all before answering.

"You have my word, Chef," you vowed solemnly. "I'll treat this dish and event with the same intense, laser-focused commitment you've been drilling into me from day one - and I absolutely won't let you down."  

This time, Harry's answering exhale held the faintest trace of pride and...something more you couldn't quite put your finger on. "I know you won't let me down. I'm gonna have to go take care of things now, but I'll call again later to check in on how preparations are going over there. In the meantime, just stay calm, stay focused, and execute everything exactly like we've practiced over and over again these past weeks."

"I will. And Harry--" you hesitated momentarily before plunging ahead. "I really hope...well, just please take care of yourself too, okay? Sending you all my best wishes for your mom to get through this."

There was a beat of surprised silence before he responded in a gruff but sincere voice, "Yeah...thanks, [Y/N]. I appreciate that."

With that, the call clicked off abruptly, leaving you alone amid the predawn stillness with nothing but the immense weight of the trust and responsibility Harry had placed on your shoulders.

This was by far the biggest professional challenge you'd ever faced in your culinary career. Not just having to pull off executing Harry's avant-garde, innovative, wildly complex dish to absolute perfection under the intense scrutiny of the biggest names and players in Chicago's food world - but doing so while your mentor battled a hugely serious personal crisis unfolding all the way across the country in New York. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with anxious adrenaline and nerves.

Still...despite the daunting nature of this task, you couldn't help but feel a sense of opportunity arising as well. This was an unexpected and unprecedented chance for you to truly prove yourself at the highest possible level, to rise up and show you had the skills and mental toughness to handle the most intense culinary pressure situations. You'd worked too damn hard, invested too many long hours of sweat and failures in kitchens everywhere to let this monumental opportunity slip through your fingers.

A feeling of steely resolve settled over you as you climbed out of bed and began methodically getting ready to start your day. No matter what curveball life had thrown at Harry derailing his own ability to participate, your role and mission remained unchanged - you made a solemn vow to him, and you utterly refused to let him down when he was counting on you most in this dire moment. This gala would go off flawlessly, the vision and game plan he'd meticulously drilled into you executed with precise mastery down to every last detail. Abject failure was simply not an option today.

***

By the time the first pale streaks of dawn began filtering through your windows, you were fully dressed and shoving a high-protein bar into your mouth as fuel while heading out the door to the event venue. Despite the early hour, there was already a palpable buzz and energy of activity when you arrived, crews of staffers and organizers darting around in a highly choreographed frenzy as they put the very final touches and preparations in place.  

You spotted Thomason's towering, intimidating form immediately - the harsh sous chef resembled a military general marshaling the troops, barking out orders and keeping everything flowing in an orderly yet intense manner. Straightening your spine, you crossed over purposefully to greet him directly. Thomason's eyes flicked over you appraisingly before giving a short, sharp nod of acknowledgment. "Good, you're here. Let's get you situated and start running through all your station assignments."

Without any further preamble or wasted words, he turned sharply on his heel and strode off at a brisk pace, clearly expecting you to fall into step directly behind him with no delays. Suppressing a resigned sigh, you did just that, matching his stride as Thomason immediately launched into a rapid-fire rundown and delegation of every single responsibility that would fall under your purview for the entire day.

It was...honestly, a staggering amount of crucial tasks and oversight duties to absorb all at once this early in the morning, especially given the giant extenuating circumstance and crisis situation hanging overhead with Harry's absence. But Thomason pressed on in his typical brusque, no-nonsense manner.

Apparently Harry had already briefed the imposing, burly sous chef on the pertinent details of the personal situation he was dealing with, as evidenced by Thomason's uncharacteristic patience whenever you had to pause to fully digest certain instructions or ask for any clarification on assignments. But the gruff kitchen veteran otherwise made no comforting allowances, simply conveying the huge pile of duties you'd need to stay on top of from morning prep straight through to the evening's high-stakes dinner service.

By the time he finally finished laying out the overwhelming laundry list of tasks you were accountable for, a tenuous sense of control had settled over your earlier panic and worries. You could do this. Logistically speaking, it would be the most daunting and high-pressure culinary challenge you'd ever faced by far - but thanks to all the intense training and preparation Harry had put you through, you genuinely felt as ready as you could possibly be. All that remained now was keeping your head down and executing flawlessly with the same pinpoint focus and work ethic he'd instilled in you through those grueling practice runs.

With a grim nod of determination, you turned and started overseeing your assigned kitchen crew in setting up the intricate series of mise en place stations that would be required for pulling off Harry's avant-garde, wildly complex centerpiece dish. All around you, the buzz of frantic activity swelled as area after area of the massive venue was brought online in final preparation for the rapidly approaching arrival times of guests and participants.  

Though you kept waiting for the spike of nerves and adrenaline to hit, surprisingly, a strange sense of calm numbness had instead descended over you - the kind that often surfaced in the middle of an intense, all-hands-on-deck dinner rush back at the restaurant. In these do-or-die, make-it-or-break-it kinds of situations, there simply was no spare mental bandwidth available for anything beyond the critical task directly in front of you in that very moment. Distracting thoughts and nerves got shunted aside as survival instincts took over.

And just like that, you lost yourself in the soothing, almost meditative rhythm of prep work, falling into that laser-focused state of dicing, slicing, arranging each individual ingredient component with painstaking, meticulous care according to the detailed specifications Harry had drilled into you over and over. At one point, you absently accepted a bottled water from one of your line cooks with a murmured thanks, but otherwise operated on auto-pilot.  

You weren't entirely sure how much time had elapsed before Thomason's gruff bark of "Ten minutes!" roused you from your intense, trance-like focus. All around, your crew instantly kicked into an even higher gear, ferrying the completed mise en place components to the designated plating stations in an efficient flurry of motion. You barely registered Thomason sidling up next to you with an evaluating look on his imposing features.

"You did decent prep work so far, kid," he acknowledged in a tone of voice that was only marginally less dismissive than his usual demeanor. "Now let's see if you can actually plate this bastard of a complicated dish without totally screwing the pooch."

With that uniquely Thomason-style pep talk, he gave your shoulder a clap and then strode off to take his place at the all-important expediting position for the evening's service, leaving you warmed by the backhanded compliment. Coming from the notoriously harsh and miserly-with-praise Thomason, those words were basically the equivalent of an ecstatic rave.

Any boost of confidence was welcome at this point, as the first wave of elite guests began trickling into the dining area right on schedule. You could feel the atmosphere in the room shifting, charging with buzzing energy and anticipation as these influential culinary figures saw the artfully designed space, flipped through the rundown of tonight's prix fixe menu, and speculated about what boundary-pushing creation Harry had surely concocted for his centrepiece auction dish.  

Your own adrenaline kicked into high gear as you took your place at the head plating station, flanked by your hand-picked crew who would assist in the extremely intricate assemble of all the individual components coming together. A hush fell over the kitchen as you exchanged looks with your team, giving a final nod of readiness. 

"First courses..." came the terse callout from the expo line. And with that, you immediately snapped into focus, hands moving with the precision drilled into them through countless practice runs as you began plating the initial courses.

From there, the entire high-stakes evening blurred into a cyclone of intense concentration and rapid-fire execution, broken only by the occasional smattering of polite applause from the dining room as each new course made its debut to apparent delight. But you remained steadfastly disengaged from all of that, shutting it out entirely as you moved with economical grace from one fastidiously assembled plate to the next in a state of total flow.

You were aware on some level of Thomason periodically prowling the line, sharp eyes scrutinizing every last component with the intensity of a decorated drill sergeant. But his presence was almost soothing in a way, a low-key affirmation that you and your crew were hitting every lofty mark thus far.

Finally, after what felt like both a grueling endurance marathon and the naturally seamless completion of a singular, continuous motion...it was time. All the other courses had been executed flawlessly, clearing the way for the pièce de résistance - Harry's avant-garde centerpiece dish that would cap off the evening. You took a deep, steadying breath as the first calls came in from the expo line.

"Fire one centerpiece!"

Your hands moved with the precision of a surgeon, each practiced motion flowing seamlessly into the next as you began assembling the first plate of the showstopper course. Around you, your crew worked in the same laser-focused unison, handling each individual component with utmost care and attention to detail.  

Despite the mounting pressure with every new order fire, that strange sense of calm numbness persisted. There was no mental bandwidth to spare on anything extraneous - your entire world had contracted to these series of sequential tasks laid out before you, each one flowing naturally into the next like a continuous stream.

Plating tweezers arranged the final delicate pour of herb-infused olive oil spheres with the same singular focus as you squeezed the pipette to apply the perfectly calibrated dot of acidic reduction. Not a single movement was wasted, not a component out of place as you slid the finished avant-garde masterpiece across to the expo line for final approval before heading out to the dining room.

"Looked good from here, kid," Thomason's gruff voice sounded in your ear amidst the orchestrated chaos, startling you slightly. You blinked, barely registering the stocky sous chef's towering presence overseeing your shoulder before turning your attention immediately back to the next set of hands firing.

On and on it went in that same relentless yet steady cadence, each nouveau plate a pristine reflection of the focus, intensity, and cumulative skill that had been honed into you over months of Harry's rigorous training. Sweat beaded along your hairline, apron dampening as you moved with increasing speed and efficiency under the mounting pressure of continuous fires.  

You were only vaguely aware of the soft crashing waves of polite applause rolling in from the nearby dining room each time a new creation hit the tables. Your ears were trained to more important sounds - the sharp callouts from expo, the curt exchanges between yourself and your crew attempting to maintain the incredible pace.

At one point, you registered Thomason's heavy tread beside you once more, his grizzled voice pitched low to be heard over the controlled pandemonium. "Pretty damn flawless so far, I'll give you that. But don't let your foot off the gas now, we still got a ways to go yet."

A simple grunt of acknowledgment was all you could spare in response as you plated two more centerpiece dishes in rapid succession, sliding them across for inspection. Thomason made a noise of begrudging approval before turning away, freeing you to tunnel-vision once more.  

Swaying slightly on your feet from the physical toll and intense focus, you blinked away the spotties at the edge of your vision. There was simply no other choice - failure was not an option, not after everything you and Harry had invested into this critical moment. 

How much time had elapsed, you couldn't say. All you knew was the continuous cycle of order fires, the increasingly efficient rhythm of your movements and those of your crew. The end goal of seeing this groundbreaking creation delivered to the last diner with the same polish as the first lone plate.

It was only when the final callout came over the line that reality slowly bled back in around the edges. "Last one, centerpiece! Fire for the panel..."  

The clatter of your toolkit was shockingly loud in the relative stillness as you began assembling that climactic plate with even more painstaking care than before. Every component was a masterstroke, each paso doble between you and your crew unfolding in step.

You barely registered Thomason's presence hovering nearby, posture radiating tension and scrutiny, as you slid the final centerpiece across for his inspection. A short eternity seemed to pass as the steely-eyed veteran examined the plate with unsparing intensity from all angles.�� 

At last, he gave a single deferential nod before calling out the fire to the dining room. "Chef's centerpiece...walking!"

A rousing swell of applause rolled back from beyond the partition as you straightened up, only now allowing the descending sense of accomplishment to wash over you fully. It was done - Harry's groundbreaking, avant-garde vision had been executed to utter perfection.

The surrounding kitchen area seemed to slowly reanimate as the rest of the corps d'équipe emerged from their own hypnotrance–states, exchanging tired grins and backslaps of congratulations. For his part, Thomason wore an expression that bordered on...approving?You could never tell.

"You pulled it off, kid," he rumbled in that trademark gravelly baritone. The stocky chef's clap on your shoulder managed to convey impressed respect more clearly than any flowery praise. "Flawless service from top to bottom. I'll be sure to pass that along to Chef Patino when I touch base."

Your face must have reflected the gratified shock you felt at the gruff compliment, as Thomason's mouth twisted wryly before adding, "Don't look so damn stunned. You did good work holding it all together out there tonight. Real good work."

With that, he gave your shoulder one final squeeze before turning to address the rest of the crew and applauds rippled through the kitchen area. But you barely heard any of it over the dull roar in your ears - the mixture of bone-deep exhaustion and sheer disbelief at what you'd all just managed to pull off against seemingly insurmountable odds.

Gradually, the bustle of post-service breakdown routines fired up around you. But you remained still in the eye of that storm for several long moments, simply allowing the profound weight of your accomplishment tonight to sink in fully.  

Despite the challenges, the unexpected crises that had threatened to derail everything...your tenacity and the depth of your training had ultimately prevailed. Harry's faith in you had been rewarded with an unmitigated triumph.

The realization brought a surge of fierce pride, tempered only by the hope that your mentor had managed to find some shred of comfort amidst his own turmoil tonight. You knew Harry well enough to be certain he would be dissecting every component, evaluating each nuance of the dish's execution with his trademark intensity even from afar.

And suddenly, you very much needed to hear his voice - to fill him in on all the details, reassure him that you'd kept your word right down to crossing every final T. To...well, to simply share in this significant victory with the man whose driving ambition and belief had made it all possible.

As if summoned by sheer force of will, your phone began buzzing from your back pocket with a familiar caller ID flashing. Stepping aside from the lingering chaos, you swiped to accept the call with your heart lodged squarely in your throat.

"Harry? It's me..."

The voice on the other end sounded tinny and wrung-out, yet still utterly suffused with that unmistakable gravel-rough timbre. "How'd it go, kiddo?"

Despite the bone-weary fatigue dragging at your every muscle, you felt a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you took in the sight of your crew unabashedly celebrating their collective win. "See for yourself."

With a few quick taps, you switched the call over to FaceTime, angling the camera to capture the wild scene surrounding you. Raucous cheers and whoops of victory filled the feed as Harry got an eyeful of his triumphant kitchen corps living it up.

For a long moment, he was silent on the other end, drinking in the rowdy scene. Then, his low chuckle finally filtered through, slightly watery but brimming with unmistakable pride.

"That's my crew," Harry rasped in a voice gone thick. "Well done, team. Well done."

You grinned fiercely at the screen, willing him to feel every ounce of your conviction as you responded. "We did you proud, Chef. Start to finish."

And just like that, the shaky exhale he released said everything his gruff words couldn't. For all his outward bravado and grit, your mentor's steadfast belief had been vindicated tonight - and his faith in you rewarded beyond even his own expectations.

For the first time in weeks, that shaky tension seemed to finally loosen its grip on both of you. Though the road ahead might still be fraught, this evening's triumph had forged an unbreakable bond of shared understanding and trust.

The entire grueling process of preparing for and executing the ambitious centerpiece dish had pushed both your skills, stamina and mental toughness to their limits. But instead of fracturing under such tremendous shared pressure, your mentor-mentee dynamic had been distilled down to its essential core - that of two committed culinary artists striving relentlessly towards the same creative vision, and ultimately emerging unified in the wake of that lofty achievement.

In that moment, any unresolved tensions or lingering frissons of attraction between you were rendered almost quaint, overwhelmed by the profound sense of creative synergy and hard-won victory. Those undercurrents would inevitably resurface later once the high had faded. But for now, you could simply bask in the warm glow of knowing you'd risen to every challenge thrown your way and come out on top.

Harry must have sensed the shift in your demeanor, the way your posture had relaxed slightly without sacrificing any of that fierce determination. His gruff chuckle sounded again through the phone's speaker, drawing your attention back to his careworn but glowing expression.  

"Listen, pet..." he began in that trademark rasp, once again hitting you with the nickname that made your heart skip a beat,. "I gotta go take care of some stuff on this end. But we're gonna crack open a couple bottles when I'm back, you and me. We've earned it after pulling off a goddamn miracle like this one."

The very thought of the two of you sharing drinks and cutting loose for once, without the weight of impending culinary obligations hanging overhead, struck you as incredibly appealing after tonight's intensity. A warm smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you gave an emphatic nod.

"You know I'm gonna hold you to that, Chef. I'm thinking top-shelf stuff too, none of that bottom-rung swill."

Harry threw back his head with another peal of laughter. "You got it, you earned it. Gimme a couple days to get things sorted and I'll take you somewhere swanky to celebrate, on me. My way of saying thanks for proving me right about you, Y/n."

Before you could respond, Harry's gaze grew pensive, amusement fading slightly as he searched your expression with uncharacteristic earnestness. "And I mean it, you know. Not just about the drinks, but...well, you really came through in the clutch tonight. I knew you had the skills to pull it off, but seeing you actually do it against those crazy odds? You exceeded every expectation. I couldn't be prouder if you were my own flesh and blood."

You felt your cheeks warming at the uncommon depth of sincerity in his gravelly voice. Though Harry had never been one for emotional vulnerability, in this moment you could see the profound gratitude shining through loud and clear.  

"That really means a lot coming from you, Harry," you managed in a slightly hushed tone, momentarily rendered speechless by the unexpected warmth radiating from him. "You know I'd never want to let you down, especially when you were counting on me most."

The tender moment stretched out in weighted silence, intimate currents flowing back and forth even through the crackle of the video feed. Until eventually, Harry seemed to resurface from that unguarded well of sincerity, giving a slightly blustery clearing of his throat.

"Well anyway, you did the heavy lifting tonight," he rallied in his typical all-business timbre, the hoarse bravado back in full force. "I'll leave you and the crew to enjoy your big victory bash. Just try not to get too out of hand with the partying."

He started to shift away from the camera, clearly preparing to disengage, when his hazel-eyed gaze flicked back to pin you with an unreadable look. A ghost of a smirk played around the edges of his mouth as he seemed to drink you in through the video feed.

"Oh, and one more thing, darlin'..." 

You felt your breath catch at the rich, velvety timbre Harry imbued that endearment with - a departure from the casual, teasing way he usually deployed such pet names. This particular iteration seemed to caress something deeper, more weighted between you.

"I'm real proud of how you rose above and killed it tonight," he murmured in that same honeyed rasp that raised goosebumps along your skin. His gaze raked over you with unmistakable heat and intent. "Showed me that laser-focused mental strength and fortitude I always suspected was in there."

Harry shook his tousled head slowly, lips still curved in that secretive half-smile. "Gotta admit, I clearly underestimated you in the past, darlin'. Won't be making that mistake again."

The suggestive timbre in which he issued that statement was utterly at odds with the mentor-protegee context you'd been operating in mere moments ago. You felt your breath hitch as a warmth bloomed across your cheeks, suddenly hyper-aware that you were still surrounded by your raucous crew celebrating nearby.

Surely you were reading far too much into Harry's words and tone...except his eyes were gleaming with a combination of heat and challenge as they roamed over your features in a way that made you feel stripped bare. As if he knew full well the dizzying, electrifying effect he could have on you - even through a mere video call - and was shamelessly exercising that power.

You opened your mouth to respond, though what you could possibly say to that molten statement you had no idea. Thankfully, Harry seemed to recognize he was quickly veering into the old inappropriate territory and reigned himself in with a rough throat-clearing.

"Anyway, go have fun with the crew and I'll holler at you in a couple days once I get things sorted out on this end," he concluded, all traces of that heated bravado tucked away once more behind his typical gruff exterior. "You've more than earned it, darlin'."

Another searing look accompanied the purring emphasis he gave that endearment before Harry flashed you a stunningly lopsided grin - then the video feed clicked off, leaving you slightly dazed and flustered in its wake.

