#vertical can racks

[thehonestcart]

Top 10 Best Vertical Can Racks for Efficient Storage | Organize Your Pantry!

[valiasims]

Cozy Cabin Collection - Entryway

Hey everyone!

A little later than I would have wanted but here's my latest set I created, called Cozy Cabin. As I said earlier I want to make more sets with this theme and I plan to add some holiday objects for Halloween or even Christmas if I feel I'm enjoying the theme until then! This way we could follow through the seasons with this theme and decorate our cozy cabins to match the current season. I hope you'll join me on this road because I am excited to see the cabin come to life.

This first set is based around the entryway. I wanted to make a built-in system with shelves, cabinets and a little nook to allow sims to sit and (imagine that they) put their shoes on. Then this idea became bigger, I wanted to add a door and windows (which I didn't have time for but I still want to make) and then I started to make walls. Please, remind me next time to do not make this many walls when I haven't got too much time on my hands because I struggled to save all heights and swatches for all of them.

The built-in system has a coat rack backing part where you can snap the metal hooks to so they'll stay together and can be mix and matched. The bigger cabinet functions as a dresser.

You can put together the built-in different ways: without the bench, using the cabinets instead of the backing, building a little reading nook with them. The swatches let you to use this set in different setting as well, I think they'd look good in a farmhouse style home, or a coastal one.

(The boxes on the shelves are mostly from the Dream Home Decorator pack since I didn't have time to make some and I didn't want to show them empty.)

Let me know what you think and how you like it!

The Set Includes

Entrance Door (short and medium height)

Built-in Dresser

Built-in Shelf

Built-in Coat Rack Backing

Built-in Cabinet

Built-in Cabinet Shelf

Built-in Wooden Bench

Hallway Table (2 sizes)

Armchair

Fur Blanket

Metal Hook (5 variations: empty, coat, bag, beret, hat)

Plaid Cushion

Vase With Branches

Autumnal Books

Wall - Pioneer Wood Siding (horizontal, vertical)

Wall - Wood Paneling

Wall - Wood Panels

Wall - Wood Trunk Wall

-DOWNLOAD HERE- Public release on the 16th of October 6PM CST

[nightingale-prompts]

God's TV- DC x DP prompt

Accidentally summoning a god from another dimension can happen, especially when cults are involved. However, no can could predict that the not only was the god a teenage boy but also a very bored teenage boy who didn't want to leave.

So he stayed and moved into Titans tower.

Danny is helpful (when he wants to be) but rarely goes out on missions. He says they are boring and nothing is dangerous enough to exert the effort. Instead, he minds the medical bay. Having a healer more than made up for the lack of help.

It's not like anyone disliked Danny or thought he didn't do anything it was just that he was unpredictable. Danny could be nice, considerate, and even sweet if he was working in the medbay. He could also be a pain in the ass anywhere else. He loved pranks and scaring people with his powers. He was harmless though.

No one really knew what he did all day. He was usually in his room doing something they guested. Said room was an anomaly. It was larger on the inside having been made into a pocket dimension. The appearance and organization of the room changed every time you went in.

It was after one mission that the team learned what was in the room.

A rogue had used their invention to erase Superboy's memories and they didn't know what to do. They took him to Danny who was currently rearranging the medicine by color. They hoped that his powers covered mind-altering afflictions. Unfortunately, Danny couldn't wave a hand and fix this.

Instead, Danny took the group to his room. The decor was neon Tokyo meets space right now. The furniture was currently floating and almost hitting Wonder Girl in the head with an end table. Of course, there was no gravity here.

"Stay here while I grab it," Danny said flying up the vertical corridor.

While he was gone the room rearranged itself into a contemporary format. The furniture grounded itself and shifted into a normal living room.

Danny returned with a cart and a headset. He placed a card he pulled out of the cart into the headset and put it on the dazed Superboy's head.

"Wait what is that?" Tim asked.

"It's his memories. I kept a backup in case this happened." Danny shrugged.

Immediately everyone began asking what the hell does that mean and why does he have that.

"Oh please, this dimension has this happened all the time. Amnesia is so cliché and cheap. I saw a pattern and decided the easiest way to prevent you from losing the entirety of your lives was to make save states of your memories." Danny said matter of fact.

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Impulse studied the rack of cases and looking for the card with his name on it.

Wondergirl sighed, she was used to this from Robin but even he wouldn't go this far.

"What? It's not like just anyone can find these. Only you can access your own memories anyways. I just decided to repurpose my RE:Viewer." Danny pouted.

"What is a reviewer?" Wally asked flipping through the cases. Each one had titles like moves or shows with an arrangement of stickers.

"The RE:Viewer is something I created to catalog things I've seen looking into other dimensions. I don't have an infinite memory you know. But the longer I have my title the more I'll lose touch with my mortality. These things help me stay close to people by giving me the chance to remember how it feels. I also have been using them to get the stories of others. Keeping their experiences like you'd keep a TV show or movie. So many stories could have been lost to time but now they are saved. I use them to teach myself." Danny smiled.

The concept genuinely sounded interesting. Like experiencing a movie in 4d.

It had been 3 minutes before Kon took off the headset and back to his old self.

Danny pulled the input card out and it disappeared into another realm with a flick of the wrist. Danny was completely honest that the copies were inaccessible to everyone but him.

"You feeling alright Superboy? Your memory should be backed up until a week ago." Danny said shining a light in his eye.

"I'm fine. I think. What happened?" Kon asked batting the light out of his eyes.

"Explanation later. Take a nap first. You aren't concussed at least." Danny informed.

"What are the stickers for?" Wally said pointing at the rainbow of colors the card cases had.

"Just the emotions associated with the experiences. Orange is comedy, red is action, pink is romance, and blue is tragedy." Danny listed. "That one with the pink is one of my favorites. I meddled a bit in that world. Two people who had never met fell in love at two points at different times. One of them was doomed to die but I worked my magic on a mirror that allowed them to meet once. They shared notes left in different places for the other months ahead. Makes you believe in true love. A real tear-jerker."

"What about the black stickers?" Wally asked.

"Don't touch the black ones," Danny said darkly, smacking his hand away. "You don't need to know about those. I don't like thinking about them."

"So you just take the memories of others and put them inside your machine to replay later?" Batgirl asked. "Isn't that kind of wrong?"

"No, I asked permission. I usually pull them aside at some point and ask. If it's my memories (that's the green stickers) I don't need to. The rainbow ones are simulations. Like a video games." Danny responded patting her on the back for not being to hard on him about this admittedly weird situation.

"So what's the black one with the rainbow sticker?" Wally asked picking up the case that was obviously stuffed in the back.

"STOP TOUCHING THOSE!" Danny yelled pulling him away.

[fairytropics]

Salt Lake City Pantry Inspiration for a large l-shaped kitchen pantry remodel with a farmhouse sink, recessed-panel cabinets, quartz countertops, stainless steel appliances, an island and white cabinets

[maudie-duan]

Summary: Fuck domestic bliss…because you couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t want to bite Harry’s head off or if sex still existed between you both—weeks of cold indifference have turned into all the little angers adding up until you both finally hit your boiling point, and shit hits the fan, a breaking point neither one of you saw coming, and that's it! Now cue the aftermath as you watch the dust settle. How will Harry help you mend all the broken pieces that are past the point of fixing? A/N: This story is based on this request<- bear with me. I did veer off course slightly! But only like the slightest bit. I only added some little gems that made that juicy request even better. Long story short, my brain turned the request into a “worship kink,” and here we are! Warning: Fighting, Filth, Fucking, and Fluff. xFem!reader, this one gets a happy ending!😉 Word Count: 7.6k

Fuck domestic bliss.

What was it anyway? A phrase you had heard so many times and understood, had been lucky enough to have felt and lived it, but lately, you felt it slipping through your grasp little by little.

The contradiction of closeness lies in this truth.

Sometimes, the very comforts of domestic life that once drew you together can slowly pull you apart, familiarity breeding not contempt but a dangerous indifference. Maybe this wasn’t everyone’s truth, but there is truth in the tiny details—In the words left unsaid, in the gestures you keep to yourself, the small angers that were never addressed.

Somewhere between the shared routines and the predictable rhythms of togetherness, you lost sight of what truly mattered—the connection you had that once felt like magic was being buried beneath the mundane details of everyday existence.

And this was you and Harry.

Stuck in the rut of everyday life.

A rut it was because when was the last time you guys had sex? Felt the warmth of his body, not the chill that came with the silent shuffle of starting each new day, the curt good mornings said in passing, or perfunctory kisses goodbye. You knew you both desperately needed this reset.

Dinner had been perfect so far—a homemade lasagna in your favorite vintage casserole dish, the one with the delicate blue flowers around the rim that had been your grandmother’s. It was the only thing you wanted from her estate; you saved it for truly special occasions, and tonight—a chance to finally reconnect with Harry—felt worthy.

When Harry complimented your cooking, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he reached for seconds, you felt the first real thaw in the frost that had settled between you. Maybe tonight could be the beginning of finding your way back to each other. It was the kind of evening you both needed after a long week. The kind where the outside world ceased to exist, where deadlines and meetings and stress melted away with each sip of the rich red wine Harry had brought home.

A perfect, cozy bubble of domestic bliss.

Until it wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not how you load a dishwasher,” you almost snapped, watching him haphazardly stack plates on top of each other, silverware pointing in every direction, the sight of it already getting under your skin.

He glanced up at you, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. “Does it matter? It all gets clean anyway.”

You sighed, setting down the wine glass you’d been drying. “Yes, it matters. The water can’t reach everything if you stack them like that. And the silverware needs to be sorted.”

“I’ve been loading dishwashers since before I met you,” Harry replied, continuing to place a bowl where it clearly didn’t belong. “Never had a problem.”

“Well, you’re having one now,” you said, moving to his side and beginning to rearrange the dishes for what felt like the 100th time since you moved in together, “Look, the plates go here, vertically. And cups on the top rack.”

