#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 ✨

[plumeria1]

Painted Love

Masterlist

Note : Here's my new Vi x Reader. Hope you like it 😊 Pairing : Vi x painter Fem Reader

Content : Fluff

Warning : None

Summary : You made a surprise for Vi

It was finally there, the letter you had been waiting for was finally in your hands. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to open it, too worried about the response.

A few weeks ago, a friend of your mother's had seen some of your paintings. She said that you had a lot of talent and that you deserved to see your works exhibited.

Without telling you, she had contacted her friend Mel Medarda, a renowned gallery owner in the city, and sent her some of your paintings to exhibit in her gallery.

The day she told you, you had a little argument, but she told you to give your art a chance, and you were convinced.

Mel was supposed to send you a letter indicating what she thought of your works and if she wanted to exhibit them.

And since then you had been waiting, sometimes spending hours thinking and asking yourself a bunch of questions.

- Stop stressing, I'm sure it's a good news.

Vi, your girlfriend, sat next to you on the couch and watched you stare at the envelope. Vi had always been by your side since the day you met her in high school, through the time your father disowned you when you confessed that you were lesbian.

That day, Vi had never let go of your hand, in fact, after that, she never let it go again.

- I will always stay close to you, I will never abandon you.

That's what she had told you after confessing her feelings. You had never been happier than at that moment.

- And what if she didn't like it and found it horrible ?

- Don't say that, you are very talented and if she doesn't see it, it's because she's an idiot.

You handed her the envelope.

- Open it.

She laughs softly, shaking her head, her pink hair following the movement of her head.

- No way, it's your letter, you open it.

You knew she was saying that to get back at you, after all, you had said the same thing to her when she received her university letter to find out if she had gotten the sports scholarship she had applied for.

You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing a long strand of hair behind your ear, you always did that when you were stressed. Vi had always found it adorable.

You slowly opened the envelope and read the letter carefully to make sure you understood its contents.

Vi watched you read, you furrowed your brows as if you couldn't believe what you were reading, and she saw your smile slowly grow.

- No way. I can't believe it !

- A problem ?

- No. Mel says she loved my paintings and wants to dedicate an entire exhibition to them. I have a week to give her my answer and if I say yes, the exhibition will be in six months.

- That's great, sweetie ! I knew you could do it.

You took her in your arms, crumpling the letter in the process, but you didn't pay attention to it. The question didn't even arise, of course you were going to accept.

The next day, you replied to Mel, saying that you accepted her proposal, and things seemed to move at lightning speed.

You spent hours in the workshop that Vi had set up for you in your apartment. Sometimes she had to come and get you to go to sleep, you grumbled just for show, but in reality, you loved falling asleep in her arms.

Sometimes she was curious to see what you were painting, and you let her look at each one except for the one you seemed to spend the most time on, which you covered with a sheet every time she came to see you.

You said it was the centerpiece of your exhibition and that no one but you had the right to see it.

Without you realizing it, six months had passed and the day of the exhibition had arrived. The room was crowded, and everyone present was looking at your paintings while chatting with glasses of champagne in hand.

You felt like you could hear the beating of your own heart, you kept fiddling with the long sleeves of your dress and looked around you.

A hand grasped yours and you found yourself face to face with Vi, who smiled gently at you.

- Everything will be fine stop worrying.

You held her hand and looked into her eyes, all your doubts disappearing like magic. Since you had known each other, she had always supported and encouraged you to the point of becoming your muse, even though you had never admitted it to her.

- I'm going to tell you something. I think I was waiting for this day almost as much as you were.

- How is that possible ?

- Because I was really looking forward to seeing that painting you didn't want to show me.

The sound of Mel's glass clinking silenced the entire room, and all eyes turned towards her, but especially towards the red velvet curtain hanging behind her.

- Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming today to attend the very first exhibition of this young artist who, as you may have seen, is very talented.

- It is now time to unveil the most beautiful piece of this exhibition. She signaled for you to come closer. You downed your champagne in one go and headed toward her.

- Good evening, thank you for coming. Before revealing this final painting to you, I would like to say a few words.

-First, I would like to thank Mrs. Medarda who organized this exhibition, but also my mother who has always encouraged me to paint.

-But there is someone I would like to thank more than anyone, it's my girlfriend Vi who has always been there for me in good times and also in bad. She was by my side every time I thought I wouldn't succeed, and it is thanks to her encouragement and her love that I am here today. She is my muse and she always will be.

You turned to her and smiled.

- So I really hope you like this painting.

- I painted this picture with my heart and put all my love into it. I called it "Passion."