A long moment passed where you simply stared at the blank screen, cheeks still burning as your mind raced over the cadence of that parting exchange. From the heartfelt gratitude and rare showering of praise...to that inexplicably molten aside loaded with suggestion, it had all left you feeling deliciously unmoored and off-kilter. 

You remained in that uncertain headspace for a while longer, the buzz of your crew's raucous celebration providing a soundtrack as the hours ticked by. Though you made a concerted effort to remain present, to revel in this hard-won moment of glory alongside your teammates, part of your consciousness couldn't help but keep circling back to that searing parting remark from Harry.

You kept thinking about the way he spoke, wondering if there was a hidden meaning behind his words.  Suddenly, your long-suppressed feelings for the charismatic chef surged with volcanic intensity, consuming every rational thought until only one truth remained. 

You decided you were done hiding your desire for Harry– done keeping that ravenous wanting locked away in the name of professionalism.The next time you saw your mentor, you promised yourself you would be completely honest. No more beating around the bush. Only complete, blazing honesty.

You would openly admit the burning attraction you'd felt since first meeting his intense gaze months ago. You would confront the growing tension from all his suggestive comments.

No more hiding behind being professional. You would put everything out in the open, once and for all. Either Harry felt the same fiery passion...or he didn't, and you could finally move on. 

Once and for all.

But the need to finally uncover the truth burned within you, even if it meant risking everything and leaving your heart in ashes - because the constant wondering and uncertainty had become a suffocating torment you could no longer endure. Making that decision lifted a weight off your shoulders momentarily, but you steeled yourself knowing the real challenge still lay ahead, a daunting path that could either lead you to euphoric fulfilment or utter devastation.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[billthedrake]

This is a collaboration that @josmith1718 and I have been working on together for a while. It's a hypnosis themed story, so be forewarned if that's not your thing.

THE PROTOCOL

By JoSmith and Bill Drake

CHAPTER ONE

I came home from work and was ready to unwind when I realized that dad was not there yet. I found it weird because he was usually back before me. Nevertheless, I went inside and began to change out of my suit and put on some shorts before warming up some food. While I was in the kitchen, dad came in and sighed as he usually did. I felt for him, single dad, divorced with a 27-year-old son living at home couldn’t have been easy on him. I did my part to lighten his stress by providing outlets for him to let loose and not be the hardass foreman he was at work at home.

"Welcome home, Dad. How was your day?" I asked as I took out a plate and served him some of the leftover lasagna I warmed up for myself.

"It was horrible, buddy. I need to relax before I start going bald." He came towards me and hugged me. I hugged him back, feeling his hard body gained from years working construction. When we separated, I smiled at him, and he leaned down and gave me a kiss. We made out a bit before he and I separated, and he went to get a beer from the fridge.

"At least you’re home, right?"

"Yeah, with my favorite guy." He replied. He was hot, literally and, well... literally. We had been going through a heatwave and he had to be on site most of the day. I was indoors but even the short distance I had to walk to my car was unbearable with the full suit and tie getup I had to wear for work. I could only imagine him sweating through his plaid shirt, dripping as the sweat traveled down his meaty pecs, down his hairy body….

I’d loved this man ever since I graduated from undergrad. When he divorced the second time, I asked him to move in with me. Sure, the apartment I had at the time was not a mansion, but we made it work. After some years and promotions, we were able to upgrade to a nice home in the suburbs. Dad continued as a foreman, and I stayed in the corporate world until they brought up the opportunity to get my MBA in a top-shelf B-school that my company partnered with.

"How was your day, buddy?" He asked as he was taking a sip from his beer. I shook my head and smiled, "Good, I got an exam tomorrow, but it's nice to have a night off." I was doing grad school part time. It was a great deal: my company was footing the bill and there was an implicit promise of a promotion after. But the evening classes and the weekends devoted to homework were kicking my butt. Thankfully, I had a great support system in my father.

After warming up the food, I brought it to the table, and he and I ate in silence. Dad was always tired, always stressed, and it was hard for me to look at him like that. He'd always warned me not to go into a manual labor profession, and I'd taken every bit of his dreams for my own future and tried to live up to them, and more. When I graduated the first time, I said that this was our degree, not just mine. This new MBA would be just as much as his as it was mine.

When dinner was over, I got the dishes and Dad began to undress, "I’m taking a shower son. I don’t want to keep the scent of the site on me any longer."

"I don’t mind it, dad..." I smirked at him.

He shook his head and came towards me, "You like your old man smelly?" He whispered in a hushed raspy tone.

"You smell like a man, dad." I responded with confidence as I finished unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

"How did I get so lucky with you, bud?" He replied before we began to make out again. My fingers felt his hard rounded muscle, dusted with his fur. Dad was big all over, beefy and strong, but his chest was the centerpiece of it all - big and round pecs that felt like stone beneath my fingers.

We stopped making out and he got on his knees, "My shower can wait but I think my corporate son needs to relax with a nice blowjob from his old man," Dad was rubbing his hand over my bulge before looking up at me again, "let me service this cock, son."

"Aren’t you tired too?" I asked, but selfishly, yeah, I wanted this as well.

"This helps me relax," he smiled and then fished out the cock from shorts and started to blow me. He was skilled, after several years of blowing me, he had learned what I liked. I never got tired of my construction worker father - my tan, muscled, hairy, beefy, sexy construction worker dad, who was more than willing to get on his knees and suck my cock whenever I needed “relaxing.” In my mind, he justified the blowjobs he expertly gave as doing it for “my son’s pleasure, not mine.” That was a facade, since every time he shot his own load, his mouth was connected to my cock. The old man loved sucking my cock just as much as I liked getting blown.

"Dad, I’m getting close, Dad, fuck, I’m getting—"

I shot and my dad greedily sucked and sucked until every drop was in his mouth and down his throat.

"Good load, buddy,” he grinned as he leaned back, a proud smile on his gruffly handsome mug. “Now, time to take my shower." He kissed my cock and got up to head to the master bathroom.

The sex was great, incredible as always, but I still kept thinking about how stressed Dad had become. That evening, I talked to him about letting me have more of the responsibility of the house and its finances. I told him that I could pitch in more, and I'd tried to get him to talk about finances. Maybe it was putting the cart before the horse, but in my head, I'd be earning a lot more by 30 and ready to ensure dad and I were financially stable enough for him to look for something more relaxed or retire outright.

I was ready to make sure dad was not so stressed all the time.

"Buddy, it’s fine how things are. I’m fine." He said, but then I continued.

"Dad, you’re stressed, and I don’t blame you at all. I have enough money to make sure that we can live comfortably. Especially after this promotion, you could potentially retire."

"I don’t..." he started to object. Then he sat back up and took off the reading glasses he had on to read his iPad, "Son, I’m happy. Being with you, making sure you’re happy, I’m fine. No need to worry about me. I’m your dad, that’s my job."

"And my job as your son is to make sure you are happy too. I’m not happy to see you so stressed." I got closer to him and began to fondle his pecs and nipples, "This, us, I’m happy... but seeing you stress over bills, that does not make me happy."

He took in what I was saying but was stubborn ol’ Dad. "In some ways, I’m old school. I am the father so that means I oversee the finances and everything that has to do with the household. I can’t just let it go…"

"You are in charge of people at work all the time. You have a lot of responsibility; I can take some for you dad. I want to do that for you. Think about it, yeah?"

"You’re so good to me, son." He kissed me before he traveled down my body, ready to give me another blowjob, "You gonna give me something to help me have a good night sleep?" He winked at me. Then I felt my dad's wet lips and soft tongue start working my hardon again. As he slowly sucked and bobbed and then went further down on me, I tried to rack my brain to remember the last day the man hadn't gotten me off at least twice.

I couldn't remember.

I was damn lucky.

***

We didn’t talk about finances anymore and went back to the same routine. Dad was great and loving, but he was also a stubborn man. Maybe I'd inherited his stubborn streak, too.

In the spring I graduated and got my promotion at work officially. I was to get a raise and a new office. It was something I was excited for. I was already doing some of the work of the new position to get used to the new processes, but as soon as my contract was renewed and everything was official, I invited dad to see my new office. He came wearing a plaid shirt and dark jeans.

"Wow, my son, the executive." He was impressed.

"Junior executive," I corrected him. Mind you, my company handed out VP titles like candy, but I was proud and prouder that Dad was proud. I closed the door and lowered the blinds. It was late afternoon, and most people were leaving, but I wanted to show Dad that everything he and I worked for was beginning to pay off.

He turned around and damned if he didn’t tackle me to the wall. He was kissing me, groping me and pawing at my body.

"You look so fucking handsome in your suit and tie, buddy." He whispered as he felt the silk tie he had given me for one of my birthdays.

I bit my lip, "Dad..." My heart was beating fast and the anticipation of what was going to happen was beginning to make me get a hardon in my dress slacks.

"Let me show you how proud I am of you buddy." He whispered and then undid his shirt, button by button, he slowly began to reveal that beautiful hairy body and got on his knees. He undid the zipper of my slacks and fished out my cock, "Executive cock… fucking A, son... you’re making one of my fantasies come true."

Up until now, I thought his career dreams for me were about my financial success in life, but I was starting to get the feeling my father was into professional dudes. The fact I was his flesh and blood made his turn-on that much deeper.

The big man took his time, it was a slow session, edging me as I stayed pressed against the wall. I took off my tie and put it around his neck. We had never done something like this and since it was a first, I gave it a shot. We were pretty vanilla, more so because I could tell dad had hang ups. My old man was momentarily surprised but growled as I slipped the silk tighter around his neck. I tightened the tie and pulled him towards my cock. He got into it, doubling his efforts as I messed up his hair, "Come on, dad, suck your boy’s cock."

He nodded.

"You like that?" I growled. "Your son, the executive, is making you into his personal fleshlight."

That got a deep, heavy moan from the guy. I got rock fucking hard. In all our time together, I never got verbal like this. I never imagined my buddy-buddy blue-collar dad would be remotely into it. This was new territory for both of us. His reaction, the intensity of his blowjob, I couldn’t handle it and blew in his mouth. It felt like an eternity, but he continued to suck until every drop was taken in. When he took my cock from his mouth, some spit got on his chest. I got on my knees and rubbed the saliva all over his hairy pecs and munched on his nipples.

"Buddy..." He cradled my head, applying slight pressure to get me to bite his nipple more.

I bit and pulled; dad groaned but he never told me to stop. He pulled me up and kissed me deeply. I took off my suit jacket and rolled on the floor with him, making out, celebrating this new phase in our life.

We stopped when we heard a knock on the door telling me goodnight. I said good night, my voice hoarse but as soon as I cleared my throat, I said goodnight again and saw dad catching his breath against the wall.

I crawled and stayed next to him until I spoke, "So this was a fantasy of yours?" I asked. My white shirt was wrinkled, my suit jacket discarded on the floor, my pants dirty from the fibers of the carpet. My face flushed from a good rutting. Dad looked at me and responded with a "Yeah," with an uncharacteristic blush.

"What else do you fantasize about, dad?" I asked as he rubbed his palm. He stayed quiet but I began to get an idea when I saw the red tie near him.

"I don't know, Kyle" he began, "You gonna think less of me, son?"

"Course not," I replied. We’d been carrying on our crazy father-son affair for years, and it blew my mind that there was more to discover.

He nodded and ran his fingers along my dress shirt. "When you took control... that was very hot."

I grabbed his hand, caressing it with my fingers as he felt me up. I wasn't going soft and worried I wouldn't soon. "That turned me on, too, Dad. Maybe a little too much."

He gave me a concerned look. "We don't gotta, Kyle."

I patted his hand. "Believe me, Dad. I wanna. Just don't want you to feel less than… y’know," I laughed.

He laughed along. "Well, let's talk about more at home, OK, buddy?"

I straightened up as best as I could. I was still quite disheveled, and dad was too, but we made do with what we had and left the office smelling of sex. I left the door ajar hoping to air out some of the scent. Hopefully the cleaning people would not suspect anything. Office sex may have been risky, but I knew I'd be wanting to do that again. And from the glint in Dad's eye, I suspected he was thinking the same thing.

We picked up some takeout and a six pack on the way home. I always shuddered when we pulled up into our suburban driveway, looking like a normal son who's a temporary roommate with his father to save some money, or biding my time till I met the right girl. On the other hand, we did move to a suburb where no one knew us and could only assume who we were. No one ever asked us, and we never clarified. There was a mystery surrounding us and that made it hotter for me. Inside this home, we were father and son but so much more. Maybe even husbands someday…

After dinner, I brought up finances again. We were doing good month-by-month, but I knew we could refinance the mortgage, invest our spare cash more wisely, and start stocking away extra for our future. Dad still bristled at my bossy tendencies when it came to money. He had the experience of raising a family and being man of the house when I was growing up, but I knew more about personal finance. I just wanted him to not need to burden so much by himself.

Still, he was more open to it this time. Not saying no outright. Asking me questions. Not giving up control, but not being the normal Brian Peterson.

But even as we talked about the dullest, most boring stuff possible, his eyes shifting, looking at me with… lust. In the mood for round two or maybe he was just responding to my own lust for him. Having Dad around, living with him, supercharged my sex drive.

He finished off his beer and shot me a smirk. "Feel like hitting the bed a little earlier tonight, buddy?" he asked.

I think the office sex had amped up his libido. Me, I was just horny. "Yah," I said.

We both got up from the table and it was unmistakable, both Peterson men were horned up. My cock strained my shorts and dad had opted to go pantless, only wearing boxer briefs and an old college t-shirt of mine. Every time this man wore my clothes, it made me feel closer to him.

Something was different that night. As we headed to our room, not saying anything, there was a feeling that something had shifted. The atmosphere was supercharged, I felt warm and giddy. Dad kept looking at me and smirking that goddamn sexy smirk. Once in the room, we planted ourselves to opposite sides of the bed and did a slow strip tease for one another.

Dad had refused to go into detail about his and Mom's relationship ("too close to home, buddy"), but I gathered his second wife didn't like how much of a sex drive Dad had. She was fucking crazy, I thought, as I watched him peel off my shirt that was snug on his frame and slowly lower his underwear.

"Fuck, you have a beautiful cock, son," he hissed as I finally slipped out of my briefs. I had inherited dad's length, but had some extra girth. A lot of extra girth, to be truthful. I'm not sure where it came from, but my father seemed to enjoy it.

He kicked off his underwear and joined me naked on the bed a few seconds after I'd climbed onto the mattress. Our bodies connected and we kissed, making our way to a fully reclined position to make out. It was electric. There was never a moment in all this time we were together where the kiss lacked chemistry or passion. This man had the most talented mouth on a construction worker. His kisses were everything you read about in the hottest erotica or saw in movies.

In the midst of the make out session, I ended on top of him. My body on his, his hands on my back pulling me closer to him. His groans of pleasure as I placed my weight on him. I don't know if I took the initiative to roll on top of him, or Dad pulled me into that position. Nevertheless, my mind wandered to what he was thinking. I thought maybe he'd ask me to fuck his face. I had to go easy with that but occasionally he was in the mood for that. That was as far as ‘kinky’ our sex would get.

"You wanna fuck me, Kyle?" Dad asked. Paternal, friendly, and vulnerable all at once. I looked at him and if he wanted to know, my twitching cock on his was answer enough.

We'd tried that a couple of times. Dad at first swore that wasn't for him. Neither of my attempts was successful, it just hurt too much attempting to breach the tightness of his cherry. I didn't harp on it, or press it, but Dad knew the idea turned me on. "Yeah?" I asked, surprised.

"Go slow, OK?" He urged.

"God, yeah," I grunted. I kissed him deeply then started kissing along his neck and upper body, gradually working my way down.

Dad realized I was going to try to rim him. His hand reached out to stop me. "Don't think I'm up for that buddy. Sorry," he said.

I looked into his eyes. Those loving fatherly eyes. The man treated me right every night, and I wanted to make sure he was into every bit of this. "Sure thing, Dad," I replied. I reached for the lube I used on the rare occasions I had to stroke off on my own. Like I say, it had been a while.

I guess the stuff doesn't go bad, I thought, as I undid the cap and squirted some on my fingers. Then more.

My fingering was slow, real slow. Dad hissed some but seemed OK with it. I even got two fingers in and out easy as anything and had my father's hole stretched around a third. It was time.

I lubed up and scooted in place. Dad complied by pulling his legs back and wide, showing off his mature, furry hole that was like a hit of poppers to me. Or coke. Or heroin, or something. I just knew my dick was rock hard seeing that unviolated dad pucker and my thick dick lining up for it.

I went as gently as I could, nudging, teasing that ring before applying some real pressure.

"Oh fuck, slow!" Dad gasped. His hand reached out to touch my chest, stopping me, and his eyes looked up in a plea. I bit my lip and took a deep breath and backed off a bit.

I nodded and realized I'd have to take it slower. I leaned in and made out with him, trying to get his mind off the pain. That seemed to relax the big guy. His beefy body relaxed on the bed beneath me. I tried not to break the kiss as I tried again. Even slower.

Fuck, it didn't work. Dad let out a yelp like I'd stabbed him. "God, that fucking hurts," he cried as he broke our kiss. No more pleading in his eyes, just a lot of pain and frustration.

I rolled off him. My hardon was gone, replaced by my concern for him.

"Sorry, Kyle," he said, softly, contritely. "I know you wanted it, bad."

I sighed. "Come on, Dad. You gotta want it, too. If I wanted to fuck something not invested in it, I’d buy a blow up doll."

He turned and faced me, a hangdog look on his gruff face. "That's the thing, son. I do want it. I want to make you happy, give you that pleasure. It's just... my body doesn't seem to cooperate." He looked down at my softened dick. "I guess I kind of killed the mood, huh?"

"You didn't kill anything, Dad," I said, pulling him into a soft kiss. It was a romantic, reassuring kiss, but pretty soon we got each other worked up again. Before I knew it, I was rock hard. And Dad's fist circling around it felt amazing with the lube job I'd given myself.

"Damn," I hissed, pulling back and looking down to where Dad was giving me a hand job. We'd never done this and while it would probably never be my preferred sex act, it felt amazing just then.

"You like that buddy?" Dad growled playfully, his breath on my ear, his tongue flicking at the earlobe as his fist continued working my tool. "Fuck... I love taking care of my boy." He admitted aloud.

I turned to look at him and he held his gaze on me. I loved this man and even more because he wanted to give me his all. "You’ll take care of me, right dad?" I asked, gulping at my question. Involuntarily I thrust some into his greased fist.

"Let your old man take care of you son. That’s my job, to make sure you’re satisfied." Dad pumped me some more, looking down at my meat before looking back up at me. "Earlier, bud... when you were on top of me.... I was so fucking proud of my hot executive son.... ready to take charge."

"Oh shit," I gulped. I didn't feel like I was taking charge then. Dad was playing me like a fiddle, just like he was playing with my cock.

His lips formed a sexy leer. "You like that, huh, son? Being in charge?"

"Hell yes," I replied, gaining my voice and admitting the fantasy that had been latent. Dad was tapping into it big time that day. "I don't mean any disrespect to you, sir," I said. I hadn't called him Sir since I was like 16. But the emotions were pouring out. "But that idea.... of being man of the house... oh fuck!"