Harry took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? You’re actually reorganizing it?” And he huffs out a breath like a child being reprimanded, and it sets you off even further.

“Someone has to do it properly.”

The tension in the room shifted.

Thickened.

What had started as a simple correction was quickly becoming something else entirely, but you knew you couldn’t go on like this without saying another word.

For weeks now, you’d been swallowing your tiny irritations—the dishes left in the sink, the damp towels on the bathroom floor, the half-empty coffee mugs abandoned throughout the apartment. Each small oversight had been a pebble added to the growing pile of resentment, and suddenly, this dishwasher incident was the final stone that sent the whole thing tumbling down.

The pressure of all the unspoken frustrations had been building inside you like a kettle about to whistle, and now the steam needed somewhere to go.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s tone held an edge to it now, the one you recognized as his defenses going up.

“It means,” you forced, ripping a mug he had wedged between two plates, “that you never load it right, and I always end up fixing every damn dish.”

Harry scoffed. “For fucks sake, here we go. ‘Harry never does anything right.’ Is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant. I can hear it with every word you’re saying”

“If it’s not complicated, then why does it matter how I do it?” His voice was rising now, hands gesturing emphatically. “Why do you always have to micromanage every damn thing I do in this apartment?”

“Micromanage? I’m not your fucking mom, Harry!” You felt the heat of anger rising to your cheeks, fury burning through you. “Asking you to load the fucking dishwasher correctly is micromanaging?”

“It’s never just about the dishwasher, is it?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign he was getting truly agitated. “It’s the way I fold the damn laundry, or how I organize the fucking refrigerator, or the fact that I put my shoes in the wrong spot. The shit I do is never good enough for you.”

The accusation landed hard, stinging more than you expected, piercing through your irritation, hitting something deeper. “That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair? Am I wrong?” Harry’s eyes were dark now, his jaw set. “You say you’re not my Mum, but you’re always correcting me, always finding something wrong with how I do things.”

“I’m not—That’s not fucking true and you know it!”

“Yes, you are!” His voice echoed in the kitchen, making you flinch, and you stilled your movements, “You think your way is the only right way, and God forbid anyone do things differently!”

That’s when you felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, your pride refusing to let him see how much his words were hurting you. “I’m just trying to help,” you whisper.

“No, you’re trying to control,” Harry shot back, his voice still loud. Harry was so caught up in his anger that he couldn’t read the room--see the pain lacing your features, “There’s a difference.”

The silence that followed hung heavy, painfully deafening, filled with all the things you both wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. You stared at each other across the kitchen, the distance between you feeling like miles rather than feet. It was terrifying how quickly love could transform into this—how the face you had memorized in all its expressions could suddenly seem like it belonged to a stranger.

The green eyes that usually held such warmth for you now flashed with something cold and foreign. In moments like these, it was easy to forget the thousands of tender touches that had come before, the whispered affections you shared in the dark. Anger had redrawn the map of his features, making him unrecognizable, and you wondered if he saw the same frightening transformation in you—if your face had become a mask that concealed the person he had fallen in love with.

“You know what?” Harry finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I don’t need this right now.” He turned away from you, moving toward the counter where his keys lay.

As he passed the sink, his arm swung out with what seemed like unnecessary force, the dramatic fashion of a child not getting their way, his tantrum knocking against your precious casserole dish that was perched on the edge where you’d left it to soak, and then you caught his eye for just a fraction of a second.

And what was it that you saw?

Was it a flash of vindictive satisfaction hovering at the surface, or was it your imagination coloring the moment with your own anger?

Had he done it on purpose?

Because it all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

Time seemed to slow as you watched it teeter, then fall.

You felt the crash as it hit the tile floor, the loud crackle like an explosion, booming through your entire body as a lash of anger tore down your spine; the sound of the scattering pieces filled the quiet apartment as shards of ceramic exploded outward in a constellation of blue and white.

You stood there holding your breath in the aftermath, a split second of recognition as your knees went weak with despair.

“Harry! What the fuck is wrong with you!” The words tore from your throat as you dropped to your knees, shaky hands hovering over the broken pieces of your beloved dish. Maybe it was dramatic, but he knew how much you loved that dish, and here you were staring down at each fragment, each piece feeling like it represented a memory you would lose forever—all the stories it held through time, years of meals shared, now the life you were building with Harry—the meals it would never see.

Harry stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and regret. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Just go…” you whispered, carefully picking up a piece of the rim, the delicate blue flower now split in two. The longer he stood there, the angrier you got until you were yelling, “Just go, Harry! Since that’s what you want to do anyway—Just fucking go!”

“Babe, I’m sorry about the dish, I really am—”

“It’s not about the dish!” And this time, your voice broke, the tears finally spilling over. “It’s about you wanting to walk away instead of talking to me. It’s about you thinking I’m trying to control every detail of your fucking life when I’m just asking you to do something simple.”

Harry’s expression hardened again. “And there it is. It’s simple to you, so I should just do it your way. My feelings don’t matter.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant.” He shouted, stealing the air from your lungs, your ears ringing with the silence that fell over the room.

And this was the final blow.

The last accusing blow that sliced between you, a perfect circle of hurt and misunderstanding, and you watched, gutted, as he grabbed his jacket, his movements stiff with anger, fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quicker.

“I need some air,” he spits, not meeting your eyes. “Be back later.”

The door closed behind him with a finality that made your heart sink, and there you were, abandoned, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the broken pieces of your casserole dish as tears streamed down your face. His departure felt like a betrayal—choosing escape over resolution when things got too difficult.

It was always like this, wasn’t it? When emotions ran too high, he fled, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces while he walked free of the responsibility of working through the hard parts together.

Slowly, carefully, you began to gather the fragments, each one a sharp reminder of the words he left you with. The dish was beyond repair; you knew that. Some things, once broken, couldn’t be fixed, and now you hoped your relationship wasn’t one of them.

As you dropped the last piece into the trash can, a sob escaped your throat. You knew It was just a dish, you tried to tell yourself—Just a thing—A material thing that could be replaced, but it was your thing, the one thing that held the most meaning. And now it was gone, reduced to shards in a garbage bag, just like your perfect evening had been reduced to angry words and a slammed door.

And there you were, cleaning up the mess, cursing to yourself as you properly loaded the dishwasher. Of course, the irony of it all was not lost on you as you slammed the dishwasher door shut like Harry had slammed the apartment door, and you poured yourself another glass of wine—a large one this time—and crawled onto the couch, ready to sulk in the misery of you and Harry’s aftermath.

Alone.

And if he could be petty and walk out the door.

So could you.

One episode turned into two, and you lost track of when your wine glass emptied the first time because then you were opening another bottle, your eyes drifting to your phone periodically, checking for any messages, any sign of life, but there were none. Each passing minute twisted the knot in your stomach tighter. Where had he gone? Was he drinking at some bar, venting to strangers about you?

Or worse.

Had he found comfort in someone else’s arms? You knew that would never happen, but would he have been angry enough this time? Your heart pounded as the intrusive thoughts multiplied, each more gut-wrenching than the last. The questions circled in your mind like vultures, swooping lower with each passing hour, feeding on the fears—leaving too many questions unanswered as the hours ticked by one second at a time.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the key in the lock.

But you didn’t turn around, keeping your eyes fixed on the television screen where a contestant was having a meltdown over a collapsed soufflé. The door opened and closed softly, followed by the sound of Harry removing his shoes—placing them in exactly the right spot, you noted with amusement, listening to his quiet footfalls, each step reminding you of the lingering irritation still caught at the surface.

His footsteps were hesitant as he approached the couch, stopping just behind you. You could feel his presence, the familiar warmth of him, but you didn’t speak. Let him make the first move, you thought. Let him show you where his head is at.

“You’re watching our show,” he said finally, his voice quiet and a little rough.

You nodded, still not looking at him. “Seemed fitting.”

“Without me?” He almost whined.

And the pained tremor in his voice had you turning around, meeting his eyes for the first time since he had left. Your heart sank when you saw they were red-rimmed and tired, his curls a mess like he had been running his hands through them repeatedly—a nervous habit you’d always found endearing.

“You weren’t here,” you replied simply.

Harry winced, acknowledging the hit. “I know. I’m sorry.” Your body stiffened as he moved around the couch, cautiously sitting down beside you, leaving space, maybe too much distance, as he tried to respect the invisible boundary your tough stance was emanating.

You knew it, but you couldn’t help it.

You were still mad.

Still hurt.

Part of you wanted to maintain the cold front, your pride still stinging from the fight, but deep down, you ached for him to ignore the warning signs completely—to pull you against his warm chest, wrap you in those strong arms that have held you so many times.

You wanted him to make a move, be the one to make the first real motion toward fixing things.

But fuck, it was never easy to let go of a grudge.

And so you remained rigid.

Your cold exterior stubbornly at odds with the longing building inside you.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he continued, that sadness still in his eyes when you didn’t respond. “It was childish, and it didn’t solve anything.”

Coldly, you took a sip of your wine, considering him over the rim of the glass. “No, it didn’t.” And your tone was dry, already wanting him to work harder for the apology.

Harry sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “I was angry, and I felt... I don’t know, attacked? But that’s not an excuse. I should have stayed…talked it out.”

“Yes, you should have.” Your voice was steady now, the tears long dried. “And you shouldn’t have broken my dish.”

“That was an accident,” Harry said quickly, giving you the most sorrowful eyes that made you want to melt. “I swear to you, I would never deliberately break something you love. I was careless, and I’m so, so sorry.”

You believed him.

You really did.

Harry wasn’t cruel, just hotheaded sometimes.

“It was special to me,” you whispered.

“I know, baby.” He reached out tentatively, not quite touching you. “I know it was. And I know it’s not just about the dish.”

You perked up at this, his answer surprising you, warming your insides up, “You do?”