When the curtain fell, revealing the portrait, the room remained silent for a brief moment that felt like an eternity before the applause began.

You could hear the people but you only looked at Vi. Her eyes were fixed on the portrait you had painted of her. She hadn't moved or said a word.

You slowly approached her.

- So, what do you think ? I've heard everyone's opinion except yours.

She turned to look at you.

- You painted me ?

- Yes, I wanted to immortalize everything I feel for you, and painting is what I do best, so I painted your portrait. You don't like it ?

- I love it, it's magnificent, I just don't know what to say, that's all.

She held you in her arms and kissed your forehead. But a question was on her mind.

- Why did you paint me as I was 16 ?

- Because that's what you looked like the first time I saw you and fell in love with you.

You kissed her gently. The rest of the evening passed quickly, you had spoken with almost everyone and had also kept Vi company.

People were starting to leave when Mel came to find you tell you one last thing.

- Congratulations ! Your paintings were very well received, you've already sold almost everything. Ther's a man who wants to buy Vi's portrait.

- It's not for sale.

Mel looked at you incredulously.

- I haven't told you the price he's willing to pay yet.

- It doesn't matter, it's not for sale.

- Very well, after all, it's your work.

Mel left with a small smile to announce that the painting was not for sale.

Later, you took the time to turn off the lights in the room and locked the door, then you saw Vi looking at you with curiosity. You raised an eyebrow.

- What ?

- Why didn't you accept ? You didn't even know how much he was offering.

-I don't care what price he would have put on it, I don't want a stranger to have a portrait of you in his house, who knows what he would do with it.

Vi laughed before placing her hands on your hips while you placed yours on her shoulders.

-Are you jealous ?

-Not at all, I'm in love.

You pulled her into a deep passionate kiss, then rested your forehead against hers with a smile.

- Anyway, even if he had the painting, you would still be the only one to possess the original.

- I certainly hope so.

After checking one last time that the door was properly closed, you took the hand Vi was offering you and you both headed home to get warm.

[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.

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

tell me if you like this!

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[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: "My A-R-T"

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: who would have thought you'd be a centerpiece of someone's world

Tag: @elalfywhore 🫶🏾🩷

Based of the song ART by Tyla..

Morning sunlight filtered through the windows as I walked into our apartment, still buzzing with energy from an early cheer practice. My muscles ached slightly, but it was nothing a hot shower couldn’t fix. Tossing my duffel bag onto the couch, I noticed how quiet the place was. Jana must still be out—probably in class or at the gym.

I headed toward the kitchen, but something on the dining table stopped me in my tracks. A large canvas, carefully covered with a cloth, rested against the wall. A note lay next to it, written in Jana’s familiar, neat handwriting:

"For my muse. Come find me after you see it, habibti"

-xoxo

My heart skipped a beat as I reached for the cloth, my fingers trembling slightly. Jana always had a way of surprising me, but this was different. This felt… intimate.

Pulling back the cloth, I gasped softly. The painting beneath was breathtaking—a portrait of me, vibrant and alive, rendered in soft yet striking hues of caramel and gold. My figure was posed delicately, with one arm resting against my hip and my eyes gazing softly at something out of frame. It wasn’t just a painting; it was me through Jana’s eyes—bold, confident, beautiful.

The details were astonishing. The curve of my lips, the arch of my brow, even the faint shimmer in my hair—everything was captured with an artist’s precision. But what stood out the most was how she’d captured my essence, the warmth and softness that only she got to see.

I couldn’t stop staring. My lips parted as I traced the edges with my fingertips, completely in awe of the love and care that had gone into this.

“Do you like it?”

I turned to see Jana standing in the doorway, a shy but proud smile on her face. She was dressed casually in sweatpants and a UConn hoodie, her hair slightly messy from a morning workout.

“Like it?” I asked, shaking my head as I walked toward her. “Jana, this is… it’s incredible. You did this?”

She nodded, her cheeks tinting pink. “I didn’t paint it myself,” she admitted. “But I found an artist who could bring my vision to life. I told them exactly what I wanted—how I wanted you to look, the colors, everything. I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

I threw my arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, you know that?” I whispered, burying my face against her shoulder.

Jana chuckled, her hands settling on my waist. “I had to do something. You’ve been playing that Tyla song nonstop. I figured it was my turn to make you my ‘A-R-T.’”

I pulled back to look at her, a teasing smile on my lips. “So, you think I’m worthy of being someone’s centerpiece, huh?”

She brushed a strand of hair from my face, her eyes softening. “You’re worthy of being the centerpiece of my world. Always.”