My cum was shooting. I knew I was on the edge but that orgasm hit hard and fast, by surprise.

"Shoot it, buddy!" Dad encouraged, milking me harder. "My hot fucking stud."

I felt like I had left my body how hard this orgasm had been, feeling a sudden lassitude hit me with the post-coital endorphins. My body jerked as I felt Dad kiss my belly and lick up my jets of semen. Then I felt his mouth encircle my prick, unconcerned about the lube there. Sucking me all the way down. I had a reflexive reaction to the overstimulation and almost pushed Dad off.

But the second I touched his shoulder; I had second thoughts. I knew the sensitivity would go away and that I'd enjoy another BJ. I circled my dad's delt muscle and held him to work him up and down my bone.

***

It was the weekend before Dad brought up the idea.

"Kyle... you got a minute?" he asked as I came in from mowing the lawn. We split the household duties, but given that dad worked hard in the hot sun day in and day out, I tried to tackle the major yard work.

"Yeah, Dad... what's up?"

He got me a cold soda from the fridge and pulled up a chair to our kitchen island where we had a lot of our meals. Dad had a barely concealed look of excitement on his face as he started in.

"So I've been thinking... I guess I have a lot of hang ups when it comes to sex...."

I laughed. "Dad, you're the last guy I'd say has any hang ups." I mean, the guy had blown me in the shower that morning. And then asked if I wanted seconds. "Seriously, you're incredible."

He grinned, pleased at the compliment. But he continued. "I do though. The other night, I really wanted to bottom for you. But I just have a hard time giving up control."

I grimaced. "Dad we don't gotta. If it's not fun for both of us, I don't wanna do it."

Dad was anticipating that answer. "Tell me the truth, Kyle. Would you enjoy fucking me, right?"

I didn't have to ponder the answer. "I would," I admitted. "That doesn't mean..." I started.

Dad interrupted. "Buddy, of course we don't gotta.. But I think I found a solution." He picked up his iPad and clicked on the screen then pushed it my way.

There was a webpage with big bold lettering. "HYPNOTHERAPY..., a way to take back control of your life by using our services. You too can overcome challenges and learned behaviors stopping you from being the best you."

Dad watched excitedly as I read it. "I found them through an online forum…" I raised my eyebrow and he blushed, "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, buddy… I want to be able to give you my all and found a forum with guys with similar issues as mine, unable to bottom for their partner and well… A lot of services don't let you use it for sex therapy, but several guys had good experience with this company. Said it was worth every penny."

"You want me to undergo hypnosis?" I asked slowly. I loved my dad but sometimes he could have wacky ideas.

He chuckled and shook his head, "No buddy, I want you to hypnotize me. You know, kind of get me past my mental roadblocks."

God, he was serious. I felt a flush of heat. There was something powerfully hot about the idea, but it also felt wrong. "Dad, I don’t know that it works like that."

"Won't you even fucking give it a try?" I'd never seen Dad upset at me like this, at least not in a while. "Listen... I called them and they assured me that they could do virtual training if need be." He was giving me that hangdog look of his that was hard to say no to. "It'd be an hour consultation with me and then a three-hour mini course for you. I figure after all those econ classes you'd be a quick study," he smirked.

"I'll think about it," I said.

That seemed to cheer him up and he stood up and came over and patted my shoulder. "Love ya so much, buddy," he said. "I just want to find a way to make you happy."

"You do, Dad," I replied then felt his strong muscle get closer behind me and his hand travel down my sweaty T-shirt, feeling up my chest muscle. I thought Dad had drained me pretty good earlier but I was boning up, fast. "Dad... when was the last time you edged me?"

I heard his soft chuckle. "Beats me, buddy... beach vacation last year?" He patted my pec muscle and gave my head a soft kiss. "Why don't you go shower up? I'll put on a Sox game and we'll see if I can get you to hold off blasting till the eighth inning, OK?"

I laughed and turned around to meet his kiss.

***

The next day Dad went into my home office, shut the door and did his one-on-one consultation. I spent the afternoon online with a mild-mannered guy. Handsome dude in his early 30s, he had that tech-bro attire on, but he had a way of making me feel at ease with him. He asked me about myself and my goals in life. We hadn't told the company we were father and son of course, but I talked in general terms about my relationship with Dad.

"Would you say he was a father figure for you? In your relationship..." His tone wasn't judgmental.

"Definitely," I said, and he nodded, writing some stuff down.

Then it was twenty questions about our sex life. I hesitated at first but decided to be honest and do this, for Dad.

That was the first hour. The next hour was the man describing the process - the Protocol as he called it. Dad would be asked to listen regularly to a recording, a mix of repeated words and white noise. I was given the trigger words and told how and when to use them. Beyond that there was a general script, but Tech Bro told me I’d have to use and adapt it, almost improvise. It was a method more than anything.

“It’s easier than it sounds, Kyle,” he explained. “You’re in finance right? Think of it as a flow chart or business strategy plan. You respond to Brian’s psyche.”

The man warned me about what not to do, but also allayed my concerns. "Kyle, Brian is doing this because he wants to. You can't make him do what he doesn't want to, deep down. Just remember that."

"Yeah," I said, trying to convince myself. Part of me was convinced this was all a sham and it wouldn't work. And part of me was afraid it would work all too well.

"I believe you're going to enjoy this, too," he finally said. I kind of zoned out a little, because the next thing I remember was the Tech Bro's voice. "You feeling relaxed?"

"Yeah, I am," I replied.

"Good," he said. I've sent you the link to a recorded video that will walk you through the hypnosis you're going to perform on Brian. Watch a few times before you actually do it."

With that, he signed off.

***

I gave it a week. Each night, Dad would come home, tired from work. We'd have dinner, he'd blow me and the hour before bed, he'd listen to the recording, headphones on as he lay on the couch, eyes closed. I took the time to review the instructional video.

On Friday, I got an email from the company. "Watch this and you'll be ready."

I found myself surprisingly thrilled to click the link. It was a video conference recording, only with my dad in center frame. The familiar bookshelves and posters from my home office were in the background, and I realized it was from Dad's initial consultation. Only the video started halfway in, after the preliminaries.

The man's voice was a different man’s, deeper and more seductive and monotone. "That's it, Brian... let those eyelids get heavier and heavier.... don't need to fight it. Just let it feel good."

Dad nodded and as the voice droned on in its hypnosis chant, I saw him finally relax. At first nothing seemed to be happening but then I saw dad's shoulders lean in and then his head slumped forward.

The voice became more assertive, "Good, Brian. How do you feel?"

"Relaxed..." Dad said in a monotone voice.

"That’s good to hear. Every time you hear the phrase ‘power down’ you will revert to this state, is that clear?"

"Yes..."

I was so fucking hard watching his. Particularly because I realized Dad had given up control for my sake.

"Now, let’s begin…"

I listened to how the man guided dad and how he brought him back. I was jotting down notes. When dad came back to, it was as though he was waking up from a deep sleep.

"How do you feel?"

"Relaxed, as though I just went on vacation. Thank you." Normal Dad voice, groggy from having ‘woken up.’ It was wild seeing that happen. I don’t think my father was just playing along. We were paying good money for this and if it was not working, Dad would say so.

Then the video stopped.

I was horny all afternoon. Dad sensed something was off when I got home. Friday is normally our unofficial dad-son date night. And when Dad came into the living room, he saw I was sitting nervously.

"Something wrong, Kyle?" he asked, unbuttoning his plaid work shirt. It was unusual for Dad to call me by my name unless he was mad, worried or we were at a work event, though those were rare before my promotion.

"Just a tough day at work," I lied. I forced a smile. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go out and grab a bite."

That seemed to relax Dad as he smiled before turning to go to the room and get ready. He was looking great when he walked back to the living room wearing a clean polo shirt that hugged his beefy body and some jeans.

"Ready son? I'm starving."

I perked up over dinner but when we got home, I patted Dad's meaty shoulder once we walked into the living room. "Power down," I said, my body shaking with the nerves of what I was doing.

I honestly didn't expect this to work as easily as it did, but at hearing his trigger, Dad’s face went slack, his hands dropped to his sides and his eyes became glazed. I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"How do you feel?" I asked. Dad acknowledged the question but did not look at me nor register who I was.

Instead, he answered while concentrating at a point in the distance. "Relaxed and calm..."

I tried to remember the protocol. I was glad I'd watched the instructions multiple times since the words came to me readily; "Good... you know that every time you are in this state, you feel relaxed and calm, correct?"

"Yes... relaxed and calm." God, his voice was so sexy, deep and soft like this.

"Kyle put you in this place because he loves you very much. Repeat after me, ‘Kyle loves me.’"

"Kyle loves me."

"Again."

"Kyle loves me."

"Good. Kyle knows you have a hard time showing him you love him." I had to give the company credit; they'd come up with a hypnosis protocol specifically tailored to our needs.

"I do," Dad's reply came. "I love my boy so much."

My heart pounded. Dad was looking in my direction but not focusing on me as he spoke. He was open to everything I would be saying to him while in this state and he would answer my questions truthfully and with no hesitations.

"How do you want to show him your love, Brian?" It gave me a thrill to call my old man by his first name.

"I want Kyle to fuck me," Dad said simply, "I know that would make him happy."

Pretty much, things had gone to script so far, but the protocol was more about a set of prompts and ways to deal with the truth of the response.

"Will you do that for him?" I asked, a horny knot in my throat. "Will you make your son happy?"

Dad nodded. "I want to, but I couldn't… I can’t."

"Why is that Brian, why can’t you give your son this one thing?"

"Because I'm a man. Men don't get fucked."

Jesus. The man had some issues I wasn't prepared for. But it made sense my butch, blue-collar dad would have some issues about bottoming. I stepped up and touched his face. He didn't flinch and didn't lean into the caress, but he smiled dreamily.

"Kyle is a man, right?" I asked. I was ad adlibbing some, but this was basically following the protocol. Leaning into the resistance.

Dad nodded, "He is. My son is the sexiest man I know."

I was getting rock hard now. I walked backwards as I began to take off my clothes. I rubbed my cock to feed the pleasure and continued.

"You think your son is a sexy man and you love your boy very much… Do you think Kyle should be the one getting fucked instead?" I asked. This wasn't scripted but was part of the jiu jitsu move of taking the man's hangups and using them against him.

Dad's brow creased for a second then the calm returned. "No. Kyle does the fucking."

I was dripping now. I let go of my prick and stepped a little closer. I could smell the Irish Spring or whatever fucking soap he uses at the end of a hard day. "I want you to remember that, Brian," I said. "I want you to remember that Kyle does the fucking."

A part of me felt low for trying to get Dad to put out for me like this. But I remembered what the Tech Bro had said about Dad only doing what he'd want to do deep down.

My father's tranced response was automatic. "Kyle does the fucking."

I nodded. "I want you to think about that. A few times a day at least. Think about your sexy stud of a son. The executive, fucking you, seeing the love you have for him. Show your boy that you love him by giving him what he wants. And when you do, it will give you a sense of happiness and pleasure."

"Happiness and pleasure," he repeated.

"And when you feel him on top of you, his weight on top of you, you will feel safe and content."

"Safe and content."

I wasn't 100 perfectly sure if I was doing this right. Dad was zone out to be sure, but I worried he was just repeating whatever the fuck I said. So, I asked, "Why is that?"

Dad's answer had surprising clarity, as it was his normal voice speaking to me. "Because my son is a man. And men fuck, men don't get fucked."

Maybe it would take me a while to deprogram that nonsense from him, but a shallow side of me was getting turned on by the way Dad talked in such primitive, black-and-white terms about fucking.

"Good," I instructed. "Now..." It was time to return to the Protocol. "I want you to envision an empty room. An empty white room. Totally white. Blindingly white..."

"Yes..."

I moved back away from him, a few paces away.

"Good. I want you to concentrate on my voice. As I begin to count to five, you will be walking towards a door. Kyle will be there, walking with you, making sure you are taken care of."

Dad took a breath and nodded, his big chest rising and falling.

"You do not need to do this alone," I continued. "Kyle will be with you every step of the way. I’m going to count to five and once I get there, I want you see the door. When we get to the door, I’ll tell you what will happen next." Dad didn’t respond but nodded as he began to concentrate on what I was saying.

"One... you are walking forward..." Dad began to walk towards me, "two... you are reaching out to hold Kyle’s hands, he alone brings you comfort and relaxation..." Dad reached towards me and soon as my hands touched his, he held on to them with a firm grip... "three, we are walking to the door I mentioned. It’s getting closer... four, we are almost to the door... Five, we are here..."

"I can see it," Dad said softly. It's bright but I can see it." His voice was deep but excited.

"Open the door. What do you see?" I asked. The Protocol was about the implantation of a suggestion and the reinforcement of that before the session was over.

"Our bedroom," Dad replied. Again, his voice had a strange clarity. "I'm on it, on my back... and Kyle is fucking me."

I almost came then, but luckily my hand was nowhere near my cock.

"How does that make you feel, getting fucked by your sexy son?" I asked.

"I am relaxed and content… And happy. Kyle is making me happy."

"The same way you feel when you are sucking your son’s cock, worshiping it, making it shoot for you… that’s how it’ll feel when you let yourself get fucked by him… you’ll feel pleasure beyond what you could imagine."

"When he fucks me..." his voice was getting that soft drone like quality again.

One big no they told me was not to have Dad under hypnosis for too long. Especially for the first sessions. It was time to bring him back.

"Good, Brian. Close the door." I saw Dad do the motion of closing the imaginary door hesitantly, he wanted what he saw but until now, that was more of a dream than a reality.

"Think of that moment, Brian. Think how happy you were, how happy you made your son. All that matters now is that you show your love for your son. He deserves it as much as you do, to feel the pleasure only you two can give each other. Understood?"

Dad nodded. I wanted to kiss him, hug him, but I needed to bring him out, "Now, at the count of three, you will follow all my suggestions while you were under. Deep in your mind, you know that Kyle does the fucking and that to show him you love him, you have to let go and give him what he wants… what does he want?"

"To fuck me… fuck his dad…" Dad responded, biting his lip and his cock beginning to get hard.

"Yes, fucking you will give him happiness and bring you pleasure. That’s all you want, as a dad right? Bring happiness to your son?"

"Yes, I want my son to be happy…"

"And your boy wants to give you pleasure."

"Give me pleasure… my boy…"

"Yes. I’m going to count to three and you’ll wake up, not realizing you were under but following all instructions. You will not question why your son is naked and you’re not. Okay, let’s start… One.... you can feel your toes... Two.... your muscles can flex again.... Your breath getting back to normal... Three."

Dad's eyes flicked open with a suddenness that startled me.

"Fuck!" I gasped.

Dad shook out his muscles a little as he refocused on me. I saw him break into a huge smile. "Damn, buddy... looks like you couldn't wait to get me to bed, huh?" He stepped up to me and latched on to my naked muscle as he claimed a quick kiss then crouched down in front of me. Oblivious to the hypnosis he'd just undergone.

I was so primed and hard I had to pull Dad off my prick a couple of times when I was in danger of blowing too soon. And when I finally came, Dad coughed on the load, it was so heavy.

After he swallowed my load, we showered and he kept touchy feely with me, rubbing my shoulders, slapping my ass, and when we went to the living room to watch T.V., he grabbed my feet and rubbed them as he watched the highlights.

Once we went to the room, he asked if he could play with my cock again. I told him I didn’t think I had anything in me, "Come on buddy, one more go before I hit the hay."

I nodded and like a little boy on Christmas morning, he licked his lips and went down to play with his favorite toy. He sucked for almost an hour with breaks in between and when I finally shot, it was not much, but Dad happily drank it down, nevertheless.

[starry-hughes]

decorating (mat barzal)

day 13 of star’s ficmas

mat barzal x reader

Mat should have called it quits, raised a flag in surrender, faked a stomach ache. But he didn’t and now he was stuck helping you decorate for Christmas. It wasn’t that he hated decorating or the holiday, he just would rather be doing anything else besides carrying the biggest Christmas tree the store carried up to his apartment.

At the moment, he was thanking himself for buying the wagon you said would help get the groceries up to the apartment in one trip. The wagon was stacked to the brim with Christmas decorations. You wheeled it up to the floor of the apartment as Mat struggled with holding up the tree in his arms in the elevator.

He watched with adoration in his eyes, watching you meticulously place ornaments on the new Christmas tree after watching you fluff the tree for forty-five minutes. “Mat, can you help me put the star up on the tree?”

You dragged over a dining room chair and Mat was there to make sure you weren’t going to fall. “Please be careful, the last thing I want is to spend my night with you in the hospital,” Mat nervously said.

After Mat safely got you down from the chair and the star was perfectly placed on top of the tree, you moved on to your next project. You made Mat help you put fake snow on the mantle above the fireplace before you placed down the two stocking holders. “Our stockings look good together,” he said, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head as the two of you admired the two red stockings hanging, one embroidered with your initial and one embroidered with an M. “Oh!” you gasped, remembering the wreath, “we have more to decorate.”

Mat helped you perfectly hang the wreath on the door, making sure the peephole of the door was still visible, Mat liked to spy whenever he heard someone in the hallway. He placed down the new doormat. You folded a Christmas blanket over the couch. Mat eventually gave into decorating, helping you hang curtain lights on the living room windows, you said they gave the home a more Christmas feel, Mat was convinced you were slowly teaching him to use soft lighting.

At some point, Mat ordered a pizza and you hung Christmas signs on blank walls. “Help me get the table set with the new table mats!” you grinned. Mat didn’t completely understand why you needed to set the table for four people when it was always just the two of you. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to burst your bubble or make you sad as he placed down Buffalo checkered table mats and you placed down small centerpiece trees.

Tinsel was taped around doorways, just to add to the feeling of the holiday spirit and Mat let you order Christmas village pieces, claiming they would be part of your presents for the year, he gawked at the prices of tiny decorative houses. Mat put all the Christmas cards up on the fridge with magnets and you added the new Christmas tea towels to the handle of the oven.

By the end of the night, the two of you sat on the couch, your feet were in Mat’s lap, a slice of pizza in your hand and a Christmas movie on. “Do you think we need more decorations?” you pondered aloud.

“No!”

[screams-in-writing]

Wanna share w/ you the idea of Mr Puzzles turning off Reader's vacuum cleaner because it's "too loud" and he has to think about his movie ideas in peace

I was trying to answer from the reader pov and it wasn’t working, so I did 1st pov mr puzzles. He decided he wanted to be dramatic, then have cuddles and one on one attention. So this is fluff, with a lil end paragraph of possible future angst.

Silence could be a wonderful thing when one wanted to be focused on a task at hand, or it could be the worst thing in the world that was so soul-crushing one could find no focus or inspiration at all. 

It was my luck that it was the former, and I was delighted that you’d invited me over to your house to make use of your dining room table to work both on my own movie ideas, and the scripts of upcoming podcasts for you and your…coworkers/acquaintances. While I still believed these audio-based scripts could be better used in a television format, I wanted to be in your good graces after the…little incident in town, where I may have let slip my eventual plan I wanted for this charming place.