Harry nodded, his expression solemn. “I had a lot of time to think while I was walking around. About why you were really upset and why I got so defensive.”

This is what you had been waiting for, you thought as you set your wine glass down on the coffee table, giving him your full attention. “And what did you come up with?”

“That you weren’t trying to control me,” he confessed. “You were trying to help...in your way. And I took it personally because...” He paused, searching for the right words. “Because sometimes I feel like I don’t measure up. Like I’m not good enough for you.”

The confession stunned you.

So bare and honest that it made your heart splinter.

How long had he been carrying this weight?

The thought that he’d been feeling inadequate while you were oblivious sent a wave of guilt crashing through you. All this time, your attempts to help had been reinforcing his deepest insecurities—a reality so far from what you had intended that it left you without words. You never wanted to be the source of his self-doubt, the reason he questioned his worth, and your throat tightened with the shame of it as you reached for him.

Because he had always been enough.

This had never been a doubt in your mind.

“Harry, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He gave a sad smile. “You’re so put together, so organized. You know exactly how everything should be done. And I’m... not like that. I’m messy and forgetful and I load dishwashers wrong.”

A small laugh escaped you, then. “You do load dishwashers wrong.”

His smile grew a little, encouraged by your softening, and dammit, that sweet little dimple in his left cheek appeared, the one that always made your fucking stomach flutter. “I know. But when you point it out, sometimes it feels like you’re pointing out all the ways I’m not perfect. All the ways, I’m not what you deserve.”

“Oh, Harry, my love...” And you moved closer to him, that icy barrier between you beginning to dissolve. Your thigh pressed against his, warm and solid, sending a subtle electric hum through your body. “That’s never what I mean. Never.”

“I know that, rationally,” he said, finally reaching out to take your hand, and his thumb traced slow, gentle circles on the delicate skin of your wrist, the innocent touch awakening nerve endings you had forgotten existed after weeks of distance. “But emotions aren’t always logical, are they?”

As you squeezed his fingers, you felt the familiar calluses on his palm, slightly rugged, but these were the same hands that could fix a leaky faucet, soft in the way they could cradle your face with a heartbreaking tenderness that never left you guessing, and you couldn’t look away from his lips as you replied, your voice slightly lower than before. “No, they’re not. And I’m sorry too. I can be... particular about things. I should be more patient, more understanding that we have different ways of doing things.”

Harry brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles that lingered just a beat too long to be innocent. “I worship you,” he said gently, his eyes never leaving yours, the green darkening as his pupils bloomed. “Every part of you. And I should be more open to learning your way, especially when it comes to things that matter to you. Like vintage casserole dishes.”

The mere mention of the dish brought a fresh pang of loss to the pit of your stomach, but it was duller now, overshadowed by the heat suddenly building between you. You knew it was happening the second he said ‘Worship,’ the word sending a rush of thrill up your spine, a wave of excitement swelling through you the closer your bodies got.

And you wanted it.

Welcomed it even as that familiar ache awakened between your thighs. “It was just a thing,” you said, echoing your earlier thoughts, your voice huskier than intended. “Things can be replaced.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry said, reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand, his movement causing his thigh to press harder against yours. “I have something to show you.”

He pulled out his phone, and you, without hesitation, shifted closer, tucking yourself against his side as he unlocked it. You had missed him, missed this, and you let your head lower to his shoulder, breathing in his scent— his cologne and something uniquely him that had always felt like home.

As he navigated through his search history, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his shoulder through his shirt, feeling him shiver in response, momentarily distracted his thumb hesitated over the screen for just a moment before he found what he was looking for and tilted the phone toward you.

Your heart stopped.

On the screen was an eBay listing for a casserole dish—not just any dish, but one identical to the one that now lay in pieces in your trash can and as your eyes roamed the listing, Harry pushed a kiss to the top of your head.

The listing showed it had been purchased just an hour ago.

“You bought this?” you asked, looking up at him in surprise, ready to jump his bones right here, right now, because you wanted him so fucking bad.

Harry nodded, a hopeful expression on his face that quickly shifted to something heated, more primal as your bodies connected. “It’s being shipped express. Should be here in a few days. I know it won’t have the same memories attached, but we can make new ones.”

And there it was again.

That ping.

That pulse.

That pull deep in your gut, and your body flushed at the thought of it as the heat spread across your skin like wildfire. “You spent your evening searching for a replacement?”

“Part of it,” Harry admitted, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach tighten with want. “The rest I spent realizing how much I never want to miss moments with you again. Not even watching people cry over pastry.” And he nodded toward the television, where the show was still playing, forgotten in the background.

The sincerity in his voice.

His genuine regret.

And that fucking lovesick look in his eyes melted the last of your resistance.

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity—every breath, every slight movement charged with unspoken desire. You set the phone down and moved closer to him, consciously letting your breast brush against his arm again as you pressed against his side, and his sharp intake of breath told you he felt it too.

That magnetic pull.

That desperate need to reconnect not just emotionally but physically.

“Prove it,” you said softly.

Harry blinked, his breathing growing shallow as he caught the unmistakable invitation in your tone. “Prove what?”

“Prove that you never want to miss a moment with me again.” Your hand found his thigh, fingers tracing an intentional slow path upward. “Prove that you’re sorry.”

“Tell me what you want?” His voice gravel, a tone that sent liquid heat collecting between your thighs, a shiver down your spine with want.

You leaned in, letting your chest press against him as your lips brushed his ear, teeth grazing his lobe before you whispered, “I want you to worship me.”

A low groan vibrated from deep in his chest, his entire body tensing, his hunger barely restrained as he moved without hesitation. Harry slid from the couch to his knees before you, his strong hands pushing your thighs apart, gentle but insistent, the pressure wanting, and holy fuck, the look he gave you from that position made your clit fucking throb with anticipation.

And this is what you missed; this is what you both needed.

“I do worship you,” he said, his fingers skimming up your inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they approached your warm center before diverting to the hem of your shirt. “Every. Fucking. Part of you.”

His words made your heart jump.

Your heart picking up when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, moving with tantalizing ease as he lifted it, exposing your stomach as his knuckles deliberately grazed your heated skin. Your nipples were already pressed hard, almost painfully, against the fabric of your bra as cool air met your exposed flesh, waking your entire body with its presence.

“I worship your strength…your strength to have to put up with my shit.” when he laughed, his hot breath fanned over your skin, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your quivering stomach, his tongue dipping past your navel in a way that made you gasp. “Your kindness…god baby, your fucking kindness.” he breathed, his tone weak as he pressed another kiss higher, working his mouth up your body.

Every time Harry’s mouth met your flesh, you drew your legs together, trying to dull the pulsing ache taunting you between your thighs, but Harry wouldn’t budge, and as they closed around his body this time, you felt a light pinch at your inner thigh making you buck your lower half.

And then you sucked in a sharp breath when Harry’s teeth scraped a gentle path against the underside of your rib cage. “Your passion,” he added as his hands slid around to your back, fingers splaying across your heated skin before they found your bra clasp, flicking it open with a practiced ease that reminded you of all the countless nights of pleasure because without a doubt there had been so much pleasure.

Harry’s eyes never left yours, green depths swimming with a craving, a hunger, something deeper, more profound as he removed your shirt and bra in one fluid motion, “I worship your heart,” he continued, cupping your breasts, a tender grasp as he said, “So full of love, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Greedy, you arched into his touch, your body more than ready, responding to each word that tumbled from his mouth with every caress. “Harry...” you breathed.

“Shh,” he soothed, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his warm tongue circling the sensitive peak. “Let me show you. Let me prove it to you.” Then Harry’s wandering hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down with your underwear as you lifted your hips to assist him.

As the last barrier between you fell away, you found yourself naked before him in the soft glow of the living room light, and there was something sacred in this vulnerability—a heartfelt intimacy that transcended the physical. His worshipful gaze felt like kneeling at the altar to pray as you lay there naked.

With Harry, you never needed to hide—his eyes had always been your safest place, a sanctuary where every part of you was cherished without judgment. This moment of being completely bare before someone who held your heart with such care felt like the truest form of yourself that you could ever give him.

Then his hands were skimming up your calves, over your knees, along your thighs, your entire body humming with his touch. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you for permission as if he needed it, and you felt that tight flutter deep in your belly.

All you could do was nod, unable to form words as the anticipation built within you. Harry smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that promised pleasure beyond measure, and you felt all the lingering tension leaving your body.

Then he lowered his head, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, working his way inward with deliberate care, each kiss slow, but you felt the silent plea with every touch of his lips to your skin, a quiet apology, each brush of his fingers a promise of devotion.

He started gently, teasing at first, licking a slow, delicate line up your slit, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against your pussy lips, and you gazed down at him, holding your breath as you watched his calm composure falter, his need for you making him weak, his brows drawing together in pure agony.

Pain and pleasure stole his features as he stilled his movements, sucking in a harsh breath against your thigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into your skin. You watched him force a shaky breath from his lungs, and he pushed a hand into the crotch of his jeans, his whole demeanor shifting, physically aching from the presence of your pleasure.

“This...I worship this.” he rasped, pulling back to drive his point home, and you tried to draw your legs together as a breathy laugh slipped past his lips, and he nips your inner thigh with his teeth, making you gasp out, and you comply spreading them wide.

And like a flip of a switch, he dove in with a renewed hunger, his tongue already working, circling your clit as the other hand left your thigh, and then you felt his fingers teasing at your entrance, gathering your wetness, his finger sliding against you before slowly pressing inside.

One finger at first, curling upward with expert precision to find that spot that made your fucking toes curl.

“Oh, god—Harry!” you cried out, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he bellowed against you as he added a second finger, ready to stretch you as he pumped them in and out in rhythm with his tongue. “So tight, baby—say my name. Let me hear how good I make you feel. Let me hear how much you fucking need this.”