Heat crept up my neck as I bit back a grin. “You’re so corny.”

“And you love it.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Later that morning, after I’d showered and changed into a cozy hoodie and leggings, we sat on the couch together, the painting propped up on the coffee table so we could admire it.

“Why didn’t you wait until my birthday or something?” I asked, leaning against her shoulder.

Jana shrugged, her arm draped over me. “I didn’t want to wait. You’ve been working so hard—between cheer, school, and everything else. I wanted to remind you how amazing you are. You’re my muse, you know.”

I turned to look at her, my chest tightening with emotion. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” she said, cupping my face with her hand. “Every time I look at you, I see something new to love. Something beautiful. I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I leaned into her touch. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over my cheek.

As the day went on, I found myself unable to stop glancing at the painting. It felt surreal to see myself through someone else’s eyes, especially someone who loved me as much as Jana did.

By evening, we’d hung it up in the living room, right above the couch. Jana insisted on doing the heavy lifting while I stood back and gave her directions.

“Left a little… no, your other left,” I teased, earning an exaggerated eye roll from her.

“Keep talking, and I’ll hang it crooked just to spite you,” she shot back, but there was no bite to her words.

When it was finally in place, we stood back to admire it together.

“It’s perfect,” I said, slipping my hand into hers.

“You’re perfect,” Jana replied, squeezing my hand.

I glanced up at her, my heart swelling with love. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I think this is my favorite song now.”

She laughed, pulling me into a hug. “Good. Because it’s ours now.”

As the soft melody of “ART” played from my phone in the background, I couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world. Jana didn’t just see me—she celebrated me, and that was a love I’d treasure forever.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: cecilysass

To cecilysass: an indisputable talent in the X-Files fic sphere. "Orpheus, not Eurydice" was the first to steal my heart; and your blend of winsome, affectionate, particular humor and dark, prolonged, mature pain kept it. Your work captures such specific moments-- such specific feelings-- that its impact is as sharp and distinct as a rubber stamp on new paper.

@cecilysass's (Ao3, Gossamer)

Still Feeling My Father Ascend (Ao3)

“It’s easy to make mistakes,” his father continues. “Don’t get attached too soon. You’re a… well, you’re kind of an idealistic kid. Soft. Don’t marry the first girl you fall in love with.”

By this point in his life, Mulder has already been in love. He might have gone on to marry her, had she been willing. Had she not broken his heart. His father knows nothing of this, of course. Mulder continues to pack without responding.

“You’re old enough to understand that I made some mistakes in my own life,” his father says. “A man makes a bad choice, and he’s stuck. He’s not … satisfied. For years. I don’t want the same for you.”

A deep well of anger pits in Mulder’s stomach, thinking of his silent and broken mother, but still he doesn't speak.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, Fox, is that there’s no point in trying to be a good man,” his father continues. “That’s a waste of your efforts. There’s no such thing as a good man. The more you try to be good, you only get trapped, compromised. The best thing to do is try … to avoid entanglements.”

Post Beyond the Sea Scully is stranded at Mulder's apartment during a snowstorm. Woe upon woe piles up until they both share their own "other fathers" struggles. That, and Mulder might be in love.

How to Eat Pleasant Holiday Meals With Co-Workers - Chapter 1 (Ao3)

“It’s really best to get real cranberries from the Cape and make your own from scratch,” Mulder says, in a pained tone. “You add some grated orange, some cinnamon, some cloves. Next year, I’ll show you how it’s properly done.”

“Oh, will you?” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Probably not,” he corrects quickly. He forgot for a moment that she will probably be on to bigger and better things in the Bureau by then. “Next year, you’ll be back in the arms of the Scully family, counting blessings.”

Season 1 Mulder changes his Thanksgiving plans-- he had none-- to spend the day with Scully-- who now has none after her and Ethan Minette's breakup. Things are... nice, if complicated.

How to Eat Pleasant Holiday Meals With Co-Workers - Chapter 2 (Ao3)

Mulder has drawn a little lackluster pencil drawing of a turkey on a folded piece of paper, which he places at the center of the table. “See? A centerpiece,” he says. “Makes it more festive.”

“I had no idea you were an artist, Mulder,” she says, with a deadpan version of the enthusiasm one gives to a small child.

“Inspiration hits and I have to go where it leads, Scully.”

They grimly peel back the plastic on their trays. “I feel like I owe last year’s cranberry sauce an apology,” Mulder says sadly. “Because whatever this is, it doesn’t even deserve the name ‘cranberry.’”

Post Firewalker Scully spends another Thanksgiving with her partner-- under different, isolated circumstances, of course.