Through the movie script I was currently working on was, in fact, a rather charming little romance greatly inspired by those constantly running Hallmark movies. And as I’d informed your roommates, it was not a ‘blatant ripoff.’

(I would have to go through numerous drafts to make it so; curse those self-made critics picking apart my perfectly fine shows!)

In a compromise about my movie idea about your town, and the cafe as the centerpiece, I didn’t take any more townspeople into one of the many show settings within my mind that played out different scenarios of the script before me on the table (I may have not confessed to the latest batch of new actors but I would let them out soon, lest I be assured of kidnapping again; really, it didn’t harm anyone and made for great television and even better, I received great input of what did it didn’t work). 

But enough of that. 

Now that my perfect not-ripoff romance script was in decent shape, it was now the podcast scripts that were to be inspected. These scripts desperately needed my attention and my attention I would give them. 

I made remarks and suggestions on the margins, fixed grammatical errors, and even made some suggestions on an attached sheet of what could be used for references and who would be best to deliver the information for best reception. There were even a few lines that I came across made me experience grudging admiration. Even I had to admit to some things being left unchanged as it made it unique in its own way of delivering the information being spoken of within the topic of the podcast.

What I hadn’t realized at the time of accepting your invitation to do our own work within the house was that your work happened to be household chores while I worked my magic over these…decent scripts. I’d become aware of how those chores were split between you and your roommates. 

But must you really vacuum right now?

The noise was grating. 

The repetitiousness of the sound, shifting now and again as you moved that terrible contraction, drilled into my head with a ferocity that was slowly causing me to lose focus on the task at hand. 

What to do, what to do. 

I tapped my free hand in the table in thought before I perked up with an ‘ah-ha!’

Perfect!

I could use an excuse of having us both take a little break. Not only would that allow me to avoid having to listen to that dratted vacuum, but I’d get to spend time with you, without our focus on work and chores!

Taking a brief moment to arrange the papers on the dining room table (ensuring I’d be able to easily get back into it) I rose up out of the chair, stretching out my limbs, and pulling on what little muscle was still at my shoulders and thighs. 

Slumping in brief relief over the relaxation of those muscles attached to machinery, if a little achy, I made my way to the living room with a little hop in my step. 

And there you were, your back conveniently turned as you nudged a box out of the way to vacuum beneath it. 

Stealthily, I crept up behind you, before sweeping in with barely a sound as I wrapped my arms around your waist and carefully rested my head on yours, taking the opportunity to nuzzle with the underside of my head, careful to not press down to hard so as to not cause my neck too much discomfort, as tender as it was as of late.

“Hello, my dear!” I greeted while slyly turning you away from the vacuum while I turned it off. As I did, the noise dissipated, and wonderful silence took the place of the noise. “I think it’s time to take a break before we get too tired to discuss your possible participation it a show idea of mine.” I laid it on thick with dramatic flare, even turning you lightly to witness my face change to a sighing expression as I laid a free hand backward against my face. “And with that, I’d like to ask if you’d care to spend that beak time with me.” I was incredibly pleased by the face that you’d agreed with a shake of your head over my theatrics, but I was practically vibrating with excitement over getting to spend some quiet time with you without your coworkers or roommates around. 

“You’re always cuddling me, so I want to this time.”

I practically tripped over my own feet as I led you to the sofa, surprised yet flattered upon hearing your words. 

“Puzzles?”

“…I would like that.” I said, quieter than before. 

More genuine than I tended to allow for. 

After you sat down on the sofa on one side, I promptly sprawled my lower half out over the unoccupied part, carefully leaning back and smiling lighting up my face with what was likely several different technicolor shapes conveying this and my digital eyes no doubt closing partly when one of your arms went sprint my back while the other rested over my chest. Waiting for you to be comfortable, I carefully lay out over your lap the rest of the way, resting my head on the pillows you’d thoughtfully arranged. 

“You’re so lanky.”

Instead of a response, a static noise issued out of me when you lifted the hand resting on my chest to pet my head, teasing me by avoiding giving my antenna any attention but I was mollified when I felt your fingers slip beneath my hat to caress the usually unseen top of my head. It was embarrassing how quickly my entire body went limp as I sluggishly half-turned over to face you, while being mindful to keep my neck cushioned by the pillows, right before a particularly nice press to my casing caused my screen to fuzz out in the equivalent of eyes closing. 

This was a great idea.

No horrible vacuuming noise plaguing me, and being paid attention to. 

A win-win, in my option. 

And when there was light petting across my face, I would assume that my face allowed for a flicker of a content, multi-colored smile across the bottom of my screen. 

“I’ll make sure I clear my fingerprints off your screen before we get back to work.”

I let out a sigh of appreciation, experiencing quite mushy, complicated feelings over such attention being paid to my habits of a clean screen, due to the fact that this meant you’d been watching him closely enough to notice. 

“You’re not going to go to sleep, are you?”

“Only if you’re going to be the star of the dream.” I muttered, paying more heed to the sensations I was experiencing and not what was coming out of my mouth. Or rather, out of my speakers. 

There was a pause in your fingertips on my screen, before you resumed the touch.

I sank into the attention, appreciating the closeness to another. 

I was so lucky that I’d found someone who’d dote upon me and indulge me in what was likely a different kind of touch than one would normally think of. The fact that you’d touch me head so gently, and avoid poking into the vents on the side, made it nicer and more relaxing. More importantly, it was refreshing for you to be so tolerant and perhaps, (dare I say it?), fond of my presence, despite my past actions.

I could get used to this. 

But of course, it was unfortunately determined by powers outside my control that I wasn’t allowed to have anything nice in my life for once, as word of my misdeeds, both in town and on the world parallels to this one, began to come to light over the next few weeks.

[usafphantom2]

I stumbled upon this Lockheed A-12, #60-6940, the only surviving Blackbird M-21 drone carrier variant, mothballed at Mojave in the spring of 1991.

‘The A-12 was predecessor to the SR-71. This pile of parts was eventually restored and is currently the centerpiece of Seattle's Museum of Flight.

The A-12s and special variant M -21 with a white protective paint( spray lat) and placed outside before they were sent to museums.

Update~ It was originally posted that this M-21 was abandoned in the desert NOT TRUE

It was just placed there temporarily. It was always the intention to place all the reminding blackbirds in museums, but only after a battle.

My father writes in his unpublished book that Ben Rich and Butch Sheffield had an idea to give the SR 71s to the New York National Guard. Ben and Butch wined and dined everyone in Washington trying to save the SR 71 program. They were desperate to keep the airplanes flying. ‘’ When I offered the SR 71s to the head of the New York National Guard he was so excited he almost jumped out of the car that we were riding in.” YES, I want them” He said!

Larry Welch found out about the deal to keep the SR-71 flying and killed it. Larry was known to say this also.

The Blackbird can’t fire a gun and doesn’t carry a bomb, and I don’t want it:

’So were claims by SAC generals that the SR-71 cost $400 million annually to run. The actual cost was about $260 million.” They lied to Congress. They also said that a replacement to the SR 71 would be seen soon which was 35 years ago. I’m just telling you this to set the record straight as the memory of the history of the SR 71 program is important to me and my family.

The Chief of Staff of the Air Force General Larry Welch wanted to physically destroy every Blackbird !!

He asked the Skunk Works for a number $$ how much money would it cost to destroy them … to pick them apart piece by piece and destroy the titanium, the engines, everything in the beautiful blackbirds. He wanted it killed and dead. That is how deep his hatred was of the Blackbird program that he was rejected from. When I say blackbird, I mean all of the SR 71s, A-12s YF 12s, and the only remaining M 21 that is shown in these pictures.

Ben Rich leader of the Skunk Works sent back a message with an astronomical figure of millions of dollars to destroy just one SR-71

Reluctantly Larry said I guess it would cost too much to destroy them.

Thank you to Mike McCormick for sending me this.

Originally posted by Troy PAIVA.

Linda Sheffield Miller

@Habubrats71 via X

[thewriterg]

𝐈𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

pairing(s); earth 42!miles morales × afab!reader, civilian! miles morales × spidey!reader

summary; Miles was a really sacred thing in your life which is why you hadn't told him about your other... acquaintance with a spider suit and web slingers so the gut wrenching feeling when you couldn't save him tore your world apart, until he's there to comfort you.

word count; 1.5k+

request; Hello, I hope everything is going well with you. I'd want to request 42 earth miles × reader, in which the reader is having an awful nightmare while sleeping in miles' bed, and they are sobbing and basically having a horrible nightmare, and miles is there to console them, wake them up, and make them feel better.

warning(s); Hurt/Comfort, mention of canon events, tears, mention of blood and violence, character death, miles isn't the prowler here, pet names, rusty Spanish, and language

A/n; —GIFs; @kombuuuu & @lekeyeh24– so we have a lot to talk about 🧍🏽

Dust, ruble, and debris is all over the Brooklyn bridge a centerpiece of the road absent causing a g a p leaving people stuck on either side but one side was worse than the other as you swung the last group of people that you had struggled saving off a falling bus on the safer side of the bridge screams and sound of people scurrying away doesn’t over power the ringing in your ears

You swing over the bridge with only your right hand your left web shooter being damaged while you clutch your side a deep graze causing blood to slowly seep out of the wound that had also cut through your not only skin abs tissue but your suit

Even though everything was ‘cleared’ as you circled the bridge for the fifth time your spider senses still tingled directing you to the same pile of ruble until you finally swung down next to it circling it at a distance slowly until you stopped abruptly a toffee colored hand staring back at you but what stuck out the most was the bracelet on it

The bracelet you had woven your boyfriend as one of his gifts for his birthday,

It took you too long to finally approach the pile your breath hitched in your throat maybe someone had woven the same pattern and used the same shades of purple you had maybe just maybe

You quickly pushed away the broken bits and chunks of concrete a small hiss dying in your throat as your wounds on your side protested your arms moving and stretching as harshly as they did finally enough of the fallen concrete was out of the way and you world stopped

You couldn’t breathe

Your ears rang

And your head spun

You dropped to your knees next to Miles a cry resting on your lips drowned out by the bustling streets of New York dragging his limp body into your arms his head pressed in your shoulder as you shook his after frame flinging off your mask with no regard for it

“Miles come on, get up please. Please get up baby, your my baby and I need you to get up okay?” You sniffled rambling to no active ears but your own as you gently laid him down on the cold concrete pressing down on his chest repeatedly trying, begging for that 100 to 120 rate the sickening crack of now broken ribs taking you out of your trance your breath caught in your throat

His usual neat twin braids were now shriveled and carried dust and debris from the rubble, The usual ironed clean clothes were now wrinkled and dirty with various cuts through them, and his usual smooth skin was jagged and bruised along with a cut seeping blood on his forehead and what stood out the most was his lifeless eyes staring back at you those beautiful eyes different shades of brown that you always adored held no life to them

“I swear I was going to tell you today” How were you going to tell Rio someone who represented a mother to you that her son found her husband in a place far from here? How were you going to sit through classes each day with an empty desk next to you, a reminder that nothing would fill the space? How were you going to hold the city up when you couldn’t even stand?

“I’m sorry I— I’m sorry I couldn’t save you Miles” You sobbed silently leaning down to press a delicate kiss on his forehead rocking you both back and forth your shoulders raking before a scream overcame your being your couldn’t shake the feeling of your chest tightening, your throat closing, and constant tears running down the scheduled tracks of previous ones your voices broken and hoarse when you whispered

“I just need five more minutes, please just five minutes”

💌💌💌💌

“Come on y/n, wake up mi vida” Miles shook you gently with an underlying firmness behind his movements as you sniffled and whimpered in your sleep his voice a bit rougher from his own unconscious state until your eye’s finally blinked open when your gaze fell on him you immediately through yourself onto him your arms wrapped around his neck tightly as you sniffled into his shoulder the tears seeping through his shirt

“Cálmate mami, I’m right here” The sleep slipped from his voice while he wrapped his arms around your waist as your breathing stuttered and slowed in your throat which caused him to shift taking your arms and pushing you back into his line of sight

“Come on breathe, uh uh come on” His hand was on your chin when your eyes were darted around to anything but him he took your palm resting it on his chest taking big deep breaths so you could feel the prominent of his heart beat which causes a snowball effect for you to follow your breathing not totally normal yet you got more air to your lungs so he would take it

Miles brought you back to your chest lying his chin against your forehead after pressing a chaste kiss to it the sound of your continuous sniffles and his the whispers of his sweet nothings

“I wish you would tell me what’s going on with you” He muttered into your hairline he hated that things like this kept happening and you wouldn’t tell him the exact reason why just feeding him pieces of crust to keep him quiet at the time

When you guys were in your beginning years of high school yeah you would run a little late here and there or he would have to cover for you when you left in the middle of class he still does or when you needed him to stitch a concerning gash on your side tilted to your back that you couldn’t quite reach or when he’s caught you wincing when you had to reach for something farther than eye level

He however sighed when you kept muttering things like

“I’m sorry Miles”

“I’ll do better next time”

“i promise I’ll save you”

With one final breath he flipped the two of you over you now below him while he lied his head on your chest grounding you with the pressure with the occasional jerk you body gave trying to regulate your breathing

“If I tell you something… you can’t look at me differently okay?” Miles looked up at you your first coherent sentence since you’d woken up you didn’t look at him opting for the ceiling with that numb look in your eyes he hated

“Talk to me princesa” His hand inched closer to yours his thumb brushing over your knuckles your breath hitched in your throat discarding the thought of introducing your second identity for the sake of your own selfish pleasure as you sat up causing him to do the same with a concerned look on his face as you got off his bed searching for something

“We have to break up, I can’t do this anymore” You said pulling on your shoes your senses overloaded buzzing even though there was no danger the definition of overstimulation

“¿Y/n De qué estás hablando? You’re not thinkin’ right just sit down and talk to me” Miles demanded blocking your exit to the window an alert window on his face as you breathed heavily the room was too stuffy and you couldn’t breathe

“Miles, get out of my way” you muttered

“No not until you talk to me, Y/n you can’t keep doing this shit man” He stressed a palm covering his forehead massaging at his temples

“Okay then I won’t” You started your eyes holding no life as images of him dead in you arm flashed through your mind something that would never go away you then started thinking about Miguel you hated him and the paranormal thoughts he put in you mind about “canon events” and you hated how right he was

“Being around you makes my head spin in the worst, overstimulating, way possible” You stared at him nothingness in your eyes as you lied through your teeth

What did he do wrong? Was he too overbearing? Maybe he shouldn’t have pestered you about your secrecy, but he just cares about you

“I can’t stand this, I can’t stand it, and I can’t stand you” You muttered swallowing the lump that formed in your throat keeping your voice steady

The fear that your love for him was dying rumbled in his chest as he stiffly stood never breaking eye contact

“I don’t love you anymore Miles” That was the last lie that slipped from your lips falling to the floor like a feather with the others

This was it, he wasn’t enough, you hated him, your love for him was dead.

Miles didn’t feel you slip past him, he didn’t hear his window shut, he didn’t hear you jumping from the fire escape with a ‘thwip’ of your webs, he just heard the repeating of you words ringing through his mind as he stared at them on the floor grouped together wispy and light looking like feathers even though they were dark and heavy like bricks

“I won’t”

“I can’t stand you”

“you make my head spin”

“I don’t love you anymore”

💌💌💌💌

Hey… hey, how y’all doing 🤧

Okay so basically I got shadowbanned on tumblr for like three ish weeks my fics weren’t popping up in tags I put them under when you searched my name it wouldn’t come up it was just a whole ordeal

But with back and forth emails, countless mental breakdowns we’re back now‼️

Also please stop writing our baby as a thug all the time 😭

he has feelings let him be a cry baby every once and a while

[s0apmactav1sh]

Its been a hot minute friends. I am currently going through a shitty ass time but here have me waffling about my fic im trying to write.

(This isnt an update, i just need to qrite something before i disappear for a bit over shit thats happening)

Crawler, the nickname given to you by the 141 after they got used to you casually crawling around the ceiling so it just came naturally to them to start teasing you with the nickname whenever the found you having a fit and giving out about the recruits while sitting upside down on the roof.

"Ya alright there crawler?" With how usually it was to find you in the prediment you were in right now it was no secret you didnt like the recruits you dealt with on the daily "No! How do they even survive on missions. My gods-" Cue Gaz listening for an entire hour as you ramble on about every mistake made by each individule recruit, names given and all. Once you stop your out of breathe and glaring at gaz because of the stupid grin hes been giving you. "What are you smiling at?" "You."

Spiderman kisses. No matter what no matter where. Could be in a random hallway, an office the debriefing room or any of there rooms at this point with how much time you spend with them. Soaps always the one looking for them no matter if you agrue that your nothing like a spider and he is being silly. But still you give in to the puppy eyes the werewolf man gives you. Your quite the sucker for them.

"No way am I hanging upside down because you want a kiss!" The way soaps ears droop and his tail lessens in wagging has you feeling guilty but what truly sticks it to you is the puppy dog eyes he now has to try convince you. Lips so prettily pouted and everything and who are you to deny that face. Even if you huff and groan as you geting yourself situated and crouched on the ceiling. So he can kiss you like in the spiderman movies. And as soon as its over Soaps rushing off to gaz to bloat over what you did.

Ghost somehow being the one to discover the ear bursting screech you let out when anyones hand even remotely brushes off your tail. He didnt even mean to purposely do it and the wraith was so thankful he was already dead bc the screech you had let out when his fingers lightly touched off the tip was enough to have him wincing and covering his ears to protect them.

It was a pure accident. He didnt even realise he had come in contact with your tail until you let out a horrifyingly loud screech that had him covering his ears. "Jesus. What on gods green earth was that. Are you some sort of banshee aswell." Before he can even get an answer out of you, your gone having bolted for the door as soon as that sound left your lips. What an awkward interaction that leaves you both walking on eggshells around each other.

Price deciding with all the time youve been around and the fact that his boys seem to trust you he adds you to his horde. But in a way that you dont realise that you apart of it. It starts off with him patting your back after missions amd saying goodjob, even if you were just look out. Then it moves on to him giving you random things, youve been eyeing up a new pair of gloves? Hes bought them and left them outside your door the next morning before you woke up. Its not until he leaves one of his scales on top of your desk that your realise what was happen but still you kinda oblivious so you just pocket the scale and run your fingers over it for good luck before every mission.

Ever since the others had become more comfortable and accepting with you on the team Price had bene thinking of making you a part of his horde. You'd be just like his boys, the centerpiece the thing he cared about the most. So whenever he saw your dule eyes light up at the sight of new gloves or a weapon he knew the way of winning you over was sneakily gifting you little presents. Without your gruad up so much it was easier to tell that you were a bit oblivious. Certain signs and things not processing in your mind. So when he leaves the scale down hes not sure if youll even see it but sure enough he manages to walk past your room, stopping when he see you slip the scale into the pocket of your gear before walking away with a goofy smile on his face. You may not know that your now his, but hey you will soon enough when the rest of the boys give you something of significance to them.

-

Silly rambles. Ok ima go take my meds and cry myself to sleep I might bring back king!price at like 4 am tonight.