And it’s true you fucking needed this.

You both did.

And now you wanted the release.

All at once, the dual sensation of his mouth and fingers was overwhelming, and you found yourself writhing beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair while the other gripped the couch cushion desperately, holding your breath as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity, the sensation curling tighter and tighter in your lower belly.

“You’re dripping for me,” he rasped, his voice rough with want. “So fucking wet. Could drown in you and die happy.” Then his fingers twisted inside you, pressing harder against that perfect spot, his tongue flattening against your clit, firm this time, steady pressure you knew would have you coming in seconds.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breaking as you felt yourself approaching the edge. “Please, Harry, right there—baby—please!”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” he groaned, briefly lifting his mouth before immediately returning to your slick heat. “Want to feel you come on my tongue. Want to taste every drop you give me. Need it like I need air, baby, this is mine...”

Then you felt his fingers curl, curving inside you, hitting that exact spot with each thrust while his tongue worked your clit with unwavering focus. The combination was too much—the physical sensation coupled with his filthy words and, dammit, the sight of him between your thighs was so fucking beautiful, Harry completely devoted to your pleasure.

“I’m going to—” you moaned, your thighs beginning to shake uncontrollably as you fisted his hair, your grip tightening, pushing his face into your pussy like you could fit him inside you.

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice vibrating across your sensitive flesh. “Come for me, baby. Flood my fucking mouth.”

And then it was happening: your orgasm hitting with such staggering force that it knocked the air from your lungs, crashing through you in waves that seemed to go on forever, and you screamed out his name as your back arched off the couch, your walls convulsing around his fingers just like he wanted, and Harry moaned deeply against you, drinking in your release, his tongue gentling but never stopping as he guided you through every aftershock, every tremor of pleasure.

Harry didn’t stop until a soft whimper left your mouth, and you gently pulled away; only then did he reluctantly withdraw his mouth and he pressed his forehead against your trembling thigh, catching his breath in hot puffs against your skin as you gazed down at him, catching sight of your essence glistening on his lips and chin, a testament to your undoing.

When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, his gaze burned with more than just desire—they held a fierce, almost predatory pride in having unraveled you so completely, Harry knowing he had earned every shudder and cry his mouth had coaxed from your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your shaky thigh. “So fucking beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

“Come here,” you said, letting out a lazy laugh, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm as you tugged at his shoulders. “Let me kiss those shiny lips.”

Harry smiled as he rose from his knees, his movements a little stiff from the prolonged position. Of course, as he stood, you couldn’t help but stare hungrily at the prominent bulge straining against his jeans, and he moved to sit beside you on the couch, his lips a dark blush, wet with the evidence of your pleasure, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw, untamed hunger.

“I meant what I said,” he told you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with shaky fingers. “I worship you. Every part of you. And I’m so sorry for hurting you earlier.”

And even though you hear his words, you don’t respond. Instead, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep, aggressive kiss, gradually licking across his lips first, tasting your own arousal with a moan that made his entire body go slack.

And the groan that left his mouth spoke volumes as you climbed onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as you straddled him, barely breaking the kiss as you continued, pressing harder, your tongue exploring every corner of his mouth, finding every hint of your essence that was left, a whole new greed filling your chest.

“You like that?” you asked, grinding slowly against his erection as you pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing his. “You like when I’m filthy for you? When I lick my cum off your face?”

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath you, his pupils completely blown with lust. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

You smiled wickedly, dragging your tongue along his jaw to his ear. “You taste so good mixed with me,” you breathed, feeling him shudder beneath you. “And I believe you,” you added, your voice softening slightly as you pulled back to meet his eyes, stroking his flushed cheek. “And I forgive you. Now let me show you exactly how much.

Relief washed over his features, followed quickly by a need that seemed to rise up as you knowingly licked your lips, tasting the last glimmers of yourself. “Now,” you continued, your hand moving to the bulge in his jeans, “let me show you how much I love you too.”

Harry’s breath hitched as you palmed him through his denim jeans. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you assured him, working at his belt buckle. “I want to taste what I do to you. I want to taste us together.”

Your words pulled a deep moan from somewhere inside him, his hips lifting of their own accord to help as you tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free him, his dick bounced up between you, hard and straining, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

You leaned down, maintaining eye contact as you licked it away, savoring the salty-sweet flavor that mingled with your own taste, still lingering on your tongue, and you watched Harry’s eyes roll back, his hands already fisting in the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “If you keep that up, this is going to be embarrassingly quick.”

You smiled against him, pressing a kiss to his sensitive head. “That’s okay. We have all night for round two.”

Before he could respond, you took him into your mouth, sliding down as far as you comfortably could. The sound he made—half groan, half your name—felt like one of the most erotic things you had ever heard as your head began to move.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, saliva dripped from your lips to his shaft as you pumped him with your hand. “You like watching me choke on this big dick?” you asked, voice rugged before you took him deep again, this time letting your throat constrict around his tip.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his thighs tensing beneath you. “I’m not gonna last if you keep that up.”

You loved this part.

This was your favorite part, watching how easy it was to make him come undone.

And you continued to work him with your mouth and hand, establishing a rhythm that had him panting and cursing above you. When his hands found your hair, it wasn’t guiding, just connecting, Harry needing to touch you as you pleasured him.

“I’m close,” he warned after only a few minutes, his voice strained. “So close, babe.”

You pulled off with a pop, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “Not yet,” you said, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. “I want to feel you.”

Harry’s hands immediately went to your hips, steadying you as you positioned yourself above him. “Are you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, deep and passionate, as you slowly sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he was fully seated within you. The stretch now arousing the desperation even more, your body still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want this. I want you.”

You began to move, setting a slow, grinding pace that had both of you moaning, and Harry’s hands roamed your body, touching everywhere he could reach, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, really his.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, the words like a prayer being answered. “I love you so much. Never want to fight with you. Never want to be apart from you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, increasing your pace as the pleasure built again. “Always, Harry. Even when we fight.”

“Fuck—you’re so big,” you moaned against his lips, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. “Can feel you so deep inside me.”

“So—tight,” Harry pushed, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as you began to pick up your pace. “So fucking wet and tight around me. Like this pussy was made for me.”

And you both laughed when your eyes met his. Both of you realizing it had been way too long since you had spoken these filthy words into existence, but you needed it, both of you spurring one another on as the pleasure took hold of each of you.

You established a rhythm, rising until just the tip remained inside before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt each time. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps, each sound breathing life back into the space.

“That’s it,” Harry urged, his voice strained as he thrust up to meet your downward movements. “Ride that dick. Show me how much you fucking need it.”

And dammit, what had Harry said? you needed it like you needed the air in your lungs, the blood flowing through your veins, the fucking heart pumping in your chest that could only beat for him.

In this moment.

Always.

You needed him.

Forever.

The tension between you had transformed completely, the anger of earlier replaced by a desperate, all-consuming love. Each movement, each touch, each whispered endearment was a reaffirmation of your bond, stronger now for having been tested.

You felt hunger drive from within as you increased your pace, grinding your clit against his pelvis with each downstroke. “So deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back as he hit that spot inside you. “God—Harry—you’re so fucking deep.”

His hands moved from your hips to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as you bounced on his lap. “Look at you,” he groaned, eyes dark with need, with purpose as they raked over your body. “Taking me like this. Fucking goddess.”

The pleasure was building, charged with a thrilling energy that had you both sloppy for more as your second orgasm loomed even faster than the first. Harry could tell—he always could—and he slipped one hand between your bodies to circle your clit.

“Want you to come on this dick?” he forced, his voice a rough growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Going to squeeze me so tight I can’t hold back?”

“Harry—” you moaned, each movement becoming erratic as you chased your release. “Make me come, Harry. Need to come with you inside me.”

“The way you take me so deep... fucking incredible.” he praised, thumb stroking your clit in circles, moving in sync with your movements.

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice tight with the effort of holding back. “Want to feel you come around me.”

The added stimulation was all you needed, and you felt your second orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, less intense but somehow deeper than the first, and you moaned out Harry’s name as your inner walls clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

Fuck.

It was so good.

This was so good.

And then he was burying his face in your neck as he came, his arms wrapping around you so tight that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began as a swell of longing flooded your body, and you held him just as fiercely, riding out the waves of pleasure together until you both collapsed, spent and satisfied.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, connected in the most intimate way, hearts beating against each other as your breathing slowly returned to normal, and Harry pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, before finally finding your lips in a tender, loving kiss.

“I really am sorry,” he murmured against your mouth. “About the fight, about the dish, about leaving.”

You stroked his hair, smiling softly. “I know. And I’m sorry, too, for being so rigid sometimes. Maybe we can work on it together?”

Harry nodded; his eyes were serious despite the blissful aftermath you guys found yourselves in. “We will. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the seller is including the matching serving platter too.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, pure joy replacing the last vestiges of hurt. “You found the matching platter? Those are even rarer than the casserole dish!”

“Only the best for you,” Harry said, his smile mirroring yours. “I told you, I worship you. Every part of you, including your love for vintage dishware.”

You kissed him again, pouring all your love into it. “And I worship you, Harry. Even when you load the dishwasher wrong.”

When his laughter joined yours, filling the apartment with the sound of happiness restored. The broken dish was forgotten, replaced by the promise of new memories to be made, new moments to be shared, and a love that was stronger for having weathered its first real storm.

As you curled against him, content and complete, you knew that this—this imperfect, sometimes messy, always passionate love—was the most precious thing you would ever possess. And unlike a casserole dish, it couldn’t be broken by a careless moment or a heated argument. It could only grow stronger, more beautiful, with each challenge overcome together.

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73

@haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden

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[mcondance]

an “i love you” that isn’t words

Spencer’s love for you is evident all around you.

warnings & notes the rumors are true i love tøp and spencer reid! anyways fluff but still MDNI 18+, title from shy away by twenty øne piløts, do not listen as you read. inspired by the lyric it’s titled after. real freaks only (people who love love), reader may or may not be autistic i don’t know if you feel it you feel it! reader is a bit shorter than spencer, writing fluff is becoming less and less out of character for mcondance

1.1k words (what…….)