How to Eat Pleasant Holiday Meals With Co-Workers - Chapter 3 (Ao3)

“Scully?” Mulder, ahead of her, stops to peer back. He is wearing his black leather jacket, the bowl of cranberries in his hands. He frowns in consternation. “What’s wrong?”

She spins. Runs full throttle for the bathroom, the sour taste already coming up in the back of her throat. She collapses over her toilet and promptly pukes her guts out.

It's Thanksgiving... or it would have been, if Scully hadn't gotten the flu-- a flu which reminds both of the lingering, unspoken conversation they need to have.

How to Eat Pleasant Holiday Meals With Co-Workers - Chapter 4 (Ao3)

“Mulder.” His voice sounds broken, like an old man’s.

It’s Lionel speaking. Lionel of Lionel and Reyna, who live in the farm house adjacent to their property. Lionel and Reyna, their nearest neighbors. Lionel and Reyna, his nearest neighbors.

Lionel seems to be asking him to dinner tomorrow. Turkey, stuffing, cranberries, pumpkin pie.

Post breakup Mulder reflects: is there dignity in sadness?

Oblivious (Ao3)

“Can I ask you a personal question, Scully?”

“About what?” Her sideways look was suspicious.

“I have a theory about you,” Mulder ventured. “Call it a profiler’s hunch.”

“What comes out of your mouth next could not possibly be complimentary.”

Post War of the Coprophages Mulder tries to convince his partner that not only was Bambi interested in her, but that many others have been inspired with mouth-frothing intentions.

Orpheus, Not Eurydice

So they leave the store with a container of oats and some bratwurst in buns, as well as a bag of potato chips and two root beers. Scully comments that it’s as though they purchased dinner for a pair of hungry 10-year olds, and Mulder just nods vigorously and bites into his bratwurst, obviously relieved that adult Scully is nowhere to be seen tonight.

There are carved stairs set in the side of the short sandstone bluff that leads to the river. There is a narrow park on the bank, almost entirely empty of people. There is a weathered gray picnic table, the color of bone, where they settle in to eat their juvenile dinner. 

The little town hews to the curve of the slow-moving river, which now sits before them, dark green, flat and wide. They are quiet as they eat, even Mulder. All around them the world is verdant, still. The sun has started to sink below the tree line on the opposite riverbed, conferring upon the sky a marigold glow. 

Season 5 Mulder and Scully take a moment to sit, feed the ducks, and listen to the local church choir-- to simply absorb.

Unobserved

It really looks like she has been inside the building, which Mulder ... just can’t make sense out of.

Because she wasn’t back at Gibson’s room this afternoon -- or the psych facility at all. He would have seen her. He was there.

With an unpleasant jolt, he remembers that in fact she had called him, just about that time. She … asked him to go to the office. She said she was on her way already, that she preferred to talk to him there. There she had shown him the proof they needed, what they needed to bring to Skinner the next day.

Mulder lets his hands run slowly down the sides of his face, something falling precipitously in the pit of his stomach.

It is unavoidable: Scully had not told the truth. And Scully always told him the truth. Which raises the unsettling question: what reason would she have to lie to him today? He doesn’t like any of the answers that come to mind.

Post The End Mulder is stunned to find security footage of his partner despondent and nearly in tears.

The Kaleidoscope (Ao3)

Scully turns to Ryan. “We should probably be going, right?”

“Our reservation’s not until seven,” Ryan points out. “I was thinking we could go get a drink at a bar around here. Maybe Fox could come with us?”

Mulder can’t understand this invitation at all; he has been pretty rude, or at least awkward. But Ryan is all fluid friendliness, effortless affability, and Mulder recognizes the type: the socially generous popular kid. After all, he has nothing to lose by extending a welcome to Mulder. He perceives zero threat. He already has everything, doesn’t he? A whole evening ahead with Scully. A whole night. Morning.

Season 6 Mulder sits glumly at his desk, trying to figure out where he fits in the complex and continually confounding life of one Dana Scully. One wrong move and he might end up in the wrong ending.

The Boy on the Beach (Ao3)

“She’s not in here, Mom!” shouted Melissa. “That’s weird … I thought she was. She must have gone outside.”

Scully swallowed, breathing fast, feeling hot tears pooling in her eyes. Whatever was happening, that certainly seemed like her big sister outside that door. Very young. Very alive.

There was the sound of a child’s aggrieved sigh. And then clomping, heavy footsteps leaving the room. Scully could hear Melissa complaining as she went back down the stairs. “She can’t sneak off and not help with the potatoes at all,” Melissa called. “That was supposed to be Dana’s job. And what about the boys, Mom? Bill hasn’t done one single thing to help! Do I have to do everything?”