[repairgirl]

14. happy birthday, repair boy

word count: 2.6k

t/w: cursing, lots of angst

You put the last of the decorations up, taking a breath of relief for the first time in forever. The gang had offered to set up early with you, and of course, being the wonderful mom and hostess she is, Sally Jackson was more than eager to help around and lend her house as the party spot. Orange and black streamers and balloons hung from the ceiling, both of Leo’s favorite colors. The blue cake Percy had made was the centerpiece of the perfectly made table, with “Happy Birthday Repair Boy” in Piper’s messy handwriting written on it. Everything was perfect, except for one thing— your rocky “friendship” with Leo.

“How much longer till he’s here?” Piper asked. “He just thinks you guys are having a boys' game night, right?”

Percy nodded. “He’s only expecting Jason, Frank, and I. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

“Ten minutes,” Jason chimed in. “He just texted the group chat.”

“Ten minutes,” you repeated, mumbling under your breath. Ten minutes to pull yourself together, act normal, and put on a face for everyone.

The only person who seemed to notice your anxiety was Annabeth.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, resting a hand on your back and leading you over to where Percy was sitting on the couch.

“I’m fine. Just worried,” you sighed. “How are we supposed to be normal in front of fifty people when we can’t even be normal when we’re alone?”

“I promise it will be okay,” she reassured. “You don’t have to put on a face for me, or anyone. Speak your truth, and if things get too hard, we can just escape to Percy’s room. Right, Percy?”

Percy grinned. “Of course, y/n. And if he does something to hurt you again, I’ll drown him next time he takes a bath.”

Annabeth smacked him. “Don’t say that!”

You smiled for the first time since getting to the party. “Thanks, Mom and Dad.”

Percy ruffled your hair, and Annabeth wrapped you in a side hug. “Of course, babe.”

Just then, a ring was heard at the doorbell.

“Quick, everyone hide!” Piper yelled. People scrambled, and Sally hit the lights as she opened the door for Leo.

“Um, hello?” he said, walking into the apartment.

“SURPRISE!” everyone shouted at once, turning the lights on to reveal the amazing setup. “Happy birthday, Leo!”

Leo put his hands to his heart dramatically. “Wow, all of this, just for little old me?”

“Unfortunately, we do care about you,” Frank replied, rolling his eyes. Hazel just giggled.

“Of course you do, of course you do,” Leo encouraged. “And who is responsible for all of this?”

Annabeth pushed you towards him. “Y/n is. She planned the whole thing and decorated the whole place. We just assisted.”

You stuck your tongue out back at her. “Give yourself and Percy some credit, Wise Girl. It wasn’t all me.”

“Wow, really?” Leo said, taking a step towards you, and looking you in the eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. “Thank you, y/n. I mean really, thank you. This is incredible.”

You smiled and wrapped him in a hug, finally feeling okay. His warm embrace brought a familiar red blush to your face, an embrace you haven’t felt in so long. A wash of relief filled your body and you never wanted to let go.

Leo pulled away and locked eyes with you. “I’m sorry for being weird. There’s just been so much stuff going on, and I’ve been really confused about my feelings lately, and I’m working on building a new project, which is stressing me out, and—”

Cutting him off, you hugged him again, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your head in his shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

“Shut up, repair boy. It’s okay.”

“It’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, and everyone cheered.

“Fucking FINALLY!” Piper yelled. “Now, let’s get this party started!”

Being in a whole new headspace, the party was a blast. Piper blared Top 40’s hits and set up pong in the kitchen while the boys really did play video games in the Percy’s room. In addition to the seven, Nico, Will, and Rachel, just about everyone showed up. Reyna, Thalia, Nyssa, Connor, Travis, and even Grover made a surprise guest appearance from his world environmentalist tour. Percy was thrilled and tackled him in a hug upon his arrival (Sally, unphased, knew all along).

The night got even better when you were sitting on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through TikTok when Leo joined you, plopping right next to you.

“Hey mamacita,” he said, casually putting his arm around you and filling you with that oh-so-familiar butterfly feeling. Everything was finally as it should be. But surely, things couldn’t be that easy. Could they?

You smiled, your nose crinkling. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, just the fact that my best friend in the whole world hasn’t personally wished me a happy birthday yet. I am eighteen now, you know. Can do legal adult things like…uh… sending you to jail for this.”

You playfully punched him in the arm. “Eighteen is when you can go to jail, not send people to jail, you dork. And, I planned and threw this whole thing, just for you. Is that not ‘happy birthday’ enough?”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “Nuh-uh. Not until I explicitly hear it from you and you only.”

“Happy birthday, drama queen,” you replied, smiling. “But if you had been patient enough to wait, you would have heard me say it upon giving you your gift.”

His ears immediately perked up. “Gift?”

“Yes, stupid.”

He inched closer to you, his face a mere inches from yours. “Why can’t I have it now?”

You pushed him away by the chest, giggling. Doing that delicate dance of friends-but-not, just like you used to.

“You are literally two years old. I’m giving it to you along with everyone else, later. Promise it’s worth it.”

He sighed, defeated. “Whatever you say.”

Just then, you heard a noise behind you.

“Psst!”

You glanced around, seeing where it came from. Across the room was Piper, frantically gesturing for you to go over to her. You rolled your eyes in fake annoyance.

“Looks like I’m being paged. Catch you later, repair boy,” you said, heading over to her. “Hey, Pipes. What’s up?”

She linked her arm with yours. “Come play pong with the girls and me.”

She led you over to the pong table, where Annabeth and Hazel were already set up.

“Us versus them,” Piper explained. “First to get plastered beyond comprehension wins.”

You grinned. “I’m in.”

The game started, with Hazel missing and Annabeth landing her ball perfectly in you and Piper’s cup, pumping her fist in the air. The game progressed, and after ten minutes or so, everyone was just tipsy enough to be giggly and bad at the game. But for the group of girls that consisted of your best friends, something seemed off.

“We’re awfully quiet,” you retorted. “What, am I in trouble or something?”

Hazel sighed, putting both of her hands on the table in a serious manner and locking eyes with you. “Y/N. You know we love you very much, right?”

Almost immediately, you sobered up. “Oh god. This isn’t an intervention, is it?”

“No, no, no!” Annabeth clarified. “Nothing like that. It’s just, um,”

“Were you really planning on forgiving him that quickly?” Piper blurted.

You threw your hands up in frustration. “I thought you guys were JUST telling me to try and move on and not let things get to me!”

“We were!” Hazel replied. “It’s just that things just seemed to happen a little quick. That’s all.”

She came over to put a hand on your shoulder. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Girls, I am TOTALLY fine,” you insisted. “I’m not falling again. We’re just friends. Like we used to be.”

Annabeth and Hazel exchanged nervous glances, but Piper seemed satisfied with that answer. She squeezed your hand.

“Okay, babes. Whatever you say.”

Just then, Percy walked over from his bedroom where the boys were playing Mario Kart, Jason, Nico, Will, Leo, Grover, and the Stolls trailing behind him like baby ducklings. He clapped his hands obnoxiously. “Presents time! Circle ‘round.”

You and the girls giggled as you walked over, making a circle on the fuzzy blue rug in the living room like you were all in elementary school again. Everyone grabbed their gifts and got situated, Leo squishing on one side of you and Piper on the other.

Leo rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “It’s about time! I want Y/N’s first,” he stated.

“No way,” Piper retorted. “Save the best for last.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you back.”

The night progressed as Leo opened gifts from everyone, perfectly reflecting their friendships. Percy got him a waterproof pocket multi-tool, Piper got him a shirt with a ‘your mom’ joke on it (which Leo loved and laughed hysterically at, don’t worry), Annabeth got him a giant architect’s book of blueprints for projects they could work on together, Frank got him mints that supposedly lower your voice (no surprise there), and so on. Finally, it was your turn.

You were feeling a thousand different emotions— anxiety, excitement, nervousness, anticipation, fear, and so many more. Trying not to let any of these emotions show, you handed him your bag, drunkenly rambling about the present inside.

“So, I know I’m not as good at making things as you, but I really did try, and you might think it’s stupid, and—”

He cut you off, flashing that warm smile that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter every time. “Y’n. I’m sure it’s perfect. Nothing to worry about.”

Your shoulders sagged and you sighed in relief, but the relief was only temporary. Right as his hand was on the first bit of wrapping paper, ready to grab and open it, a ring was heard at the door.

Percy frowned, getting up to answer it. “We weren’t expecting anyone else. Give me a second,” he said.

Before opening the door he glanced in the peephole, and upon lifting his head away from the door, he looked sick. His face was almost as green as Poseidon’s seaweed castle.

Anxiously, he waved Annabeth over. She peered into the peephole the same way he did, looking equally as nauseous afterward.

The two whisper-shouted nervously, causing you to hear mumbles of “What the hell are we supposed to do?”, and, “We can’t just leave her there, can we?”

Piper and Annabeth locked eyes, and you could tell a silent understanding passed between them. You felt like everyone in the room knew who was at the door except for you.

Annabeth sighed. “Just open it, Percy. What else can we do?”

Nothing on earth could have prepared you for who was at the door. There she was, wearing a beautiful white gown that was way too dressy for the event, her silky caramel hair pulled back into a braided bun. And worst of all, she was carrying the perfect gift: a stuffed animal replica of Festus. Why hadn’t you thought of that?

All of your worst insecurities encapsulated into a single person: Calypso.

Your jaw dropped to the floor.

Before anyone could say anything, she made her grand entrance.

“Surprise! I’ve come to celebrate my favorite boy’s birthday!” she shouted.

Leo immediately shot up. “Calypso, w-what are you doing here?”

She smiled an evil smirk. “I told you I’d be in town, didn’t I? How could I resist saying hi to you? I just want to make up, repair boy!”

“How’d you know where we were?” Percy growled.

She batted her eyelashes, attempting to put a spell on him. It didn’t work. “Don’t you remember, Perce? Me and you, we used to have a thing. Back in the day. Before she came along,” she sneered, giving Annabeth a nasty look.

Percy had to physically restrain her. “Oh, it is on.”

“Calypso, no one wants you here,” Frank chimed in. “Just leave.”

You stood up, fuming and gaining a sense of self-respect for the first time since she arrived.

“Are we sure no one wants her here?” you said, stepping towards Leo, ready to let everything loose you had been holding in for the past few weeks.

Hazel tugged at your shirt, looking up at you anxiously. “Y/N, you’re drunk. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

You pushed her hand away. “No, Hazel. I need to do this.”

Leo nervously glanced at you. “What do you mean, y/n?” he said, stuttering his words.

“Clearly, you’d want her here at least a little bit, considering you’ve been talking to her and entertaining her behind my back. For weeks, now.”

Everyone gasped, and Piper’s hand loudly flew over her mouth.

“How did you know that?” Leo asked, inching away from you.

You stepped closer to him. “Oh, so it is true. So even when I’ve done everything for you, done nothing but be there and support you always, and take you back a million times, you’d still choose her over me? Really?”

“Y/N, it’s not like that, really, I promise, I told her no, it’s—”

“Oh, and I can’t forget,” you said, glancing at Percy and Annabeth, “I had to find out from other people. Friends who actually care about me. Since my so-called best friend couldn’t be bothered to.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “Percy? Really? C’mon, man!”

Percy put his hands up in defense. “If two of my friends are fighting, I’m always going to be on the side of the friend that’s being less shitty.”

Annabeth nodded in agreement. “And for all of the emotional damage you’ve caused her, it’s pretty clear to see who’s the shitty one.”

Leo put his head in his hands. From the doorway, Calypso giggled, enjoying all the chaos she had just caused. You had forgotten she was even there.

You walked over to her. “And don’t even get me started on you,” you growled. “Do you really think you can just march back into his life like no time has passed? Where were you when he was crying to us every day of spring break, heartbroken over your sorry ass? And now you show your face for the first time in months on his fucking birthday? Has anyone ever told you no in your entire life?”

Her face turned pale, but her fear was only temporary, and she regained her arrogant confidence within a matter of seconds.

“Of course I can do whatever I want,” she claimed. “And I’ll prove it right now. So Leo, do us a favor and make this easy for all of us and choose, in front of everyone: me, or her?”

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. No one dared make a noise, for fear of getting caught in the crossfire.

Leo’s eyes darted between the two of you, unable to say a word. “I—”

“Save it,” you said, grabbing your bag and the gift with it and getting ready to go. “I’m done hearing your sorry excuses. Because right now, Leo Valdez, you and I are done.”

With that, you ran out the door and into the apartment hallway, ignoring Piper, Hazel, and Annabeth’s cries asking you to wait. You blared music in your ears, muting your notifications getting on the nearest train, and doing whatever possible to get home as quickly as possible. As soon as you were in your cozy apartment, you collapsed on your bed, alone for the first time in forever.

And then you cried.

yours truly || leo valdez x fem!reader smau

a/n: and there it is!! i know this chapter is lowkey corny and SO cinematic but I couldn’t help doing so for the big buildup. i hope you enjoy!!!

masterlist < previous > next

leo taglist: @slytherindaughterofposeidon0​ @persephil​ @mmmelanie-blog1​ @blue-violin​ @goldengoddess​ @dee-zbignuts​ @animes-trash​ @vintagebitc @nottherealslimshady​ @vermilioneyess​

yours truly taglist: @itsnottilly​ @togethcr @katrin-okay​ @officialfictionalwreck​ @sunshineandshadowss​ @the-swageyama-tobiyolo​ @lilredpanda29​ @goldengoddess​ @dee-zbignuts​ @animes-trash​ @toffytastee @marshmallow12435​ @dont-get-upset​ @cellias​ @breadbrobin​ @didi073 @haox​ @broadwayismydrug​ @burrito-fight​

[mossfeathers]

A Collection - A TMA + Secret Life AU Fic. 1.8k words. Scar as the statement-giver and Grian as the Archivist. [Additional notes, ao3 link, and other credits here]

[???]

Statement of…?

[?]

Goo- Oh, uh, my initials are G.T.W. but I go by Scar. Scar G.T.W.

[???]

Ok, Statement of Mr. Scar G.T.W. regarding the disappearance of his street for a few days. Statement taken direct from subject, third of November, twenty twenty-three. Audio recording by Grian H, the Archivist. Statement begins.

[SCAR]

Thank you! So, geez, I guess it started on what had been the thirty-eth? I collect figures, specifically old-timey houses. Not! Dollhouses, and I’m currently in the middle of organizing a wild west themed diarri-diarom-diamet- uh, display. In the middle, the giant centerpiece of it all, is a courthouse. Some antique dealer gave it to me pretty cheap, didn’t catch his name though. It was pretty shady, like some real back-of-a-dark-alleyway stuff. Came with a little folded up paper, too. I figured it was some sort of, I dunno, verification? Looking back on it, I should have known something was off. I was just so excited to get this new piece, y’know? It was gorgeous, these tiny rough stone pebbles that made pillars looking like something straight from Greece, some amayzin’ gemstones set in the front in these absolutely brilliant, wait, was that British sounding? I sound like you! [chuckle] But yeah, the crystals were green, yellow, and red. Something about the way that red one looked though, it felt off. It didn’t have anything to do with what happened to me, though. I don’t know why I brought that up. Huh. So there I was, sorting out my little itty bitty houses and stores around this big ol’ courthouse, my cat wandering around somewhere, and I remember the piece of paper! I thought I left it in a coat, obviously, but when I went to check for it, it was already in my pants pocket! So I thought, well that’s weird, but I figured I had worn the same pair of pants a few times over and just never took it out. So I unfold it, and turns out it’s a little pamphlet! About the size of my hand and all yellowed and worn and at least a century old with a big crease down the middle from being folded in half. I left it, alongside the courthouse, with your people up at the front, figured you might want to check it out or exercise it or something. Anyways, I looked at the front and tried to read the title. It was all faded, but I think it said “Care Manual for Unique Antiques”? There were more words below it, but I couldn’t read them. Inside the cover there was a stamp of a library, which struck me as odd. I got really panicked for a second, thinking I had accidentally stolen a library book. But I realized, hey, I bought it and I didn’t know of any libraries going by the name of Joe Hills anywhere around so I was probably off the hook, scott-free. So I start reading it. It wasn’t long, maybe 8 pages total? The font was weird, and the images were sort of wonky-looking, like the cups and spoons being shown couldn’t actually exist. I can’t describe it, but the whole thing felt so off. And there was nothing super weird about the text itself, just about the story behind them and the material sources and stuff like that, but once I reached the page that had my little courthouse on it, and started to read about the type of rock used, something in my room just changed. I can’t describe it, but a shiver went through my whole body and I suddenly felt a pit of some type of fear in my gut. I guess I should mention two very important things. One, I had figurines of people in that town. And two, I don’t live in the middle of nowhere. It’s gonna sound like it when I describe this to you, but I mean that I live at the end of a street. The houses are a bit far apart, and I didn’t know anyone around where I lived, and I felt like I was a million miles away from anybody else sometimes, but I mean this, there were houses there before.

So of course, I finish the page about the deep caves these little gemstones were mined from. Had a lot on how echo-ey and suffocating they are, and how isolated they were when the miners were down there, which felt like a really strange thing to put in a paper on a figurine but who was I to judge? So I turn back to the table, right, and the people were gone from the set! Instantly I think of Jellie- oh, Jellie’s my cat, by the way, and how she probably just stole them for a bit, so I shrug it off. They’re not the main focus of the thingy anyways! The courthouse is just sitting there, and I swear the green gem was glowing or something. But that’s impossible, and I probably was just so freaked out I made that up. And I get the sudden urge to get some fresh air. It just felt so suffocatingly empty out of nowhere so I went to the door as fast as I could. Biggest mistake of my life, I tell ya. I throw it open and there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, there was grass, maybe, and I thought I could see some trees, but it was just fog. And no houses. I had neighbors! I didn’t know any of their names, and I still don’t, but there were houses and people and lawns and a street and there just weren’t anymore. I never really was afraid of loneliness before, but I just liked the solitude. Not anymore. So of course I grab my phone from my other pocket, and it’s completely dead. It hadn’t been a few minutes ago. I figured the power had gone out, too, so I started to look around at the savannah in front of me. The grass was dead and pale and the few trees I could make out weren’t any I had seen in the neighborhood before. I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean. A desert. It was just so foggy, the mist ate up my feet and started to pick apart my porch, and I think I had a sudden realization that if I didn’t get back inside and lock the door right away, that house wasn’t going to exist for much longer either. So I slammed the door behind me. It was a long time before I moved from the corner of my room. It was so terrible, being alone for that long. You’d think I wouldn’t be all that bothered by it, but when there’s only the sounds of your own breathing and creaking of the floorboards under your weight, it gets to you, man. I was scared. At some point I realized I hadn’t seen Jellie in a while, but I think I was just so overwhelmed with the loneliness it just kinda melted away. I don’t know what stopped it, in the end. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The sun just started shining through my curtains and I cried. For a long time, actually. Don’t tell anyone, though.