Spencer’s apartment is still, save for the solitary body making its way from room to room. Music floats from his turntable— you remember having to tell him to store his records vertically. Even that super mind of his didn’t contain the knowledge of what happens to records if they’re stacked on top of each other. So he stood them up, and he made room for your records as your collection slowly began to find a new home. 

The desk by the door is littered with both yours and his papers, and trinkets that belong to both you and him, Spencer’s lamp, and a really weird looking lamp you got off EBay more than a few years back.

One of your blankets is thrown over the back of the couch, infusing some color into the deep browns and reds of his living room. The small table in front of the couch holds your tattered copy of the book you’ve been reading since you were 12 years old. It looks like something you can’t describe, something that’s been with you for a decade now lying on your boyfriend’s table. Poetic, maybe.

Your stacks of books have long since married with his. To anyone else, it’d look like a library, but to you both it’s not enough, not enough. 

“We’re gonna have to rent a storage building,” you deadpan, staring up at the ceiling in bed.

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting his head fall toward where you lay beside him. “But what if there’s a book we want to read but it’s in the storage building? Then we’d have to drive over just to get it—”

“And we’d get distracted like we always do so we’d be there for hours.”

“It’s unproductive.”

“Horribly so.”

You’re not sure who breaks the faux-formality first. Either way, you both end up laughing with sparkling eyes fixed on each other, and a giggled agreement to just let the books continue to pile up. 

“I wouldn’t mind living in a library,” is what Spencer tells you after he’s caught his breath.

In the bathroom there’s room for yours and his body wash. Your toothbrush sits next to his in a brown mug with a funky design on it, one you brought in your move. Along the side of the sink lay your hair products, arranged neatly. Two towels hang from a spiraling rack you bought at an antique shop a few months after you moved in. 

“Spencer, look!” You exclaim, clearing the small space in less steps than it’d usually take you. He follows quickly, pressing his chest to your back as he looks over your shoulder and gives his attention to the metal rack. 

“We can put it in the bathroom, maybe. If that’s fine with you,” you suggest, turning to face him. It seems like his eyes are ever melting when you’re in his line of sight, but somehow they melt further when you turn. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, encasing you in the kind of warmth you get when you step out of the cold into a heated building, shivering but grateful to be out of the frigid temperature. It’s reminiscent of how it felt to actually step into the shop. 

“If you want to, then we’re going to.” 

“Yay,” you smile, before you kiss him shortly. He smiles back, glowing eyes soft and smooth, and kisses you authentically, and not so deeply as to be inappropriate in public, but still enough that you distantly think your legs might buckle. 

The bedroom is a portmanteau of you and Spencer. Your plushes sleep soundly on your side of the bed, and at night they watch quietly from their perch on the table on the other side of your night stand. Your stand matches Spencer’s, so heart-flutteringly you’re sure teenage-you would jump up and down and screech. Scattered upon your nightstand are a couple of half-drunk bottles of water, your vitamins, various necklaces and rings, a couple of books stacked on top of each other, and a drawing Spencer made for you. 

Spencer’s side is a bit less packed, but still unorganized nonetheless. Books (of course), a journal and a pen (you’ve gotten him into journaling as a way to regulate himself when he’s feeling overwhelmed), and when he comes home later tonight his watch will join the rest of his things.

One side of the closet is yours, and the other is Spencer’s. While his style seems wacky to other people, there’s a couple of pieces on either side of the closet that have a sibling on the other side. The clothes that can’t fit in the closet are folded in the dresser drawers. 

The dresser is decorated with a couple of your CDs, the ones you like to see when you’re in the room. Necklaces and rings plucked from various antique and thrift stores are spread over the cherry-tinted wood, mixed in with some of Spencer’s cologne, a tie or two he hasn’t hung up yet, and a bag of candy you’ve both been eating out of. 

Your trinkets mix with his, a display of two people who spend way too much time sifting through shelves in places full of dust and the smell that is unique to antique shops.

“Jesus, why do these shops always smell like that,” you whisper as you enter the store.

“Everything in here is most likely, at the least, over 50 years old. Most older things are made of natural fabrics like linen, cotton, wood— you know, stuff like that— that are extremely good at absorbing smells. I’m sure our clothes now will have a unique smell that people down the line will have the exact same reaction to.”

You smile, and you think your eyes are about as wide as a saucer, that little look of pining you always take on when he talks like that. It’s not your fault, really, he’s just so nerdy and you love his rants so much. 

“I can tell you more about it while we shop,” he offers. 

“Uh, duh,” you answer, looking between him and a cute tie you think he’d like.

In the kitchen cabinet, your bowl is freshly cleaned, as Spencer washed it before he left this morning. Ever the pattern-recognizer, he picked up on your attachment quite quickly and has made that accommodation for you ever since. You’ll use other bowls if you have to, but you haven’t had to for months. 

The record finishes. You pick another one out of your section of the collection, and play that one. Coincidentally, it’s one of your favorites that became one of Spencer’s favorites after you played it for him. One happily and gratefully became two.

[p0orbaby]

Kind of a blurb/fic request can be with either leah or alexia (I Thought alexia but that’s up to u!!)

Reader is out with friends while Alexia is at home relaxing when she suddenly gets a drunken call from reader, who insists that she misses her—despite having seen her just two hours ago. Slurring her words, reader confesses that she’s thinking about Alexia in a very sexy way, prompting Alexia to leave immediately to pick her up. When she arrives, reader is a complete mess, stumbling, giggling. Getting home proves to be just as chaotic, with reader bumping into furniture and clinging onto Alexia at every step. The night quickly takes a very heated turn. The next morning, reader wakes up groggy and hungover, convinced she just had the most incredible dream about Alexia. But when Alexia casually informs her that it wasn’t a dream at all, reality hits—they really did that. (also very consensual very cute very much loving)

i didn’t write the end cause i couldn’t be bothered, i do apologise

-

Alexia’s halfway through her second episode of some criminally boring Netflix docuseries when her phone buzzes.

Mi Vida calling.

Odd, since you left the flat exactly two hours ago with a declaration of “Don’t wait up, I’m going feral tonight” and a trail of expensive perfume so strong it’s still haunting the hallway.

She picks up. “Hola?”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Hi.”

It’s your voice, but two octaves too high and about seventeen degrees more chaotic. You sound like a girl who’s befriended a nightclub toilet attendant.

“Bebé?” she says, already sitting up. “Are you alright?”

“Mmmhhm. I miss you. I miss your—” you burp. Delicately. “—soul. And your boobs.”

Alexia blinks. “My soul and my boobs?”

“Yeah. Both of them. They’re connected.”

She hears giggling in the background. You again. Definitely you. Possibly you laughing at your own hand. It’s hard to tell.

“Mi amor,” she says gently, “you left two hours ago.”

“I know, but I’m in a crisis.”

“A crisis.”

“I saw someone who looked like you but it wasn’t you and it made me feel things in my—” you lower your voice dramatically, “—sexy parts.”

Alexia exhales. “Where are you?”

You list the name of a bar she knows is twenty minutes away if she speeds. She’s already grabbing her keys.

-

When she arrives, you’re outside on the curb, dramatically hunched over like a poet. One hand clutches your bag, the other is pointing at the moon.

“I’ve been narrating my emotions,” you say proudly.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Four. But one was in a fishbowl. That counts as two. So maybe six. Maths is blurry.”

You try to stand up and immediately tilt like a house in a storm. Alexia catches you, and you sigh into her shoulder like it’s your final act on earth.

“You smell like comfort,” you whisper.

“You smell like vodka and bad decisions.”

“That’s my perfume.”

She bundles you into the car with minimal grace. You keep poking her arm, like you’ve forgotten she’s real and need to check.

“Ale. Are you listening?”

“I’m driving, cariño.”

“I’m thinking about your thighs.”

She nearly swerves.

“Por favor, stop.”

“I won’t. You wore the shorts today. You know what you’re doing.”

-

Getting you into the flat is like herding a drunk cat. You knock into the coat rack. You fall over your own shoes. You try to kiss her in the elevator but miss and land somewhere near her collarbone.

“You’re a menace,” Alexia mutters, half-carrying you inside.

“I want to be your menace.”

“You are.”

In the bedroom, you finally pause. Look at her. Sober enough, somehow, to be serious for three seconds.

“I really do miss you. Even when I’m with you.”

Alexia swallows.

“I know.”

You pull her in by the hem of her shirt, clumsy and slow, kissing her like you’ve just remembered how. Like she’s the only thing keeping you vertical. She laughs into your mouth, then groans when your hands find her waist.

“Still thinking about my thighs?” she whispers, cocky now.

You grin. “Nonstop. Obsessively. Should probably go to therapy.”

“Later,” she says, already tugging you down onto the bed. “First, let me give you something to miss properly.”

And that’s how your night ends: tangled, tipsy, flushed with heat and laughter. You’ll barely remember how you got home — but you’ll remember this.

[professionalgooner69]

Tear drops on the dining table

"You think a house runs by itself!? Everyday I work DAY AND NIGHT like a dog to make this house into a home and this is how you repay me??" You said, voice filled with agony and frustration.

" I..." He holds eye contact with you for a moment before turning away.

" Are you fucking serious? How much effort does it take to ACTUALLY be present huh?" You point your words at him with sharp, arrow-like precision as you hit him on the chest with the rolled up newspaper.

" All I ask..." You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing "All I ask is for me to not be the only one present in this marriage."

" I'm... trying sweetheart, but you know work keeps me busy." This time he looks at you, really looks at you—hoping that somewhere deep down you might still forgive him.

A smile breaks into your face as you break character and tell him-

"Man I was hoping you would be more of a bitch."