Her voice grew more distant—and was answered, somewhere, faintly, by her mother’s voice, high and young.

Inside the dim closet, Scully didn’t move for a moment, trying to process.

Post Amor Fati-- A sweeping, intense fic that unspools rapidly from present-day miscommunication to lost-in-time, but-perhaps-just-in-time epic. Scully, lost in the 70s; Mulder trying to trace and intercept her progress through would-be impossible polaroids; and a little Mulder and Samantha, clinging to an FBI savior as their only hope.

We’re Not Here To Get Involved in Personal Problems

In fact, Scully has seen many episodes of Cops, a life achievement of which she is not particularly proud. Her brother Bill is the real connoisseur. He has been known to sing along with the theme song and howl in laughter when suspects scream at one another. Bill loves for his sister to watch with him, since he assumes she especially can appreciate law enforcement as entertainment, but Scully herself never really gets it. She questions the officers’ heavy-handed tactics. She is uneasy that the show has a mean sense of humor about the poor and addicted. She wonders why they never, ever show anyone doing any paperwork. But she hasn’t always found it easy to get along with her brother, and she does love his raucous laugh, so she tolerates this sibling bonding activity.

She can’t imagine how it ever would have involved Mulder, though.

“You and I watched it together in the hospital,” Mulder reminds her, shoving both hands in his pockets as they walk. He kicks at something on the ground. “When you were sick -- the chemo. It’s possible that you were a little out of it.”

“Ah,” Scully nods. Her time in the hospital is a blur of surreal, half-remembered daytime TV.

Post X-Cops Mulder and Scully take a fruitful walk around the neighborhood (season of secret sex who?)

Negotiation (Ao3)

“I just don’t want an arrangement,” he repeats meaningfully. “I don’t want a negotiation.”

“I get it,” she says shortly, jerking her hand out from under his.

“No,” he says. “No, you don’t.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want … what you suggest. I’ve thought about it. A lot. Maybe too much.”

Scully’s mouth twitches at the corners as she apparently absorbs this. “Okay,” she responds. A pause. “Then why not?”

Mulder rubs his temples aggressively.

“I don’t think I could do it without … all of it. I mean, that’s not strictly true. I could do it. I’m only human. But I think it would end … really badly.”

Mulder and Scully, stakeouts and a little miscommunication-- what's not to love?

Gingersnap (Ao3)

“I could help you,” he says.

At that she raises her eyes. There is a look of unmistakable hope there. It surprises him, even dazes him a little. He’d expected her to reject his suggestion out of hand.

“Is that something you’re capable of doing?” she says tentatively. “Baking cookies?”

“No,” he admits. “At least there’s no precedent for it.”

“Sounds useful.” Her eyes are still cautiously on him.

Scully's unsuccessful baking attempts are further thwarted by Mulder's eager, hands-on attitude.

The Gentle Art of Dream Interpretation (Gossamer)

In Mulder's dream, he was a French Jew from Alsace, and he wore a shabby brown coat before a panel of great men.

Angry, standing before the Great Sanhedrin in Paris, he was trying not to shout, but could feel the steady rise of his pitch as he lodged his formal complaint to the Jewish leaders:

"You bend and stretch the halakha as best fits your pocketbook," he was telling them. His hands were shaking. He was speaking French.

Mulder has a complicated dream, which leads to more straightforward revelations in a motel pool in the late-early hours of the morning.

False Front (Ao3)

“Aren’t you the same person who once told me ‘the truth is out there, but so are lies?’” Mulder pushes. “Where’s that Dana Scully?”

She walks to the window and stands in front of it, still hugging herself and looking out into the afternoon light. From Mulder’s vantage point she looks only like a silhouette, an outline of herself.

“I get it,” she says after a heavy beat. “I see what you’re saying.”

Now there’s a melancholy timbre in her voice, a sound of defeat. He hears it rarely, for all of their struggles, and he doesn’t like it.

An astonishingly "lifelike", vivid look at Mulder, Scully, and TLG's conflicted feelings after En Ami's road trip.

Pause (Ao3)

 “Your mom is already here. I called her this morning—I thought it better be me that broke the news. It’s kind of a shock. She’s eager to see you. Are you ready to talk to her?”

Scully nods, her forehead creased. She crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

He regards her. “You’re nervous.”

“Of course,” Scully replies pointedly, her voice lowered. “I want her to believe it’s me. It will hurt if she doesn’t.”