I heard a familiar whreeep [Scar imitating a cat purr poorly] outside the door, and I nearly jabbed my cane through the drywall in shock. I assumed everyone was, y’know, dead? I mean, everything around you disappears for goodness knows how long, what else was I gonna think? So there Jellie was, and she looked fine! Not even upset that I had missed some meals. And that really struck me as odd because she is just the pickiest little cat. Oh, I want some food now and oh, I want outside time now and oh, I’m tired of being outside and oh why won’t anyone cuddle me and- ok I’m getting sidetracked here. So, she would usually be upset if I had missed a meal. But she wasn’t! Now I was wondering what the HECK happened to all the people who disappeared. And I realize I hadn’t even checked outside yet! So I get to the door and throw it open and there’s the neighborhood! The houses and cars are all there and I think there might’ve even been some people taking dogs for walks? Point is, everyone was back. I bet I looked absolutely insane, some random guy with eyebags and a cane staring at the street. I didn’t know what to do with myself, after that. I tried to burn the paper, obviously, but it didn’t light. I checked a calendar, too, and apparently 4 days had passed, because it was November second! Yesterday, actually. After I got myself all together and wasn’t shaking as much, I drove right on over here to give a statement! Just, I know someone who gave one and figured it fit right on in here! Apparently really helped to talk it out, too. I’m moving, by the way. Just started looking for a new house. I can’t stand to look at the walls of my room any longer. So, that’s my story! Pretty wild, huh? Do I just… stop talking?

[GRIAN]

Statement ends.

[click]

[click]

[GRIAN]

I had some assistants do a bit of research into this case, obviously. Scar left his address with us and all of the residential details seem to match up. He does live at the end of a road, Sandshore Lane, and listing websites show he has just put the house up for sale. No reason was posted as to why, and the price is shockingly low. This really surprises me, I know Scar from a few business deals years ago and he’s not one to miss out on money. I’m inclined to believe him just for that. He did drop off both of the items mentioned at the front desk, and I believe those are still firmly in artifact storage. Not particularly interested in giving that pamphlet a read, to be frank. Not in the mood to be isolated from all other life today. We tried to talk with a few of his neighbors, but nobody wanted to tell us where they were during their week. Rude. I might continue to pry just in case we see any similar incidents appearing later, but for now I think it’s best to leave this one. No reason to explore a follow-up, so that wraps this case up nice and neat. I’m concerned about the appearance of a library book and artifact link, I’ve not seen many of those before and it might be a good idea for me to rustle around in the Archives to see if there are any others that connect to this, especially relating to the same pamphlet. End recording.

[click]

[tropes-and-tales]

Hiiiii! I would like to request <<person b trying to cook person a's fav dish>> with Max Lord please. I can see that flashback scene in WW84 with his business Blacc Gold Cooperative, trying to make everything perfect. Get well soon! Thanks so much!!

A rare Max Lord ask in the inbox!

Maxwell Lord knows he’s worthless.

He hides those feelings underneath a glib façade, a blustering bravado.  He talks a good game.  He schmoozes with the best of them.  And yet, when he goes to sleep each night, he knows that he’s nobody special.  He’s nobody of substance; he’s just an empty shell in a slick suit.

And if he was nobody before the Dreamstone, before Black Gold went bankrupt, then what is he now?  

He’s less than nobody now.

He lives in a shitty apartment in Baltimore, and he works a shitty job in a grey cubicle.  He sees his son every other weekend.  His nice cars, his private plane, his fancy suits and giant mansion?  All gone.  

Despite it all, he found you:  his neighbor in his shitty apartment complex, a sweet, gorgeous woman who teaches at the nearby university.  You know who he is, what he’s done…and you still seem to like him.  You haven’t broken up with him yet.

Which is why he’s struggling right now.  It’s your birthday, and the old Max would have taken you on a shopping trip in New York, or flown you to Paris, or taken you out to the most exclusive restaurant on the eastern seaboard.  New Max doesn’t have that option, so he tries his best and plans an entire evening in.

The plan?  Cook your favorite meal.  Use your favorite flowers as a centerpiece.  Open a bottle of your favorite wine.  Then watch your favorite movie on VHS before taking you to bed.  It’s all supposed to be a surprise, but when you walk through the door that evening, the plan is in shambles.

Your favorite meal is a charred mess smoking in the sink.  Your favorite flowers—wildflowers he picked along the river—are limp and already shedding pedals.  He punched through the cork in your wine and ruined it.  And Blockbuster was out of their only copy of “All About Eve.”

When you walk through the door that evening, you find Max sitting on the floor of your kitchen, his head in his hands.

He waits for you to break up with him.  He waits for the words—stupid, worthless—to fall from your mouth the way they’ve fallen from everyone else’s mouths.  He waits for cruel laughter at his pitiful attempt to make your birthday special despite having no money, no talent.  It’s just like those pathetic early days with Black Gold, how hopeful and naïve he’d been, how stupid—

“This seat taken?” you ask quietly, and you don’t wait for him to respond before you sink down onto the linoleum beside him.  

“Rough day?” you ask, and your voice is still quiet, but you’re right beside him.  A beat later and he feels it—your hand brushing his hair away from his face, then a gentle press of your lips to his temple.  Then you settle your head against his shoulder and just…sit.  You just sit with him, neither of you speaking for a long moment.

“Just wanted to make it special for you,” he finally says, and his voice is rough with emotion.  Frustration. Sadness.  Everything bubbling up at once, everything he’s pushed down…it’s all threatening to come out now.

“Who says it isn’t special?”

He scoffs, gestures helplessly around you.  

“You know, my last boyfriend never even thought to make me dinner for my birthday.  So, if I say it’s the thought that counts…that’s the truth,” you tell him.

“The thought means nothing,” he snaps.  “It’s action, results…thoughts are worthless.”

This should make you break up with him too:  him getting snippy and edging against an argument.  But you don’t rise to the bait.  You settle your head against his shoulder again, and you tell him a story about your childhood, how your mother had been in the hospital for your eighth birthday, how your father was away for work.  How it seemed that no one remembered your special day until a girl in your neighborhood—older than you, far cooler than you—saw you crying on your front porch.

“She was a high schooler,” you explain softly.  “Literally the coolest girl in the neighborhood.  She dressed like Stevie Nicks and had a voice like Blondie.  I was just a little dork that no one noticed, but she did.  She was driving past in her beat-to-shit Beetle and saw me sitting alone and crying, and you know what she did?”

“What?”

“She asked me what was wrong, and when I told her, she drove away.”

Max scoffs again.  That sounds right to him.  The world is a cruel place.

“And then ten minutes later, she came back,” you continue.  “She went to Dairy Queen and got me a banana split.  Remember those giant banana splits they used to make?  She bought one and sat on my porch and we ate it together.  She didn’t have a candle, so she held up her lighter and made me blow it out.”

“That’s really sweet,” he tells you, begrudgingly.

You shift your head from his shoulder and you reach out, grip his chin lightly.  You turn his face and make him look at you.

“It’s the thought that counts, Max,” you say, and your voice is more stern now.  “Being seen?  Being remembered?  That means more than any gift or whatever is smoldering right now in the sink.” 

“It’s a soufflé.  Or was.”  As bad as he feels, he can’t help but smile at you.

You roll your eyes.  “Why on earth would you try to bake me a soufflé?  You can barely boil water.”

“I thought—” he starts, and then he catches himself, realizes what he’s saying.  You catch it too, and you grin back at him.

“See?  You thought of me.  You see me.  That’s all I need from you.”

He wants to say that you deserve so much more—diamonds and designer dresses and expensive purses and luxurious trips to exotic locales—but you don’t let him reply.  You lean forward and kiss him, and the feeling of your mouth on his does what it always does:  it pushes the anxious thoughts away, makes the self-doubt melt under the ardor with which you kiss him.

“Now c’mon,” you say once you break away from him.  You stand up and offer your hand, and you help him stand too.  “There’s a Dairy Queen three blocks from here.  You’re buying me a banana split, and you’re gonna eat the pineapple bits because I hate pineapple.”

[abandoned-anemoia]

SKZ and their Christmas Clichés/Traditions

☯ Pairing: SKZ x GN!reader ☯ Genre: fluff ☯ Warnings: food ☯ A/N: I hate how short Minho’s is :( Please Let me know if I need to add any warnings! ☯Disclaimer: None of my work represents any of the idols included in any way. This is merely fictional and all based on my opinion as a joke! I have nothing against any of these idols and love them all dearly.

✿Chan⁠✿

Putting up mistletoe

You and Chan laugh as you unpack boxes of twinkling lights and festive ornaments, ready to transform your tiny apartment into a winter wonderland for the Christmas season. Chan, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, discreetly slips mistletoe into his pocket.

Focused on the multitude of decorations, you clap your hands together, "Let's start with the tree, Channie. I want it to be the centerpiece of our decorations."

Chan grins at you, quickly appearing by your side to help set up the tree, "Of course, baby. And we can add some of the new ornaments we picked out together!"

Chan sneakily hangs a tuft of mistletoe near the top of the tree before stepping back to admire the work you both put in. You smile when Chan places a soft kiss on your temple.

As you continue decorating, Chan strategically places mistletoe in various corners of the room, no doorway was left untouched.

Holding the wreath up to the door, you call out to Chan, "This wreath looks perfect on the door, don't you think?"

Chan takes the wreath from you, placing it on the door, slyly adding mistletoe within its pines, "It does, baby."

He presses his lips to your forehead before turning to place more decor around the room. You watch him with a soft smile, chest warming with affection.

Later, you find yourselves in the cozy glow of Christmas lights, admiring your handiwork, "It looks amazing, Channie! Thanks for helping me with all of this."

Chan, seizing the moment, pulls out some mistletoe from his pocket, "Well, there's one more thing missing, actually."

Surprised, you let out a small laugh, playing along, "And what would that be?"

Chan holds up the mistletoe, a glint in his eye and a smile on his face,  "This."

With a playful grin, he leans in for a sweet kiss as he holds the mistletoe over your head. You laugh at his antics, realizing Chan's clever plan all along, "You've been sneaking this stuff everywhere, haven't you?"

Chan, still smiling, connects your lips for a moment, "Maybe just a little. But it's all in the spirit of Christmas, right?"

The two of you share many more kisses under the twinkling lights and mistletoe, surrounded by the warmth of the holiday season.

✿Minho✿

Putting the star on top of the tree

You and Minho laugh as you unpacked boxes of ornaments, transforming the very naked Christmas tree into a colorful pine. Every shiny ball and sparkling light comes together to allow you to bask in the Christmas spirit. The only thing left is putting the topper on the tree.

Grinning mischievously, you hold up a sparkly star, "I think this one deserves the top spot, don't you think?"

The corner of Minho's lips quirk up as he moves closer to you, "Absolutely," he bends down, quickly shouldering your body, "Now you can reach it."

You laugh as you rest your free hand on his shoulder, "Oh? Trying to show off your strength, Min?"

Minho squeezes your thigh, "Maybe just a little."

You sway the star above the tree, trying to keep your balance as Minho playfully wiggles around, "Steady, Minho! I don't want our star to be the first casualty of the season."

He steadies you, your laughter filling the room as he maneuvers your body in a quick swoop, causing you to fall into his arms, "There you go, our tree is officially the best-dressed in the neighborhood."

You kiss his cheek, arms circling behind his neck as he holds you, "Thanks for the lift."

Minho grins, admiring your handiwork as the twinkling lights illuminate the room, "Anything for you, especially if it involves you in my arms."

✿Changbin✿

Making/decorating gingerbread houses

You and Changbin sit at the table, surrounded by a colorful array of candies, icing, and gingerbread pieces. You grin, holding up a gumdrop, "What do you think, Binnie? Should this gumdrop go on the roof or by the door?"

Changbin chuckles, studying his own gingerbread walls, "Let's go for a gumdrop roof, make it sweet from top to bottom!"

As you immerse yourselves in decorating, laughter fills the room. Changbin sneaks a candy from the table and pops it into his mouth.

You raise an eyebrow at his action, "Hey, no snacking on the decorations!"

Changbin grins mischievously, "But they're just so tempting! Besides, we need to make sure they taste good, right?"

You playfully swat his hand away from the candies, "Focus, Changbin! We're building a masterpiece here."

Both of you continue to share ideas as you create a whimsical gingerbread village, having far too much fun to stop at just one each.

Changbin accidentally squishes icing onto the back of his hand, prompting you to burst into laughter, "You're not just decorating the house; you're turning into a gingerbread man!"

He wipes his hands on a napkin, snorting at your joke, "Well, now I can say I've been part of the art."

As you both admire your finished creations, you smile at Changbin, "Our gingerbread village might not win any awards, but it's definitely the sweetest one."

Changbin nods before stealing a quick kiss, "True. It's our masterpiece, and it's perfect."

You place your gingerbread houses along the table, proud of your playful and delicious collaboration, ready to share the joy of your sweet creations with your friends during the festive season.

✿Hyunjin✿

Decorating stockings

You and Hyunjin sit surrounded by colorful fabrics, ribbons, and glitter, ready to decorate your Christmas stockings. Hyunjin, with a mischievous grin, eyes the supplies, "Get ready, my love. This is going to be a masterpiece!"

You, holding a glue stick like a weapon, look skeptical, "I'm warning you, Hyune. I can't even draw a decent stick figure."

Undeterred, Hyunjin grabs a sparkly star and hands it to you, "Start with this! It's foolproof. Stick it anywhere! Then work around it!"

You cautiously apply glue, managing to stick the star to your thumb instead of the stocking, "Oops… Off to a great start, huh?"

Hyunjin chuckles, reaching for googly eyes. You watch as he effortlessly arranges the eyes into a quirky pattern, creating an abstract face.

You eye the googly eyes, unsure if you could make anything less than scary or rediculous, "Maybe I'll just go for the classic look. Red and green, simple and elegant."

Hyunjin, now with glitter in hand, looks horrified, "Elegant? We need more sparkle! Glitter makes everything better!"

You hesitate, then give in, sprinkling glitter over your stocking, "Okay, fine. But if I end up sparkling for weeks, it's on you."

Hyunjin grins, his stocking a kaleidoscope of colors and textures all coming together to look unbelievably amazing, "See, baby? It's all about embracing the chaos!"

You survey your creation, a mix of classic and sparkly elements that look a little like a toddler's craft, "Well, it's unique, that's for sure."

Looking over to your stocking and back to his, Hyunjin smiles excitedly, "Exactly! Our stockings are like us—a perfect, glittery mess!"

As you admire your handiwork, you can't help but smile at the unexpected joy of your playful Christmas crafting.

✿Jisung✿

Watching Christmas movies

You and Jisung cozy up on the couch, surrounded by the twinkling lights of your Christmas tree. The scent of hot cocoa fills the air as you begin your annual Christmas movie marathon.

You are wrapped in a festive blanket, grinning mischievously, "Ji, if our love story was a Christmas movie, what genre do you think it would be?"

Jisung chuckles, taking a sip of his cocoa, "Definitely a romcom with a sprinkle of holiday chaos. You know, like 'Love Actually,' but with more clumsiness."

You carefully elbow his side, "That movie is literally about cheating and sex!" Laughing as he shrugs you continue, "Also! Clumsiness? I don't know what you're talking about."

You reach for the popcorn bowl, only to spill it all over the floor. Jisung raises an eyebrow, "Smooth moves, baby. That's exactly what I'm talking about."

Laughing, you reply, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it at him, "It's all part of our charming holiday chaos, babe."

Jisung retaliates, creating a popcorn war zone as he dodges handfuls, "If this is our movie, it's a rom-com with a popcorn battle scene."

The night unfolds with laughter, cheesy Christmas movies, and a popcorn war that extends well into the early hours of Christmas morning. As the night settles, you whisper to Jisung, "Our love story might be chaotic, but it's the best kind of chaos."

Jisung smiles brightly, pulling you into a warm embrace, "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

✿Felix✿

Baking cookies for Santa/friends

You and Felix, wrapped in festive aprons, gather ingredients for your Christmas Eve cookie extravaganza. As flour dusts the kitchen, you both forget your worries and bake to your heart's content, "Lix, we are gonna make the most magical cookies ever for Santa!"

Felix grins, digging through the cookie cutters, "Absolutely! We'll make them so good, he'll want our recipe."

You hold a snowman-shaped cookie cutter, teasing, "What do you think, baby? Should we make a snowman army for Santa?"

Felix chuckles, "Sure, why not? Santa could definitely use some company on his journey."

You both cut out snowmen, exchanging playful glances and breaking out into fits of giggles. Eventually, all of the snowmen are placed on baking sheets and put in the oven.

In the midst of frosting chaos, you turn to Felix, "Do you think Santa likes sprinkles?"

Felix winks, slowly grabbing the sprinkles and dragging them closer, "Only if they're as colorful as his sleigh. Let's make these cookies shine!"

You transform your creations into edible masterpieces, adorned with sprinkles that sparkle like Christmas lights. With cookies laid out for Santa, you sigh, "I hope he loves them."

Felix laces your fingers together and gently squeezes your hand, "He will, baby. And even if he doesn't, we had a blast making them together. That's what matters most."

As the doorbell chimes, signaling the arrival of your group of friends you so lovingly named Santa. You exchange excited smiles. The joy of baking and being together is always fun, but the sweetest gift of all is seeing your joint creation be admitted by your friends.

✿Seungmin✿

Decorating Doors

You and Seungmin giggle as you stand in front of one of your apartment doors, armed with an array of colorful decorations. You hold glittering candy canes, while Seungmin clutches a bundle of tinsel.

You both start draping tinsel and hanging ornaments, turning your plain doors into vibrant canvases. You carefully place a sparkling snowman, while Seungmin adds a Santa Claus decal with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

You step back once you're done with one of the doors, "Look at our masterpiece! Our doors are like gifts just waiting to be unwrapped!"

Seungmin nods, setting aside a wreath, "We'll save this for the outside door."

As you continue decorating, laughter echoes through the hallway. You create a paper gingerbread man on one of the doors, teasing Seungmin as he works on the door next to yours, "Look, Minnie! I made a gingerbread version of you! It even has your iconic mischievous grin."

Seungmin chuckles, rolling his eyes before he sends a wink your way, "Well, then I'll add one of you to mine, with your radiant smile."

Your doors soon become a delightful display of love and creativity. You add a heart-shaped ornament between the two doors, symbolizing your shared joy, "The doors are kinda like a reflection of us—some we work on together and some we work on by ourselves and then come together to make something better!"

Seungmin kisses your cheek, then your temple, then your forehead, "Merry Christmas, my festive partner in crime!"

As you both admire your handiwork, the warmth of the season envelopes you as you turn to press a soft kiss to Seungmin's lips.

✿Jeongin✿

Writing letters to Santa 

You and Jeongin sit surrounded by the faint scent of pine, armed with paper, pens, and mischievous grins, "Innie, we have to make sure Santa knows we've been extra good this year."

Jeongin playfully winces, "Define 'extra good.' Does avoiding laundry count?"

You roll your eyes and begin scribbling on your paper, vocalizing what you're writing, "Dear Santa, Jeongin promises to conquer the laundry pile next year."

Jeongin leans over his paper, pen scratching against it as he speaks, "And the love of my life swears to stop hiding cookies from me. It's a Christmas miracle in the making!"

Laughing at his antics, you link your arm with his, "Santa's got to know we're a package deal, with all our quirks."

Squeezing your arm, Jeongin grins, "Exactly! Like how you sing in the shower—horribly off-key."