" Well I'm trying but it's hard to be a bitch to my girlfriend when we're playing pretend husband-and-wife darling" He says while chuckling.

"....This wasn't intense enough, do you think we should go for a scene where you cheat on me-"

Before you can finish your sentence, your words register in his mind as a scrowl develops on his face.

" I would rather not even think about it, let alone enact it with you"

"Man...you're boring as hell, - 1000 aura."

" My apologies for being a good boyfriend and not arguing with you much."

A moment of silence passes by as you tell him your next move, which to your dismay, doesn't gain his approval.

" what if you were my step-"

" fuck no"

" I could be stuck in the washing machine-"

" Sweetie we have a vertical one"

Am image of you being very unsexily stuck in your tall ass washing machine comes to your mind as you cringe at thought. You rack your brain as you try to come up scenarios to act out.

"... What if you were my teacher?"

" Weren't we supposed to be fake arguing rather than enacting porno scenarios?"

" C'mon be a little sex positive dude" you tell him as you latch onto his arm.

" Ain't nothing positive about your sex life" He snorts.

Now this is not how you imagined it to go when you suggested a teacher role play, here on the dining table with your books laid out, which you had done so to make it more immersive, being oblivious to what effect it might've had later on.

"How the fuck did you pass high school?"

You grip your pen a little tighter as your boyfriend, now chides you for doing your work wrong. At first you were happy he was getting into the whole teacher thing but you hadn't assumed that he would ACTUALLY start teaching you.

Vietnam War flashbacks come back to you as he ask you

" When was the Harappan civilization found?"

" I- uhh"

"Let me give you a hint." A sigh of relief leaves your lips, thankful at his mercy-

" WHEN WAS THE HARAPPAN CIVILISATION FOUND?"

He yells the same question louder as if doing that will make you remember the date.

As you sit there, with your notebook filled with tears of not remembering the fucking date of an age old civilization, you make a mental note to yourself to never ask him to role play with you ever again.

LMAO I rlly dk wtf I just wrote but I hope yall like it😭❤️💀

Reader wanted to fake argue with the boys since they're such green flags that arguments are rare 😭💀

[rheya28]

Sol School of Fashion ♥ The Sims 4: Build // CC

Sol School of Fashion "SOF" is a well known fashion studio/school located in Del Sol Valley. SOF is a space that encourages boldness, creativity, and innovation. Sims can have access to a café, photo studios, a classroom, a meeting room, a lounge, as well as a customizable runway with a backstage dressing room that consist of all the fashion necessities needed to produce a professional fashion show event.

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

♥ Hi guys, today I present to you SOL School of Fashion "SOF". This build/project is extremely special as I collaborated with the lovely and talented @farfallasims who kindly curated all the looks for the 2023 SOF Fashion Show Event Looks Curated by: @farfallasims [ Look Book Link ] 25:23

➽ Important Notes:

● Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽ Lot Details

Lot Name: Sol School of Fashion Lot type: Generic lot type or Cafe Lot size: 40x30 Location: Starlight Boulevard, Del Sol Valley

➽ Mods:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

Awingedllama : Boho Living, nostalgia living

Greenllama: The woodwind collection

Novvas: Holz Kitchen

Qicc: Sleep Hallway, Urban Bedroom

S-imagination: Nota

Sooky: Abstract framed posters -wooden frame

Sooky: Bon ton n1 ceiling lamp - Tall

Syboubou: Daguerre Reica Camera, Ballet mirror , fency

The Clutter Cat: Dandy Diary, Mellow moods

Aira : Artist in me

Anye: Zara Bathroom

ATS4: pot 4, pot 13, plant 16 Crafting room: dressform blouse, dressform male, dressform suit, folded fabrics, jar, paperstack, patterns, sewing machine

Harrie: Bafroom, brownstone, kichen

House of Harlix: Baysic, harluxe, brutalist, coastal, kwatei, octave, shop the look 2, spoons, Jardane, Livin Rum, Orjanic, tiny twavellers

Felix Andre: Berlin, Chateau, fayun, colonial, grove, kyoto, paris, shop the look

Brainstrip: my corner cc pack desk only

Charlypancakes: Munch, the lighthouse collection, miscellanea, modish, smol

Leori: Hipster loft

Illogical Sims: Home office

Kaiso: rustico living

Kate Emerald: Blissful baby Ottoman

Kiwisims4: Blockhouse hallway, Blockhouse Dining

Leaf Motif: Devon kitchen

Little Dica: Country side Cabin, Rise & Grind, sleek slumber

Madame Ria: Back to basics paint wall, Limber lumber

Madlen: Hiru misc set

Rusticsims: Mayaken, Modular life

Myls: Simple Clothes rack nordic

Mxims: LG

Myshunosun: Sol kitchen, Arrie Office, Gale dining, Lottie, Macaron kitchen, herbalist kitchen, tranquil bedroom

Peacemaker: Alesund, Hudson, Kitayama, Terra tiles horizontal/vertical, Vera Office

Pierisim: Coldbrew, David Apartment, Domain Du clos, MCM, Oak house, Tilable, unfold, Winter Garden

max20/maxsus: Poolside lounge pack

Sforzinda: Func EP02 Espressogrindomatic, espressoimpresso, cabin slats

sims4luxury: Mcgee&co Callhan rug

Sixam: Artz Living room, small spaces work from home, hotel bedroom, kessler kitchen, stylist wood livingroom, teen room

TaurusDesign: Eliza Bedroom, Elsa kids room

mycupofcc: Modernist

Tuds: 2ndWave, beam, cave, cross, wave

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__

[kelcemenow]

Train Hard, Love Harder.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 476

Warnings A little strong language and suggestive themes, but it's just a fluffy one.

And it's yet another Anon request! "helloooo can you please do one where the reader and Travis are dating and they go to the gym together and they’re like those gym couples on tiktok"

Travis' grunts echoed loudly around the room and as you glanced over your shoulder, you met his gaze with a grin.

Travis finished his final set and carefully let go of the chest press bar, his eyebrows lowered, "What?"

"You're making the same noises that you make when you're fucking me!" You said quietly with a short giggle.

"Relax, there's no one here." He wiped his glistening brow with a towel before taking a few steps towards you, "Why? Is it putting you off your work out?"

You rolled your eyes and shook your head gently, turning back to look up at the pull-up bar that was slightly above your head.

"Is it...turning you on?" His arms found their way around your waist, and his body pressed firmly into yours from behind.

Gripping the cool, metal bar with both hands, you curved your back and turned your face closer to his, "No, but it is ruining my video for TikTok."

Travis' head snapped sideways to see your cell phone propped up on the weights rack. He leaned back, his eyes closing as he bellowed a loud laugh, "Aww man! Is it recording?"

"Yeah, I wanted to film my progress on this thing." You lightly tapped the pull up bar, "But something tell me that your presence in my video will shift the focus onto something else."

Travis grinned as he held onto the vertical bar, swinging himself around to face you, his lips only inches away from yours, "I'll hide myself away then."

You accepted his light kiss, the heat radiating from his skin and onto yours when an idea sprang into your mind, "Or?"

"Or, what?" Travis looked to you, curiously.

"What if you appear in my videos?" Your eyes were wide with potential concepts, "We could do a 'My Girlfriend Tries My Off-Season Workout' sort of thing?"

Travis' lips thinned and his brow lowered, "I thought you didn't want me getting involved with your TikTok stuff? Something about people saying your videos were only successful because of the tall, handsome and incredibly talented football player?"

"I'm pretty sure I didn't say handsome."

Travis clutched his chest, "Ooh cold. Are you sure?"

"Sure that I didn't say handsome or sure about you being in some of my videos?"

He gently reached out for your hand, "Both. Look, I know what those comments are like sometimes. People are dicks, but people online are even bigger dicks. I just don't want some asshole tearing down what you've built." He pressed a kiss into your knuckles, "And you definitely said handsome."

You let out a laugh, your eyes creasing, "Alright. Maybe I did. And I'm sure about this, I really think it would be fun!

Travis nodded gently as he pondered over the idea, "Okay, I'll do it. Now, first of all, shall we discuss my appearance fee?"

______________________________________________________________

Huge thank you to the Anon who requested this...Lord knows they've been waiting a long time for it!

As always, if you would like to be included onto my Taglist, just let me know! That way, you'll never miss my writing! (even thought it is a bit sporadic at the moment!)

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[kedreeva]

Finished the base for the first new quail tower, which Sark designed around the trays I wanted to use, and with my actual needs in mind. It will get an auto water system and feeders, once they're in.

Overall, I'm in love with the new design in theory. I can't wait to use it, the feeders are taking an eternity to come in (I ordered them 24 hours ago!!! Eternityyyyy [yes I knew the ship date was not super soon when I ordered them]). We're going to start the next 2 this coming week, and they should fit perfectly at the rear of the barn together.

The cage space is smaller, to fit a smaller poop tray that I can handle alone. It means I can move down to a 1:4-6 ratio instead of 2:10, and have finer control over and understanding of which males make better quality offspring. Both sides of the cage can open, meaning no more shoving half my body into a cage trying to reach the far side. The feeders will be attached to the right hand door, meaning I can front load and save side-to-side space, and not have to worry I can't reach them. Since the doors open horizontally, instead of vertically like the other rack, I will also experience less escapees out the far side while I'm reaching for a specific quail.

He also gave me more space under the cages, so it's easier to pull the poop trays out; previously they were so close to the rollout trays that I would scrape my hands going in or out. No more scraping!

[sparrowplayssims]

A small upload that I made last week! I had to delay uploading as I got COVID and felt like absolute crap.

These are some small dish draining racks that I made because my Sims lack in ones that can fit in their compact houses. Now these are fairly high poly, unfortunately, but I figured because you're going to likely have 1 per household it's not too bad? There is also a drainage mat vaguely based on the one I have irl too! I have based the plates on a more white version of the base game texture, so feel free to recolour to your replacements!