Her eyes land on his face in time to see the shadow move over his features, and she regrets saying it. She doesn’t understand the full story yet, why he is so convinced she is dead. But she can hear the raw suffering in his voice as he talks to her mom. Whatever he has been through, maybe she should tread more carefully.

AU-- Pre-Requiem Scully wakes in an abandoned car with no memory of how she got there... and no memory, she learns, of the years that have passed since her and Mulder's almost kiss, Millennium's successful followup, and the blissful months that followed.

Ice Water - Chapter 3

“Gamma," he says, his voice a tiny whisper. He is feeling shy.

“Look,” Maggie says cheerfully to him, as they walk into Dana’s kitchen. “It’s your Aunt Dana, Matty. You’ll see she looks a little bit like your daddy. At least I always thought so.”

Dana has her back to them, pouring water in the coffeemaker, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. Strange she hasn’t made coffee already, thinks Maggie. Strange she isn’t dressed for work.

When she turns around, Maggie has to stop herself from gasping audibly.

Post Without Maggie brings over little Matthew... and notices something is most definitely not right with her daughter.

Opposition And Synthesis

It had been a particularly trying day.

And all because that morning, she had woken up obsessed with the philosophy of Hegel.

Hegel's dialectic. An old concept from college, from her philosophy and German classes. Every important idea in history is a thesis, and is naturally paired with its antithesis. Eventually they subsume one another, combine into something new. That is the synthesis.

Two wrongs, in essence, making a right.

Post This Is Not Happening Scully is continually struck by the holes Mulder left in her life.

All the Dead Mulders (Ao3)

Or maybe he just wants to touch his mom’s gravestone. And Samantha’s. A really selfish whim for him to indulge on week two of being newly undead, not to mention a risky one. He doesn’t even have a valid driver’s license anymore. An overzealous North Carolina traffic cop could really upset the apple cart.

But all that completely, cosmically just doesn’t matter. Mulder knows emotional numbness. He has had experience with several gradients of it before, dating back to early adolescence. But this? This takes the cake. This lack of feeling is a whole new level.

He sees all of the very good reasons not to steal Scully’s car and drive to North Carolina that morning—he understands them perfectly and could articulate them if someone asked—but they’re so far away from him that he can’t touch them, much less feel them.

He’s looking at them from miles above, like he never came back from orbit at all.

Post Three Words Mulder steals Scully's car and drives out to face his experiences head-on-- or, more accurately, to confront the looming shadow of his death.

Shine On (Ao3)

The pizza that Fox Mulder ordered isn’t from a pizza place Jackson has ever heard of, like Domino’s or Pizza Hut, but it’s really good anyway. Or at least it tastes good to someone who hasn’t eaten all day. Jackson eats the first piece really quickly, then he grabs for a second without thinking, forgetting his manners. When he realizes what he’s done, he hesitates.

“Go for it,” the older man says, his eyes darting sharply back and forth between the pizza and Jackson’s face. “Eat as much as you want.”

Fox Mulder has been acting much more intense ever since Jackson told him about the red-headed lady.

What would happen if Jackson had fallen into Mulder and Scully's life earlier? What would happen if he needed them because he was framed for murder, but was afraid to open up to them fully? What would happen if that reconnection was fraught with hope, and angst, and even literal pain? (And what would happen if a formerly abandoned mytharc thread wove its way back into their lives?)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging: @poangpals.

[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!”

[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.

[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.

[skyborneveggie]

hmm how about 7, 13, and 28 for the ask game? :>

💜🙏💜🙏💜

7. Your favorite kira?

Assuming this q means aside from my beloved bb Light, that would be Misa. I just love how unapologetic she is about murdering, I love how unabashedly she pursues the things she wants, I love how she doesn't give a shit as to whether Light means the things he says and long as he plays house with her nicely like a good dolly. I love how twisted and devoid she's become on the inside in the process of trying to run away from herself. She and Light both succeed in this; they have excised themselves from their bodies and live on as hollow facsimiles of the people they used to be. They are perfect for each other, in a way. The ideal toxic duo to rule over Light's new world.

I feel that Light really underestimated how essential Misa's willingness was to keeping his plans in check. Takada had too much self-respect for there to not be some conflict arising down the road, the same as which happened with Mikami. She was more emotionally mature and Light had to maintain the more difficult lie of something approaching authenticity with her. If Light wanted the perfect queen, it really only could have been Misa who filled those shoes to his expectations.

13. Favorite ships?

Classic Lawlight, who can resist the web of their toxicity? 😩 They really are two sides of the same coin. Very early on into my death note journey I came across this reddit post discussing the possible intentional coding of Light & L as sex symbols (in the anime, I believe). And while I don't agree with every point the op makes, I do find it interesting to consider how this coding affects our perception of their interactions, & intensifies the conflict between them in an eroticized way.