You gasp, "Well, at least I don't forget to water the plant, unlike someone I know."

His mouth drops open in mock offense, "Hey, it's a cactus! It's practically a desert survivor!"

The both of you burst into laughter, before continuing your letters. Jeongin snickers as he writes, "Well, Santa, if you need a backup reindeer, my baby's got a mean impersonation."

You demonstrate your ridiculous impersonation, earning laughter from your boyfriend as you try not to crack yourself up in the process, "Okay, Innie, let's wrap this up before Santa reconsiders giving us presents."

Jeongin takes a calming breath and nods, continuing his letter, "Good point. Dear Santa, we may be a little goofy, but we promise our Christmas spirit is top-notch!"

You both sign your letter with laughter, sealing them with a festive sticker. Holding your sealed letter in your hands, you glance over to Jeongin, "We're definitely on the nice list, right Innie?"

He takes your letter from your hand, trading it for his own letter, a tradition you two decided was a fun way to know what the other wanted, "If not, at least we'll be on the fun list. That's even better!"

In a whirlwind of laughter and love, you and Jeongin eagerly anticipate a Christmas filled with joy and maybe a few gifts from Santa. (You will definitely be getting him anything he wants)

[adore-laur]

FRUITCAKE

— a new year’s addition to southpaw 🎆

——

The sparkler in Sawyer's hand burns out with a lackluster fizzle, just like the end of another year. Staring at the Orlando skyline, everyone, including the twinkling stars above, is out celebrating tonight. Free spirits roam the streets across the centerpiece lake, with liquor-infused veins and festive accessories decorating their faces. Straight ahead, each apartment complex window is lit with strobe lights in various colors, and a mixture of music is booming in each square. 

From where Sawyer stands on an unfamiliar balcony, she is just a spectator on the sidelines. She isn't that much of a social butterfly. Parties of any kind are where her fragile wings curl inward, shy and shielding her from a potentially awkward state of affairs. Dressing up is the only reason she agreed to attend the New Year's Eve celebration at some high school acquaintance's studio apartment. Harry, too, she supposes. He's her date tonight. However, mingling comes much easier to him, so he's probably having more fun than she is. 

His wrist has just about healed, thanks to the time he's been dedicating to physical therapy. Sawyer has been by his side every day, taking care of him and loving the new way they can be around each other since that stormy night outside 7/11 four months ago. It's been challenging keeping up with his bustling life as a professional baseball player and trying to balance her job with how often he travels, but it all proves to be worth it when she feels giddiness course through her veins whenever she's near him. 

Harry is the sole reason why Sawyer looks forward to waking up in the morning. The rays of light that shimmer through her bedroom curtains are nothing compared to when she sees the smile on his face, topped with two dimples that make a home for the sun. A sleepy smile when he picks her up and drives her to work bright and early, always with two McDonald's hash browns and a large orange juice to share in his cup holder. A childlike smile when he holds her hand while strolling through the city, swinging their arms as he points at different houses he would like to live in. Her favorite is a radiant smile when she visits him at practice, and he spots her sitting in the scout seats. He always jogs over to her in his dirt-stained uniform and leans past the barrier to kiss her hello, leaving her with a lingering taste of Bazooka bubblegum. She really likes it when he kisses her. 

To put it in celestially simple terms, she's over the moon in love with her sunray. 

As the party inside rages on, Sawyer sighs between her chattering teeth. Orlando gets nippy at night, and all she wants to do is fall asleep under a nice, warm blanket. Or against Harry's chest. It's hard as a rock, but she doesn't mind since his hands and lips make up for it. 

"Southpaw's not out here with you? Bummer." 

The hauntingly familiar voice makes Sawyer jolt out of her lovesick trance, a sudden feeling of unease twisting her stomach into a knot. It belongs to her ex-boyfriend, the one who decided to cheat on her behind her back. She had seen him walk in with his buddies and managed to ignore him... until now. 

"Leave me alone, Jordan," she calls out monotonously without turning around to see his smug face.

"You got all dolled up, and your boyfriend isn't even paying attention to you," he says mockingly, his voice and footsteps getting closer. 

"Go away." 

"Are you two a thing now?" he presses like an interrogator.

Ugh! The audacity to ask such a thing! Sawyer turns to face him and brazenly replies, "That's totally none of your business." 

Jordan removes his tattered trucker hat, ruffles his hair, and then puts it back on. "I think it is my business, considering you basically left me for him. You moved on fast." 

She laughs to herself. "You're so delusional. Take the hint." 

"Whatever," he says dismissively. His dilated eyes grossly run up and down her body. "You dress sluttier now." 

Sawyer feels like she just got punched in the gut. It's one thing to hear him insinuate that she changed herself now that she's dating Harry, but it's another thing entirely to be degraded by someone she used to have idle respect for. An unsettling fusion of frustration and embarrassment seeps into the open wounds of her wings. Nevertheless, she puts on a brave face. 

"Don't make me get Harry," she says with the most threatening tone she can muster up, "otherwise you'll be leaving here with a black eye." 

"All right, all right." Jordan backs away, holding both hands high in surrender like a wimp. "Just don't get your dainty little heart broken." 

"Screw you." 

He doesn't reply and just gives her one last taunting look before sliding the squeaky patio door open to head back inside. Sawyer crosses her arms defensively and swallows down the burning lump in her throat. She's miserably cold, so she begins to cry. Not a sob, but a puny noise that gets stuck on the way out of her mouth and causes tears to fall past her bottom lashes. She knows wholeheartedly that she shouldn't let Jordan get under her skin. The flippant remarks he spewed are irrelevant and don't deserve to make her sensitive side come out of hiding. His words still hurt, though. Her confidence when she arrived has been completely demolished because of a stupid boy she once knew. 

After ten minutes, the patio door opens again, and Sawyer hastily wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. Maybe she should just go back inside and find something to distract her; maybe join in on a lousy game of beer pong in the kitchen or find the television so she can watch Boyz II Men perform on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. 

Looking up, she sees Harry standing in all his exuberant glory, wearing a cozy brown sweater and his trusty corduroy cap. He's also holding a plate with fruitcake on it. She doesn't have the energy or interest to ask where he got it and why he has it. 

"There's my girlfriend," he says happily, one hand casually perched on the doorframe. "You and me, let's go. They have Heart queued up for karaoke; we're doing "Alone.""

Sawyer wraps her arms around her shivering body. "I don't want to sing right now," she says, trying to mask the glumness in her voice. 

"Why not?" he asks as he walks toward her. "It's our song. Or we could get crazy and do "Barracuda." Or I could ask for "Suddenly, Seymour," if that's more your speed." 

"No thanks."

"C'mon," Harry begs, setting the plate on a nearby table and embracing her in his strong arms. He tilts his cap up to smack a few warm kisses on her cheek, then murmurs, "I need you for the harmonies." 

"You can do all the parts." He's a decent singer, surprisingly. "I believe in you." 

He huffs and starts playing with her fingers, twisting her rings and rubbing his thumb over her glittery nail polish. "Please?"

In her pretty dress and tiara, Sawyer tilts her head and looks at him with big brown eyes that never fail to weaken him. She knows what she's doing—she's been doing it to him for years.

Harry immediately shields his face and says, "Don't give me those eyes." 

"Give you what eyes?" she asks innocently.

"Sawyer Alejandra," he says as a warning.

She stomps her foot and cranes her neck back. "Do not use my middle name." 

Smirking, he cradles the back of her head to tilt it forward again. "You stomping your foot only makes me want to kiss you. Stop being stubborn and tell me what's wrong." 

"Nothing. I just want to go home."

"It's not even midnight yet. Did something happen?" 

"No..."

"It's endearing how bad of a liar you are." His inquisitive gaze travels around her face, stopping at the slight wetness visible under her eyes. "Hey," he says softly. "Have you been crying? Why are we crying, baby?" 

Sawyer sniffles and stares at the ground. "Is my outfit too much?" 

The crème satin dress with a pleated bust outlined in gold flows elegantly down her body, just the way she likes it. The tiara on her head arches with glimmering silver beads, an accessory she was so excited to wear. In the full-length mirror at her house, it seemed like the perfect outfit. Now, she's second-guessing it all because of Jordan's imprudent comment. 

"Why? You look like an angel," Harry says while drying her leftover sadness with the sleeve of his sweater. "I almost didn't let us walk out the door, remember? We were kissing until we got dizzy." 

She quirks her lips to the side and chews on the inside of her cheek. After a moment of insecure contemplation, she quietly asks, "Am I too much?" 

He smooths out her eyebrows, his own becoming furrowed. The warmth and gentle caress of his calloused fingertips give her a sense of safety. "What brainless birdie is pecking nonsense into my girlfriend's head?" 

"Jordan," she says with a wince. "Um, he came out here and tried to talk to me." 

Sawyer braces for impact since his name has always been a touchy subject around Harry. She still remembers the time she told him the news about Jordan cheating. It was almost scary the way he was so willing to throw a screwball at him with a broken wrist. He might have been joking, but she fears he would have done something marginally worse if she hadn't persuaded him to leave it be. Karma probably unleashed her wrath anyway. 

"What did he say to you?" Harry says, jerking his chin up. It's not a question; it's a demand. 

There's no way he's going to let her wriggle her way out of this one, so she truthfully relays, "He told me I dressed sluttier now." 

Another brace for impact. Sawyer racks her mind for ways to restrain him if he moves to go find him. Judging by the size of her arms compared to his, she highly doubts she'll succeed. 

"Which way did he go?" he asks in a calmer tone. His hand moves to her hip and flexes, almost as comfort for her and a way to suppress anger for himself. 

"Please don't cause a scene," she says hurriedly. "The year doesn't need to end in a fist fight. Or another wrist injury." 

Harry doesn't listen and glances behind his shoulder. "Do you want me to get him, or do you want to?" he asks through a tightened jaw. 

"I think doing neither is the smartest choice." 

Looking back at her in bewilderment, he says, "That dumbass made you cry, Sawyer." 

"I cry all the time!"

"Yeah, over puppies," he stresses with flailing hand gestures, "and The Golden Girls. This is something serious that clearly made you upset!" 

Sawyer scoffs. "Excuse me, The Golden Girls is very serious." 

"That's wonderful, babe, but you need to listen to me." He points at himself. "I'm pissed, so what I'm going to do is go get Jordan and have a civil conversation with him, 'kay?" 

"Can I try my very hardest to convince you otherwise?" 

Harry starts backing away, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "If you use those eyes on me again, we're going straight home, and you'll be in big trouble." 

"I would actually love to go home right now."

He pokes his Shirley Temple-stained tongue out on his way to the door. Just as he's about to turn around, he stops and begins walking forward. He reaches behind his neck to remove his knitted sweater, then gently tosses it to her. "I thought I told you to bring a coat, Sawyer," he says before retreating inside. 

The graphic tee she gets a glimpse of fits him well—a little too well—and the thin silver necklace he wears briefly catches in the light, the 'S' pendant he's had for years. He always teases her and says he got it because his last name is Styles. Sawyer smiles at the thought and absentmindedly toys with the 'H' pendant around her neck. She then puts on his sweater and lets his leftover warmth engulf her. It smells like his house, his cologne, his sheets--just him. It consumes her in an overwhelmingly beautiful way. 

Harry is gone for no longer than a minute when he comes out again, this time with Jordan trailing behind him like a dog with its tail between its legs. He guides her to a chair and pulls her down on his lap, taking his cap off and sticking it in his pocket like always. Some curls fall over his forehead, and it makes her heart squeeze. 

With one tattooed arm winding around her waist and the other holding his ankle propped on his thigh, Harry starts the conversation with a casual, "Long time, no see, Jordan." 

"Styles." His eyes narrow and shift over. "Sawyer." 

"I heard you two already had a chat out here." 

He uncomfortably readjusts his footing. "Yeah, we bumped into each other." 

"Oh, did you?" Harry asks sarcastically. "You know, you're digging yourself a deeper hole by lying." 

"I'm not lying," Jordan replies with too much confidence. 

Harry laughs in amusement. "That's funny." Sitting up a bit, he tightens his hold on Sawyer. "I suggest you tell the truth and tell me exactly what you said to her." 

"Dude, it's not that big of a deal." 

"It is when my girlfriend is involved." 

Jordan scoffs and looks around incredulously. "Well, maybe if you were out here with her instead of ignoring—" 

"You fuckin' cheated on her, mate, don't tell me—" 

"Stop it!" Sawyer blurts, stressfully swiping a hand over her forehead. "Both of you, just stop." 

Harry takes a deep breath and cracks his neck. "I want you to apologize," he continues more calmly, "and if you're not willing to do that, then I'd be more than happy to have a little chat with you myself." 

Jordan's hesitant body language speaks for itself. He knows not to mess with him. "I'm sorry, okay?" 

"Sorry for what?" Harry asks. 

"For saying—" 

"Speak to her, not me." 

Jordan grinds his teeth, making awkward eye contact with Sawyer. "I'm sorry I said that you dressed sluttier now. You... look great. You look happy." 

"Thanks," Sawyer mutters while picking at her chipped nail polish. 

"See?" Harry says, flipping his palms up. "That's all we needed." 

"Can I go now?" 

"Sure thing, bud. One last thing: I never want to see your face again or hear that you've been talking to my girlfriend, got it?" 

"Jeez, chill out. Happy fucking New Year." 

With that, he removes himself from the interaction with a drunken peace sign. The thick tension in the air disperses, and Sawyer releases the breath she'd been holding while curling into Harry's chest. 

"Boys are so exhausting."

Harry hums, lightly scratching her back. "You're not wrong." 

"Not you, though." She kisses his jaw and then scans the balcony. "Hey, is there a reason why you brought an entire fruitcake out here?" 

"Oh, it's- I, uh," he stammers, his shoulders slumping. "I forget." 

Sawyer cradles his cheeks and giggles fondly. "You make me laugh, sunray." 

His skin grows warmly rubescent under her touch. "I burn brighter when I'm around you. How could I not when I get to hear that laugh?" 

She plummets deeper in love, a straight drop into daylong devotion. "My sunray." 

"Forever." Harry goes off into his own world for a bit. After studying his surroundings, his face suddenly lights up, like he has mentally stumbled upon some profound epiphany. "Wait, listen to this. You asked me if you're too much, yeah?" He nods to where the dessert he brought out sits. "You're like that fruitcake. On the outside, people who don't know you assume things about your character, like how people judge fruitcake by its appearance. They say it doesn't look tempting before they even try it. But on the inside"—he gently pokes where her heart is—"there are all these delightful little fruits that make up who you are. They take people by surprise." 

Sawyer hides her face in his neck. "That was a really stupid analogy." 

"You were so about to smile," Harry says, giving her a playful noogie. "I can tell." 

She slaps his hand away. "Ow! I was not."

"Were too." 

A sudden boom interrupts their harmless bickering as fireworks begin shooting off in the sky, making Harry instinctively pull Sawyer closer due to the startling noise. They both turn their attention past the balcony railing and admire the colorful, celebratory explosions. They burst and crepitate amongst the stars, grandly signifying the start of a new year. She was so enamored by Harry that she didn't even hear the partygoers chanting the countdown inside.

"It's 1992," Harry says in her ear. Over the thunderous noise, his voice sounds like a deep rumble, but it's still comprehensible to her since she's tuned into him constantly.

Sawyer turns her head to find him already staring at her. She smiles. "Happy New Year." 

"Our first year as a couple," he says as he fixes her crooked tiara. 

Shyly averting her gaze, she whispers, "Yeah, it is." It's probably impossible to hear. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't have to ask, Harry." 

"I know." The fireworks look mesmerizing in the reflection of his pupils. "It's just that you get so nervous. I want to make sure you're comfortable since our dynamic has changed." 

Sawyer passes a hand over his stomach and hooks her pointer finger in one of his belt loops. "I'm always comfortable around you. Besides, nothing has changed too much, has it?" 

"No, I suppose not." He smirks and glances at her lips. “Except we kiss now, which is super cool." 

She scrunches her nose. "You're silly." 

"In all seriousness," he says with a squeeze to her hip, "take however long you need to warm up to this whole thing. I can be patient with you." 

"I'll get there."

"I know. I know you will. We're dating now, but that doesn't stop you from still being my best friend." 

Sawyer rests her forehead against his. "I love you," she mouths over the sounds of revelry in the sky. 

"In what way?" Harry mouths back. 

Beaming, she speaks up loud and clear. "In a way that makes me want to kiss you all the time." 

His eyes close for a second before he replies, "You can't say things like that. Shit, you're making my heart go crazy right now." 

She places her palm on his thumping heartbeat. "Then kiss me, summerboy." 

"Mm. Once I start, I won't be able to stop." 

"That's fine with me." 

Harry nudges his nose with hers before diving in, capturing her lips with a slight clash of teeth. Deep and slow, he lets each one linger while guiding her face with one hand. He's a face-grabber when he kisses, and it makes her entire body shudder. She can taste the maraschino cherries he always eats first before sipping his virgin cocktail. Sour and a little bit sweet—something she can never get enough of.

He eventually pulls away with a soft pop. Over the past few months, he's gotten quite acquainted with Sawyer's mouth by kissing her like he's making up for every time he wanted to but couldn't. "I love you so much." Kiss. "And I'm obsessed with you." Kiss. "And I could look at you forever." 

Sawyer gets her own kisses in, three smacks in a row that make him hum blissfully during each one. "You'd get bored of my face," she replies breathlessly. 

"I would absolutely not." He twirls a strand of her golden hair and stares at her attentively. "Your eyes are such a dark brown, but they still light up when you smile or laugh. I fuckin' love it when they do that. You're my brown-eyed honey angel." 

"Do not start complimenting me." 

"God, and when I first met you on the beach,"  Harry says, looking off into the distance and shaking his head slowly. "I thought you were so pretty. Like, it blew my mind how someone could be that pretty." 

Sawyer presses her fingers against his swollen lips. "Literally shut up, Harry." 

"Then I heard your voice, sweet and soft like a songbird." He's giggling through his words now, but they still come out with complete sincerity. "My heart made room for yours right then and there. I was a goner." 

She blushes profusely. "Stop it, or I'll push you off this balcony." 

"Then you almost gave me a concussion, but I feel like that was fate. You made me dizzy then, and you make me dizzy now." 

"Enough!"

"I'm going to love you for a lifetime, Sawyer," Harry confesses candidly. “I hope you know that. You could push me off this balcony, and I'd still follow you to the end of the earth." 

"That's oddly romantic, but let's love each other through 1992 first," she tells him, patting his dimpled cheek. "Okay?" 

"Whatever you want, fruitcake." 

She laughs and shoves his firm chest. "Your nicknames for me suck!" 

He steals another kiss, smiling into it. "See what I mean? That laugh lights me up. And hey, fruitcake is a better nickname than shortstop, right?" 

"I guess," Sawyer mutters, "but I… I really like it when you call me baby." The last portion is whispered quickly and sheepishly, yet the gleam in her boyfriend's eyes tells her he heard it all. 

"Yeah, baby?" Harry murmurs with a satisfied groan as he readjusts her in his lap. “You gotta stop saying things like that. It's got me going weak in the knees." Sawyer bites her lip, causing him to lull his head to the side and clutch where his heart is. “God, everything you do makes me want to kiss you for hours." 