Each come with recolours to turn the dishes invisible.

As usual, feel free to do whatever you want with my stuff, but no paysites please!

Can be found in Buy/Deco/Sculptures for $20 (and $3 for the drainage mat) and as usual, enjoy! Let me know if there's any issues :)

Download: SFS simblr.cc

Technical Info under the cut

Drainage Mat: Faces: 60 Vertices: 32

Compact Drainer (1): Faces: 3771 Vertices: 3200

Simple Drainer (2): Faces: 2932 Vertices: 2226

Very Compact Drainer (3): Faces: 2962 Vertices: 2562

Due to the high poly, I might hold off from uploading these to MTS. I tried to lower the poly as much as I could in b.lender without ruining the meshes

[copperbadge]

Well it is definitely being a real fifth of Wednesday.

The HVAC started leaking again and as I told the company when I called, "The trickle has become a flood" -- my bathroom rug and the pad underneath it were soaked by the time I found out, and essentially I can't run the A/C for more than about half an hour without the leak starting up again (it's condensate that's somehow not draining properly).

There are actually three leaks -- two of which are physical faults. The drainage pipe is cracked where it connects to the unit, so it's dripping, which is not actually a huge issue because I can just put a pan under it, but it will need to have the part changed out.

The real problem is the other two leaks -- one from just above the filter rack, one from a gap in the weld below the filter rack. Those are an issue because you can't "catch" the water, it's running down the housing and onto the floor.

I did manage to rig up a solution until the tech can come out -- it turns out using packing tape to secure a sheet of plastic (cut up trash bag) to the housing actually works really well to channel the water off the housing and into the pan. (See the vertical seam in the metal next to the "HOT" label? Water's coming out the bottom of that, as well as out of the interior of the unit into the gap just above the HOT label.)

So at least the water's now going mostly into a pan and not onto the floor, and I don't have to change out towels every few hours, since I only have three towels to start with and no in-unit dryer.

The bathroom reeks right now, which I think is mainly down to the bathroom rug being draped over a chair in the shower with a fan going on it to dry it out. But at least most of the condo doesn't smell, and I can run the A/C without flooding the bathroom, so, small victories.

Dearborn has been watching from her favorite perch, on a sweater storage bag in the hall closet, and is Very Unimpressed.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

There was a Magnitudo 5 earthquake in Bandung. Got a story about this 😂

---

So me and my mum was in a mall looking for home appliances. We were searching for some kind of basket to put stuff in, so we went to a section where there were towers and towers of racks filled with all kinds of basket. Like, it's a whole ass labyrinth right.

And then I felt the ground move. I thought it's just a small earthquake. Living in Indonesia, earthquake is regular occurrence. Often it's small and not harmful at all, so I didn't pay it too much mind. My mum is still looking for baskets.

And then the ground began vibrating. The baskets began to shake as well.

"Ma. I think this one's serious."

But my mum STILL was looking for the baskets, mumbling "This one's fragile, this one's too small..."

THEN THE FUCKING BASKETS START TO FALL OUT LIKE LEGIT FALLING OUT. The racks were about to tumble down as well, I had to hold the racks so it doesn't fucking fall down on my mum.

"Maaaaaa we gotta go maaaaa this one might be dangerousssss."

Then she looked at the fallen baskets, WHILE THE GROUND IS SHAKING, people were hurrying out of the store, and she bent down to take the fallen basket and said "OH get this one! We can buy multiple and stack them vertically."

"MA." I almost yelled, "We gotta get out! This is a legit earthquake!"

And then she KEPT browsing for more baskets.

Aaaand the earthquake stopped.

---

It's been a few days since then, and I still don't know if she didn't feel the entire fucking place literally shaking and moving, or she felt it but didn't give a single FUCK about it. Only baskets are in her mind.

Oh and she bought like 3 and it's right beside my desk.

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Chapter 17: rebuilding oneself

Summary: Alastor finds an archivist who can translate Old World texts. Equally bound to their duty, reader and Alastor traverse the tricky landscape of love and commitment…but to whom and to what?

Chapter Synopsis: We learn a little more about Rosie's District, Storm Season, and ourselves.

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was surprised to learn that Rosie didn't have magic. She had Husker attach the scent to the crystal, then she placed it over my head as if bestowing some great honor. To me, it certainly was an honor. The scent of vanilla immediately filled my nose and relaxed the muscles in my neck that I hadn't realized were so tight. Husker, Rosie, and Angel watched on with smiles on their faces.

I was shown through more curves of the ravine, once again passing kind groups of people who shared a smile or head nod in my direction. I noticed Husker's strong scent of amber--like inhaling a scent of recently chopped firewood--and Angel who smelled like sweet sugarcane. I still preferred Rosie's gentle aroma of soft roses.

I was shown through more curves of the ravine until we came to a communal dinning space. It was buried in the rock, as was everything else, but the floor and walls were lined with polished wood. Stretching down the center of the long hall was a shallow pit of embers, racks and racks of cooked food sat over the embers which people picked from. There were more tables at the end filled with bowls of brightly colored fruit and vegetables. 

It wasn't until Rosie led us inside that I noticed little pockets in the rock wall that had lanterns and incense burners.

"This is the busiest it's ever been," she said in my ear over the loud chatter. "With more food from those vertical gardens, we have more food to put on the table." People noticed my presence, but it was nothing more than a glance before turning back to their conversation. It was...comforting. However, it quickly become uncomfortable as we pushed through the press of bodies.

I pulled at the collar of my shirt as it became harder to breathe. More than once someone had nearly stepped on my foot, sending spurts of pain up my shins from suddenly jerking my feet out of the way. I soon found myself breathing heavily, as if I had been running.

Without warning, tears swelled in my eyes. 

I hurriedly wiped my cheeks as I tried to follow Rosie's bright red dress, but I soon lost her as the crowd grew even thicker. I came to a full stop before two large men who were completely unaware of the smaller person in front of them. 

I backed away and accidentally stepped on Husker's foot, making both of us hiss in pain.  I apologized and spun around twice, and likely would've done it several more times, had Husker not put his hands on my shoulders. He turned me sideways and guided me towards the wall. When I turned around, both Husker and Angel were looking at me worryingly. 

"You okay, kid?" Husker asked. He and Angel positioned themselves in a way that served as a wall between me and the crowd. 

I rubbed my hands together and stared down at my wrapped feet. "I don't...I don't know what's wrong...with-with me." My back was starting to itch where my wings should be and I could feel sweat soaking into the fabric there.

"Maybe yer not a crowds person, Bookie," Angel yelled over the noise. "Rosie and I will grab food. You take 'er out." He looked at Husker then pushed through sea of people before anyone could argue. Husker let out a sigh then took the lead through the crowd, a secure hand on my wrist as he created a temporary divide for us.

I sucked in a huge breath of air as soon as we stepped outside. We stood to the side of the communal entrance and wiped my sweaty palms on my pantleg. "I-I'm sorry," I muttered.

He leaned back on the stone wall and propped his foot up behind him. "Don't worry 'bout it, kid. Angel's right. You've been cooped up all your life so crowds probably isn't good for you."

"But I walked just fine this morning," I said, rubbing my hands up and down my arms.

"It wasn't as packed this morning. That—" he jutted his chin at the dinning space, "—is packed."

"Still. I'm sorry."

He looked at me out the corner of his eye for a moment, then scrunched his nose. "Stop apologizing for being human. We've all got our problems. Even Al."

I paused. "Like what?"

He gave a wry chuckle. "Not my place to tell if I want to keep my tail. But..." His yellow eyes met mine. "I'm sure he'd tell you if you ask him."

I crossed my arms and stepped into the sunlight to get warm, which was strange considering how much I was still sweating. "He wouldn't," I mumbled. "He wouldn't want anyone to know about a weakness in the Radio Demon."

"Yeah well..." Husker thought for a moment. "I think it's high time you start manipulating him."

"It doesn't matter anymore." I picked up my scent crystal of vanilla and twirled it between my fingers. 

Silence hung in the air until Rosie and Angel emerged from the space with small plates of food. I apologized to them for the inconvenience but they brushed it off. We stood in a circle chatting and eating, though I was mostly eating and not paying attention to the conversation. I forgot what it was like to enjoy new food again. Everything melted in my mouth perfectly and the berries brought a lovely tang to it all. 

Angel continued to 'bother' Husker as we made our way back to Rosie's cave. I asked her if we could keep walking and she agreed, letting Husker trail further behind with Angel in tow. I wanted to explore more of the residential area of her district, having already fallen in love with the overhangs and platforms overhead. Ropes hung between houses with clothes pinned on them to dry and I could hear children laughing somewhere in the distance. 

Rosie looked as if she wanted to say something, then thought better of it. "What is it?" I asked.

"Oh it's nothing dear," she said. "I didn't want to stir up any complicated feelings."

"I'm doing okay, now. Is something wrong?"

She was quiet for a long while. I busied myself with looking around the landscape again and straining to hear tail ends of conversations. 

Finally, she spoke her mind. "I've been wondering what your oath says. You've been so determined to follow it. I was...well, I was a little curious to know what exactly it says."

I was surprised. I would've expected Alastor to tell her or share the scroll from the previous Archivist. Then again, Alastor always had a secret agenda. So, hesitantly, I recited the whole thing for her, the words flowing with ease after twenty-two years of reciting it every morning. I started with my full name:

"...do solemnly swear to uphold the duty of the Archivist, guardian of Humanity's collective knowledge.

I vow to protect my Archive, preserving the truths of the past from corruption, destruction, and misuse. I shall remain steadfast in my duty, ensuring that this knowledge is kept safe, even at the cost of my own life or those I care for.

I pledge to seek truth above all, to distinguish fact from falsehood, and commit to maintaining the sanctuary of my Archive, allowing access only to those who prove themselves worthy and who understand the weight of the knowledge they seek.