Second favorite would be Matsulight. The warehouse scene is just so, so soul-crushing for me, and I like to imagine what could happen if it was amplified to 1000. I talked about it extensively on this post, but to quote myself in summary:

It's just so heartbreaking to watch the one person who trusted Light entirely, fall apart under revelation of the truth. And cathartic too, to see the depth of Light's betrayal embodied in Matsuda's visceral rage. In a room full of grim and stone-faced people, Matsuda is the only one whose grief flows freely. Light was not in his right mind enough to realize it, but he died with the possibility of knowing that someone had cared about him enough to grieve him, and do so immensely.

(Also, I one of the first fics that I ever read for DN was Matsulight & it really compelled me. I went back to read it recently & I realized it was your fic. You did such an incredible job 😭. It's one of my all-time favorites!!!)

Third favorite, I've been getting into Misa/Takada lately. I feel like there's a lot of detestation & potential poisonous energy between them waiting to be explored. They are both such different entities, & interact with Light & the death note & their own internal selves in entirely different ways.

28. Favorite official art.

I LOVE the composition of this image. The way Light is in the foreground as the subject but frames Naomi as the centerpiece, with Ryuk and Raye lurking in the background... *chefs kiss* brilliant. Also love the grim reaper connotations with the scythe; Misa's accompanying grim reaper art is a close second for that reason too.

[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

[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​

[pixiebombblog]

Dev Diary #2 (December 3, 2024) - Winter Progress Update!

Hi everyone! It's been a little while since I officially announced my upcoming custom voiced Skyrim follower mod 🌸 Seraph 🌸 & it's time for some updates!

If you haven't read the first Dev Diary which has a lot of the broader details of the project, check it out here - https://www.tumblr.com/pixiebombblog/765529458207784960/dev-diary-1-oct-27-2024-it-all-starts-here?source=share

Since then, work on Seraph has been coming along well, the beginning involved creating a bunch of custom systems & mechanics unique to Seraph, which I hope will set her apart from any other follower out there, & also a tonnn of writing & quest planning!

Some development highlights from the past few months:

🌸 Seraph's core systems are all implemented, including her follower framework, her custom combat AI (which is a lot more sophisticated than the usual Skyrim NPC!), & a few of her fun advanced mechanics as well!

🌸 The Approval system is in place (think Baldur's Gate 3 but much more in-depth), with various options for player preference in how it's presented in-game. Your choices will matter w Seraph, & along w raising or lowering her opinion of you, she will actually remember specific player dialogue choices across your journeys w her, leading to a very immersive & varied experience for multiple playthroughs.

🌸 I've also gone ahead & built & implemented a custom lock-bashing system for her; Seraph may not be a subtle, sneaky type but she can still help you w some of those pesky locked chests & doors!

🌸 Seraph's introduction is complete, along w multiple options for when/how to recruit her after your initial meeting! Seraph is integrated into the world in a way most followers just aren't, and if you don't choose to recruit her, or want to dismiss her for a while *she will carry on living a life of her own & be part of the game world!* I'm working hard to give her a sense of realness outside of just existing to follow the player's every whim.

🌸 Much of Seraph's Four (or Five, for some players who may choose to romance her) Act overarching questline is written & plotted out, & Act 1 is deep into being implemented. Each Act is not one quest, but rather a section of questing. Seraph is looking to be the scale of a small DLC in her original quests alone!

🌸 Seraph's appearance is also implemented, & work between myself & my incredible 3D artist @legendaryfirewizard on the custom 3D models for her visual centerpiece is coming along great. I'll be honest, I've been waiting to divulge details about her character in part bc when I do, I want people to *see* what they're getting ✨️ I'm so excited to share more about her character outside of technical details of the mod, but it will be well worth the wait to see her in her full glory.

Overall, dev on Seraph is coming along really well so far. As pretty much entirely a one-woman operation, there are more & less productive days & weeks, but any dev time I do have is all going to Seraph. I haven't felt this passionate & driven about a project in a long time.