So they do. Not for hours, but long enough for the fireworks to fade out and the party inside to die down with remnants of confetti and glitter on the ground. Under the stars, they kiss until they become dizzy with love and secret exchanges of words they have yearned to say to each other for so long. Just the two of them on a random balcony, falling deeper and deeper in love with each other until it's time to go home. 

They shine too brightly to be dimmed. 

——

[krafterwrites]

Rows Of Roses

All the way back in October 2022, I held a raffle to celebrate hitting 500 followers, and promised the winner that I would write a fic for them. It may have taken a long time to get back enough energy to write again, but I stuck to my word, and now I've finally finished making a fic based on the prompt that my friend @4filen0tfound4 gave me. Hope it was worth the wait

Summary: Amy invites Silver over to her garden, where he learns about the many meanings that different colors of roses can hold

Words: 2847

In the city of Station Square, Amy's home stood out a bit. Unlike the apartment she had moved out of some time ago, which was no different than the rest in terms of its exterior, this small house situated close to the edges of the metropolis served as a small beacon of greenery through its yard and the garden contained inside of it. Amy was waiting in that yard when she heard a faint sound slice through the typical ambience, an ethereal humming sound. A second later, what she had suspected to be the source of the noise hovered into view

"I'm here! Hope I'm not late," Silver said as he dispersed the field of energy that had been carrying him and softly dropped onto the ground

"Nope, you're right on time," She reassured him. "Do you want anything before we start? I just got some tea from the store"

She gestured towards the front door of the home as she asked, and Silver couldn't tell if this meant she had planned to have a snack before they started, or if she was just being very inviting. He did really want to get to gardening right away, since he knew it would be fascinating to learn more about the plants of the past from someone who knew a lot about them, but he didn't want to accidentally mess up her plans after she'd been nice enough to invite him over. He hadn't known Amy for as long as her other friends, but she had always been just as sweet to him as everyone else during that relatively short period, so he decided that something little like this didn't matter

"I'd like to start right away, if that's alright," He told her with a slight bit of uncertainty. "Tea does sound great afterwards, though"

"Sounds good to me," She answered, beginning to turn and move towards the back of the plot's land

Silver internally relaxed a bit, and then began to follow Amy as she walked to her garden. The walk was very brief due to the small size of the yard, but even so it was still pleasant because of the perfectly maintained grass, and the perfect weather that was looking down on it. Once he had caught up with her, his eyes were caught by the centerpiece of the place. Laid out in a rectangle formation were what must have been at least a hundred roses, not just red, but in all sorts of new colors that he didn't even know were possible. White, yellow, green, even blue. The pretty display and the realization that even one of the few plants he thought he knew relatively well had so much more to it excited him a lot, which she noticed

"I see you like the roses I planted," Amy said joyfully

"I love them! They're all so beautiful, I didn't know that they came in colors other than red," He exclaimed

"Oh, yeah, there's tons of different colors they can have. Most people just think about the red ones when they hear roses, so romance is commonly associated with them since that's the meaning the reds have, but each color symbolizes different things"

He was intrigued even more by this revelation than the previous one. Each of the differently colored flowers in front of them all had meaning to them, like hidden messages of some sort. He began to wonder if the other flowers he'd seen up until this point represented things as well, if they might have been giving him signs that he hadn't been aware of

"Can you tell me about all of them?" Silver questioned

"Well, there's a lot of colors here to go through, and they can each have quite a few things associated with them," She explained. "Why don't you pick out one for us to start with?"

He looked at the arrangement of flowers intently, and tried to think about which ones caught his eye the most. Yellow and orange were such great colors, they reminded him of the sun and how its light felt on his fur, and the flames that Blaze could conjure. However, after thinking about it for some time, Silver decided that the most interesting shade was blue. It reminded him of the ocean, and one of his most precious memories that had been made there

"What about those blue roses?" He asked

"These can symbolize uniqueness, or things that are impossible. It's like they were made for Sonic," Amy replied as she crouched down to the earth to get a closer look at them. "Heh, but that's just my opinion. What do you think of them?"

While the color of the flowers had immediately brought water into his mind, hearing about the impossible made him think of the fact that he was standing here in this moment, thinking about this at all. Not just because of the miracle of time travel, but also because of how harsh the world he'd been in for so long was. All it would've taken was for one of Silver's many near misses to have not been a near miss, and he never would've been able to see the past. Surviving for long certainly seemed impossible at the time, let alone changing the world. But here he was, able to relax, with his future no longer desolate. Telling Amy all of what he said verbatim would probably drag the mood down a little, so he decided to just state the last part instead

"It seemed impossible for things to ever change," Silver began explaining. "But once I was brought back here, I was able to fix everything. Now my future is just as beautiful as this place is"

"That's amazing to hear, Silver. It's good to know that even 200 years from now, this world will still be full of life," Amy complimented him. "Are the plants from your future anything like the ones here?"

"Uhh, I think so? I haven't seen too many from either time yet, so it's hard to know if anything I see is unique to that period or not"

"I see. Next time, you should describe some of your future plants to me, and I can tell you if they're ones that exist in this time. Maybe you could even bring one back, it would be fascinating to see"

"Oh, um, I'm not sure if I can, it could mess things up. I guess I could fix things even if they did go wrong, but-"

"No, you're right, I wasn't thinking about it. Let's get back to the flowers that are in front of us now, which ones are catching your eye?"

The green roses were the first ones that Silver thought of this time around, they almost looked like immature sprouts that hadn't finished growing yet, but they were the same size as everything else. A flower lacking the vibrant splash of color that it usually had at the top, and instead having the same color as its less treasured parts such as the leaves, had a lot of potential for interesting meanings. Plus, in the event that his thought about the green roses not being finished growing was true, it would lead to the just as interesting revelation that these ones would end up being much larger than all of the others

"What's up with the green ones?" Silver asked, phrasing it so that the answer would tell him which one of his assumptions about them was right

"They mostly mean life and abundance. Perfect for a day like this, right?" Amy remarked

He took a second to look up into the sky as well as into the street behind him, and saw that she was very right. Life stretched far past Amy's yard, it was in the skies above them as Flickies flew overhead, and in the streets behind them as people went about their day walking to who knew where

"Abundance… yeah!" Silver exclaimed. "That's the perfect word for what the past is like, there's so much stuff here. Every day I'm here, I see a bunch of new things"

"Did you see anything new today on your way here?" She asked

"I did! I passed by a bakery, and I saw these little colorful things that had cream in the center, and the outsides were kind of like little cookies"

"Oh, you mean macarons? Those are really good, did you get to try one?"

"I actually did, I asked the person eating them if I could have one, and they handed it to me. It was super sweet, I wish I could've had more, but I didn't want to be rude"

"Well, if you want to have more, we could always go to there ourselves and order some next time"

"That would be fantastic, I love visiting restaurants! It seems like there's infinite choices, and all of them are delicious"

"Yeah, the places here all have a lot on the menu, even I haven't tried all of them yet. Say, what's your favorite thing you've had so far?"

"It was this amazing apple pie I ate at a bakery. Back in the future, I ate a lot of old ration bars, the best ones were the apple flavored ones. The closest I ever felt to being in a natural world was when I ate one of them, but then when I had that pie, it was like experiencing that times a million. It was the first time I felt something familiar in a new way, instead of something completely new"

"Wow, if I'd only gotten to have things flavored like fruit my whole life before getting to eat the real thing too, it would probably have been as magical as you were describing. Did you have anything with the pie?"

"Nope. What do people usually have with it?"

"The most popular toppings are vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. It's actually kind of funny, since they're both like you"

"Huh? How are they like me?"

"They're both white like your fur, and they're both really sweet"

"Aww, thank you!"

"No problem!"

Since Silver was now thinking about things that looked similar to him, when he looked back to the garden after the conversation had died down, he immediately thought of the white roses. Like vanilla ice cream and whipped cream (supposedly), the petals did look a lot like his fur, he would probably be able to hide pretty well behind all of them if he needed to. While their potential hide and seek applications were fun to think about, Silver was also even more curious about what they could mean than he'd been about the other two. If they looked like him, would they have meanings that reflected him?

"What meanings do the white roses have?" He chose, silently beginning to get a bit excited as his anticipation grew

"These can stand for a lot of things, but some of the most prevalent meanings are innocence, loyalty, and new beginnings," Amy shared. "They're mostly used at weddings, but I think with meanings like those, they're good for a lot of events"

"New beginnings, huh?"

"Yep! I bet that makes you think of traveling back here for the first time, doesn't it?"

"How did you know that?"

"Oh, I just guessed based on what you've told me before. Good to know my guess was right!"

"Well, you only guessed half of it"

"Hm?"

"My other new beginning was meeting you"

The answer caught Amy off guard. She hadn't thought that she'd had that much of an impact on Silver, she just treated him the same way she did to everyone else. Knowing that her meeting with him was apparently so important that he considered it the start of a new chapter in his life made her feel a deep happiness, followed by a small bit of curiosity

"Really?" Amy asked, still a bit shocked

"It's true," Silver began. "The first person who I ever felt a real connection with was Espio, but since we were working together to save the future, I thought it was just because of our shared goal. But then, the next time I went back here, you saw me. You didn't know why I was here, or even who I was, but you were so nice to me… It made me realize the truth. Espio, Shadow, everyone else; they weren't being kind for the sake of the future, it was because they cared about me"

"Wow. That's… really something. I'm glad that I was able to help you"

"I'm glad about it too"

As Silver reminisced about the change that his meeting with Amy had brought to him, he was facing her, since he had just finished a conversation. However, since it was followed by a short period of silence while both were busy thinking about that information, his eyes went back to the flowerbed

It was just a default position at this point, since he had previously looked at it a lot in order to make his choices for rose variants to learn about. Spending time in silence instead of asking about that, though, made him notice a part of the rose other than their colors: their thorns

The first time Silver saw a rose, he'd grabbed it with his hand in his excitement, and it pierced through his glove into his hand. Even though it had drawn blood, it still had the same gorgeous appearance that had drawn him to it in the first place, so he chose not to leave it behind. Instead, he grabbed it gently with his psychokinesis, and carried it beside him as he walked and floated across the land

Everyone he'd met during his times chasing Eggman Nega, he'd been rude and harsh to at one point or another. While Espio was the only one who had brushed it off and followed him at the time, he had seen all of the others at later points, and they all seemed to at least tolerate him. Maybe it was because they had been told he wasn't actually that bad by Espio, or maybe it was because his urgency during his first time saving the future had faded, and no longer forced him to push everyone out of his path. Maybe it was both

Suddenly, Silver snapped out of his thoughts when he realized that Amy had moved over to the garden in front of them again. Unlike last time, though, she was plucking a rose from the dirt instead of just looking at them. It was yellow, close to his bracelets and eyes, although not exactly like either of them

"Oh, you're picking them now? That's fine, I wanted to hear about the yellow ones next anyways," Silver said as Amy turned around to face him, slightly confused

"I'm giving it to you, silly!" She explained as she stretched out her arm for Silver to take it. "Yellow roses symbolize friendship. You looked so happy seeing all these roses here, so I figured this would be a great gift for you"

"You'd… really do that for me? We're friends?" He asked, sounding very touched

"Of course we are! I know we haven't known each other for so long, but every time we talk, it's so enjoyable. You just have so much love for this world, and you share it with everyone you're around. Whenever you talk about how amazed you are by something I see everyday, it reminds me of just how great this place really is, of what I fight to protect"

Silver didn't respond verbally at this point, as he was a little overwhelmed by just how kind Amy had been to him, but tears welling up in the corners of his eyes showed he appreciated it very much. Remembering the lesson he had learned before, he held his hand forward and gently encircled the flower with his psychokinesis, lifting it out of Amy's hand and bringing it close to his side

"Thank you," he managed to choke out. "Thank you so much. I'm going to take the best care of this as I can"

"Maybe you could even start your own garden someday," Amy suggested.

"That would be fantastic," He replied, before turning to look at the lone plant. "But for now, I've got to take care of this"

"I understand. It was great hanging out with you today, hope I can see you again soon!"

"Me too. Bye, Amy"

"Bye, Silver!"

With that, Silver flew off similarly to how he had arrived. Amy was left in her yard next to the garden that she had just taken her gift to Silver from, and thought about the future. There was no way she'd be alive to take care of it in Silver's time, so it would likely have disappeared long before then. However, even if the garden she was standing next to would eventually fade away, she knew there would still be one like it 200 years from now. A very beautiful, and very yellow, garden of roses

[sweepseven]

So I've been rewatching a lot of the shows... and is it more or all the recent shows have strangely *busy* stage design? Like I noticed Dragone loves him a staple set piece and a void, like Alegria's Dome or Quidam's telepherique. And that seemed to follow through to later shows like Corteo, Luzia and Varekai.

But you get to Volta, Echo, and Bazzar, and the stage just gets... weirdly busy and overdesigned?

I see what you're saying, but I don't know that I agree. I put Varekai in the same category as Alegria and Quidam for the purpose of this discussion, because it does for "forest" what Alegria does for "kingdom" and Quidam does for... whatever Quidam is. Of the post-Dragone examples you cited, Corteo and Luzia basically have no sets at all. Luzia has a sun disk and props, but that's essentially it. Corteo has just props. Still both work to incredible effect: the sun disk at times literally paints the stage with the mood it needs, and the whole point of Corteo is that its people are its centerpiece, not wherever those people happen to be.

Volta I see a bit differently because the story is told more explicitly than the other examples given, and I think it's fair to grant it a clearer, more detailed set to match. We also only really see that extra detail in those extra clear character moments (like the beginning where we are meant to be on some kind of TV set, or during flatland BMX where it's important that we know we're looking back on Waz's memories). Yeah, sometimes it feels a little heavy handed, but Volta has a heavy handed plot. If it didn't spell things out for us as clearly as it did, we risked not understanding it at all. And in most acts, we actually returned to a pretty bare bones setting. Sometimes we got those two screen panels, but they were usually unobtrusive and undistracting, often only there to add color in a world where technology was real and embraced. The stage's many lifts were an excellent way of reinforcing the jutting divisions in society, but also its propensity for innovation. Apart from that we just got that cool LED-lined bridge. I think Volta's set was exactly what the show needed it to be.

If anything Cirque's more recent sets are actually underdesigned, or rather under-thought out. What is Echo's cube really doing that Luzia's sun disk doesn't already do, but 10x better? Both are massive, somewhat responsive or interactive pieces that dominate their given sets, right? The sun disk has a perceivable weight to it. It spins - only occasionally - like a giant coin, or it becomes smeared with paint or overrun with insects. It becomes any celestial body the show needs. Echo's cube is hollow. Honestly every time I talk about this show I find some new way to skewer it. But the thing is fucking hollow. Canonically and thematically. There is a tangible lack of thought in that cube, and unfortunately it is the entire centerpiece of the show.

But let's move on from my long established Echo vitriol. What else do we have that's semi-recent? Crystal has a pretty effective set. I'd put that in the same tier as Volta - extra explicit, but it kind of needs to be to serve its target audience, and it's also really uniquely adaptable so no big deal. Bazzar's goes in the Echo column - what is that set even trying to accomplish? Nothing, just like its show. It's just there. Like that fucking hat. Alegria IANL - straddling the Volta/Dragone columns because it shies away from the heavy, broad strokes of the true Dragone era and wants to give us 10% more setting and plot like Volta does. It's fine, it does the job - not quite as gracefully as its predecessor, particularly in the exploration of more melancholy, forlorn notes, but still very effectively.

So to answer your question way late, no, I don't think more recent sets are overdesigned. I think they weren't given the consideration and development they deserve, and the most effective sets in company history (Ka, La Nouba, Quidam, Alegria, Varekai, O, and others) were visibly created as characters themselves. The shows in which the sets function as a backdrop and not a key player are the ones that suffer.

[gasha40k]

Currently a massive heatwave in my city and it’s slowly boiling me to death in my apartment like an unaware frog, so I decided it’d be a good time to distract myself by getting some tertiary work done on some lads.

From left to right: Kardon the Eternal, Lord Akselos, and some unnamed guy with a big ass axe

Starting with the most boring stuff, my World Eaters character goon squad is all primed and ready to be painted. Once I’m done assembling this army I’m gonna paint these three guys first because they’re the coolest, by far. I’m still mad proud of Akselos’ model and I’m super excited to see how he’ll look on the tabletop when he’s all shiny and colorful.

Epic unusable Chaos model, thank you GW

Speaking of painting World Eaters, here’s a CSM Legionarie that I whipped up a while back as a color test for my World Eaters army. The whole goal with my Khorne fellas is to keep them as default as possible, so the color scheme is very simple and coherent.

On this particular mini, I wanted to maximize my usage of Mephiston Red, which is exemplified most particularly on the rocket launcher, which I’d usually paint with Abaddon Black. I think that it being red, though, gives it a sort of retro feel, which I quite like. This may be one of the better single minis I’ve made, as well. No highlights or anything, but some decent, clean coloring, and a lot of Agrax Earthshade.

I have, however, been doing some highlighting on Lieutenant Sadrian’s model. I’ve also been cleaning him up periodically, coloring over little mistakes and trying to make his model really pop. He’s almost definitely the centerpiece of my Thunderbearers army now.

Check out how regal and leaderly he looks amongst his men. What a tactician!

Sadrian is one of the few models that I haven’t repainted in Skavenblight Dinge, alongside Big Harold, the Venerable Dreadnought that I’ve had since I started the hobby. They’ve both more than earned their stripes on the tabletop, having been in nearly every game I’ve played in the last two or so years, and I figured their paint jobs were pretty serviceable, so a repaint would be unnecessary.

While Sadrian is an elite taxtician that routinely exercises unmatched intellect and complex battlefield knowledge, he is also a by-the-books, reliable warrior and a ruthless marksman, hence the simplicity of the inscription upon his trusty bolt rifle

But to make him stand out more as an HQ, I added some minor highlights to his armor, particularly on his arms and helmet. I also highlighted much of his gun and did some detailing on the purity seals and red tassels. I’m very satisfied with the inscription on his gun. It’s crazy to me that I was able to write a word that small and, uh, have it be actually legible.

Every single painted Astartes model that I own. For context I have nearly 3k points of these fuckers and only 10 finished minis

I’ve painted a good handful of Thunderbearers Intercessors since my last post. Nearly a full 10-man squad, now. Sadrian definitely stands out, and I think that, when contrasted with the leagues of men that he commands, eyes are naturally drawn to him. I’ll never get over how satisfying seeing a cohesively painted army is to my weird brain.

I am so fucking in love with this model and I do not know why, although I figure it’s got something to do with its appearance in Dawn of War

In other news, I’ve got one of these disgusting classic Daemon Princes coming in the mail. GW recently did a made-to-order run of this model, and I’ve been trying to hunt an inexpensive one down for actual months. He’ll be a staple of my WE army whenever I get my hands on him, although I am kind of terrified as painting it.

I’ve just about run out of image slots on tumblr, so I’ll post a bit more about my Crusade (and some thoughts on 10th edition) next post.