For those who are asking about Redcap/other work, Redcap v1.5.0 is fully on pause until Seraph is released. I may release some minor side things here & there, & you may see some new Redcap stuff in the form of collabs w other mod authors, but right now my main focus is Seraph. I've learned that I tend to spread myself too thin & overwork myself, so having one main passion project at a time has been so great to get back to lately 😊

I'm hoping there will be less time between Dev Diaries than there was between these first two, & hopefully soon I will be able to share some images & juicy character details. Stay tuned. 🩷

- Pixie 🩷

(Mod Author, Voice Actress)

[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]

[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 grasp burns out with a lackluster fizzle, just like the end of another year. Staring at the silhouette of Orlando’s skyline, everyone, including the twinkling stars above, is out celebrating tonight. Free spirits roam the streets across the centerpiece lake, with liquor-flushed faces and festive accessories bedazzling their bodies. Behind them, rows of apartment complex windows are lit with strobe lights in various colors. A mixture of music blares from miles away.

Sawyer stands on an unfamiliar balcony as a spectator on the sidelines. She isn't much of a social butterfly. Parties of any kind are where her fragile wings curl inward, shielding her from a potentially awkward state of affairs. Dressing up was the only reason she agreed to attend a New Year's Eve celebration at her friend’s new penthouse. Harry, too, she supposes. He's her date tonight, however mingling comes much easier to him, so he's off having more fun than she is. 

His wrist has just about healed, courtesy of the time he dedicates 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 ever since that stormy night outside 7/11. It's been challenging to keep up with his bustling life as a professional baseball player while simultaneously balancing her job with how often he travels. It all proves to be worth it when giddiness courses through her veins from just being near him. 

Harry is the biggest 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 should win an award. 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. A childlike smile when he holds her hand and guides her through the city, swinging their arms as he points at different stores he would like to check out. Her favorite is a radiant smile when she visits him at practice and sits in the scout seats. He always jogs over 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. 

She's over the moon in love with her sunray. 

As the party inside rages on, Sawyer sighs between her chattering teeth. Orlando can be nippy at night, and all she wants to do is fall asleep under a warm blanket. Or against Harry's chest. It's hard as a rock, but his soft 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 saw him walk in with his buddies and managed to ignore him... until now. 

"Leave me alone, Jordan," she saysmonotonously 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 asks 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 shaggy black 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 bitterly. "You're so delusional. Take the hint." 

"Whatever," he says dismissively. His dilated eyes 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 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 respond, only giving her a 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 as tears 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 of sulking, the patio door opens again, and Sawyer hastily wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. She should just go back inside and find something to distract her—maybe join in on a lousy game of beer pong or find the television so she can watch Boyz II Men perform on Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. Realistically, she should probably fix her splotchy makeup.

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, walking toward her. "It's our song. Unless you want to get crazy and do "Barracuda." Or I could ask for "These Dreams," if that's more your speed." 

She nearly sobs. He’s so tender. "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. I believe in you." He's a decent singer, surprisingly. Quite… intense. Let’s just say he takes car duets very seriously.

Harry 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.

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

"Give you what eyes?" she asks not-so-innocently.

"Sawyer Alejandra," he says as a warning.

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

Smirking, Harry cradles the back of her head to tilt it forward again. "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." She clears her throat and looks off to the side.

"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?" 

Her crème satin dress with a pleated bust outlined in gold flows elegantly down her body, just the way she likes it. The arched tiara on her head glimmers with silver beads, an accessory she was so excited to wear. Slingback kitten heels give her an extra four inches of height. 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 you 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 the crease between her eyebrows, his own furrowing with confusion. The warmth and gentle caress of his calloused fingertips give her a sense of safety. "What brainless dodo bird is pecking nonsense into my girlfriend's head?" 

"Jordan," Sawyer says, wincing. "Um, he came out here and tried to talk to me." She 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 alone. 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 arm muscles compared to his, she highly doubts she'd succeed. 

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

"Please don't cause a scene," she says. "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." 

He looks back at her in bewilderment. "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 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’m very fond of you in this dress, but 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 warmth engulf her. It smells like his house, his cologne, his sheets—just him. It consumes her in an overwhelming way. 

Harry is gone for no longer than a minute when he returns again, this time with Jordan trailing behind him like a dog with its tail between its legs. Harry 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 clench with love. 

With one tattooed arm 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. "You’re funny." Sitting up a bit, he tightens his hold on Sawyer. "I suggest you tell the truth and tell me 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 fucking 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. But 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 fuckin’ New Year." 

With that, he removes himself from the interaction with a hostile peace sign. The thick tension in the air disperses, and Sawyer releases the breath she'd been holding as she curls 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. "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 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 now that our dynamic 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 thigh, "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, lover boy." 

"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 a 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 intensely. "Your eyes are such a dark brown, yet they 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 without missing a beat, 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 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 mumbles. "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." 

And 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 balcony, falling deeper and deeper in love with each other until it's time to go home. 

They shine too brightly to be dimmed. 

——