I vow to resist any force that seeks to exploit my Archive for power, manipulation, or destruction. Should I be unable to protect my Archive, I shall ensure their contents are hidden, encrypted, or destroyed, rather than fall into unworthy hands.

Finally, I promise to pass on this duty to a successor who shares these principles, ensuring the unbroken lineage of the Archivists for as long as there is knowledge to maintain.

In taking this oath, I bind myself to the service of knowledge, history, and--above all--truth until my dying breath."

I blinked back to the world and glanced up at Rosie. Her expression was complicated so I fixed my clothing and looked at anything other than her. It was then I noticed small wires running along the indents in the walls. They led to a group of windmills at the very edge of the ravine arm where the buildings finally came to an end. A group of workers sat on the ledge taking them apart and carefully securing the pieces to wagons.

"Do you use electricity?" I asked, making an obvious look to the wires leading away from the construction.

"No, but we get a lot of wind down here," she explained. "We had Vox install windmills to send electricity to the heart of the city."

I looked up at the workers again. "So...why are they taking them down?"

"Storm season is closing in sooner than we thought. The strong wind currents will destroy them."

"Will the city be without power then?"

"Oh yes," she said casually. "We usually cut power from all the windmills throughout the city. The wind and rain will tear them apart and we'll have to rebuild them rather than simply reinstall them."

I carefully shifted my weight. "So...have you tried putting trees along the top or on the walls here? They're good against wind."

She shook her head. "They get ripped out of the ground. That one—" she looked over her shoulder at a medium sized tree sticking up from the ground, "—likely won't be here after the season. Not to mention all the runoff rain that floods this area and kills the crops and plants.

I continued to think, reaching into the archive of my mind to retrieve old information. The book I was translating for her never said anything about fighting off big storms. It was simple gardening techniques to sustain a large community, but...

"I...I think I might have a book," I said slowly.

She slowly looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"I...storm drains. No...storm barriers," I corrected. "I think there's a book about fighting off hurricanes or other big storms."

"Hurricanes?" she parroted, unfamiliar with the term.

"Just a big storm. But...I might have a book about it. I remember reading about Old World technology that was being designed to prevent coastal flooding in cities and keep buildings from toppling in the wind. I remember seeing designs but I never translated it."

She tapped her chin. "Would that work for a place like this? In the ground?" 

I shrugged. "I don't see why not. We're protecting a hole in the ground, not a tower that stretches miles in the sky. I'd have to finish translating it, though, to see if we could even build it. I'd..." My voice quieted. "I'd have to know what things Vox makes and how fast he can make them. But...it might be a start."

"Sounds like a shot in the dark, but one nonetheless." She stepped in front of me and placed gentle hands on my shoulders. She was a little taller than me so she bent down to be at my eye level. "You don't have to translate it, dear. If you want to, well, I'm not going to stop you. But if you translate it and it works...it could change everything for our people."

Our people. It was a phrase I never felt connected to yet...the way she said it made it feel like I was a part of something greater, like I was part of her little community down here. 

The whole point of being an Archivist was to protect Humanity. Translating that book would preserve Humanity by getting them through Storm Season. These people were just trying to survive, even if their rulers had a twisted way of doing it.

I took a deep breath as the familiar weight of the world settled back on my shoulders. Only this time, it didn't feel as heavy. I lifted my chin some more, squared my shoulders, and said, "I'll translate it. Getting everyone through Storm Season takes priority."

Rosie's soft smile returned. "You've already done so much for us. Whatever you need, we'll make it happen. I trust you."

That single phrase made it all worth it. I stepped forward and hugged her tightly. It caught her by surprise but she was quiet to return the embrace, running her hand down the back of my head in the way my mother used to do.

"I'll do my best. I just hope it works," I whispered.

She gave me another squeeze then released me. "It's the best shot we've had in a long time. Come on, let's keep walking and you can tell me what other grand ideas you have."

As we walked back through the district, the dangers of Storm Season lingered over my head, but so did a feeling of hope and new determination. I was taking control of my life and my translations. This was what an Archivists true job was meant to be and I was going to do it to my very best.

Unfortunately, I eventually had to leave Rosie's little safe haven and return to Alastor's district. I said goodbye to Rosie and Angel walked with us until he went his separate way to the Entertainment District. He made sure to say his goodbye dramatically, forcing Husker to catch him from falling. Which, after making a sexual joke, earned him a quick drop to the hard floor.

The evening sun beat on the back our necks as Husker and I made our way to the Magic District. I was starting to get a better understanding of the layout of the different districts every time I walked through the center of the city. I knew Magic and Technology were across from each other and Agriculture and Entertainment were the same. Though I had yet to know where the Military District was in all this.

Husker and I were mostly quiet, but it wasn't an awkward quiet. His scowl was less and his shoulders weren't so haunched. It occurred to me that our dynamic had drastically changed since we first walked this way earlier. So, feeling a sense of closeness with the cat hybrid, I dared to broach a topic I had been thinking about in the back of my mind.

"Husker? Can I ask a question?" 

"If it's a touchy-feely one then no," he answered.

I debated if my question fell under that category. "How did you...become Alastor's second in command?"

His steps faulted for a moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking again. I tried to tell him he didn't need to answer but, to my great surprise, he didn't shrug out of the topic. "Why the sudden interest?" he asekd.

"I just...I don't know. I guess...I guess I just wanted to know how someone like you—so strong and independent, and not afraid of what people think—ended up following someone like Al--astor." I choked out the rest of his full name, not wanting to use the familiar nickname. It wasn't lost on Husker, but he chose not to press it. 

He let out a sigh and stepped a hair closer to me as we entered the Magic District. "Well, it wasn't by choice, that's for sure," he began. "I was one of the first communities the city captured. A small town, nothing fancy. Then Alastor waltz in with his talk about unity and a better future and all that crap. No one believed him at first but...he didn't really give you the option not to."

"So...how did become...his?"

Husker's features darkened and he kept his gaze set in front of him. "He picked me. I didn't volunteer and I even fought him on it. But...something about the way he talked. Not just his fancy words and charm, but the way he knew people. He took one look at me and it was like he already knew every screw-up I ever made and every weakness I ever had." His tail flicked firmly against the stone behind him. "Alastor has always had a way of breaking people in, forcing you to see his way and only his way. You can resist but, in the end...you just give in. Everyone does."

I felt something cold reach up my spine. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Lately, I've actually been grateful for it." He ruffled his wings as a gust of wind blew down the ravine. "I'm stronger now. I'm a leader taking care of my own men and I learned how to do it. I've got a purpose and I've never been more free."

I furrowed my eyebrows, reading into the little subtleties I had picked up on earlier. "Are you still bitter?"

"Oh, absolutely." His smile was humorless. "Alastor ain't some hero and I sure as hell ain't pretending he's perfect. But bitter or not, I can't deny what he's done for me. I'm a better leader because of him. And in his own twisted way, he's given me more than I ever could have done on my own."

I nodded slowly, processing the weight of his words. I had already seen and heard of all the ways Alastor bent people's wills. I had experienced his manipulation first hand but hearing Husker's story...the mix of resentment and gratitude...painted the situation in a different light. It made me wonder if I had been bent in some way, too.

"I guess I didn't really expect that from you," I said. "You don't seem like the type of person who can break."

His gaze softened as he met my eyes. "We're all breakable, kid. Some of us just rebuild ourselves better after it. So that begs the question...will you?" 

As I stepped in time beside him, I already knew the answer. I was rebuilding myself and it started today in Rosie's district.

I felt the comfort of Husker's presence now. We were different, and we had hurt each other, but we both came from the same place and had come out on the other end. I wasn't the same scared little girl hiding away in her bunker and grieving alone. She was still in me, but I was becoming someone different. I was becoming someone I wanted to become. 

And Alastor was going to have to deal with it.

"Thanks, Husker," I said.

"No problem, kid."

The walk through the Magic District was walked in comfortable, content silence. I was starting to realize that I was finding pieces of my family in those around me. I found my mother and grandmother in Rosie and found my brother in Husker. The entire day's events made the return to Alastor's tower less daunting, even if it still made apprehension fill my lungs.

Husker made sure I made it through Alastor's wards on the door before disappearing to who knows where. Niffty greeted me with a quick hug, an estimate time for dinner, and Alastor's whereabouts somewhere in the district. I thanked her then went upstairs to my--the attic and started sorting through my books in search of what I was looking for. I found it difficult to move on my knees since it hurt to use the palms of my feet.

I sat carefully and lifted each book with extreme care to look at their titles on the binding or on the first page. I spent almost an hour sorting through this collection and came up with nothing. I went to the room on the second floor and started the long, draining process again. 

I was about two stacks in when I heard Alastor return. My skin prickled with anticipation as his footsteps climbed the stairs, echoing off the walls.

"Looking for something?" he asked curiously.

I wiped my nervous palms on my pant leg and picked up another book. "A book. Something to help Rosie."

Alastor stepped onto the narrow pathway carved by the stacks. "What about?" His brows furrowed with curiosity as he stepped towards me, silently so as not to disturb or scare me, and sniffed softly. "Why do you smell like vanilla?" The question left his mouth before he could shut it. He physically recoiled, jaw clenched and mind reeling to find a way to change the subject.

My hands froze, clutching to a book. "It's...Rosie let me pick my scent so I did. I didn't think it would be a problem."

"I'm not complaining," he said a little too forcefully. I kept my gaze averted and looked through the books again. "It's better than dust and ink."

I huffed and picked another book. "Well, that's what happens when you spend your life surrounded by dust and ink." I was surprised at how easily I was able to answer him. 

"So, what book are you looking for?" he prompted.

"A book about storm barriers."

His ears perked with interest. "Storm barriers?"

"Yes. I remember it being something like...something like...an unbreakable wall or...maybe shielding cities? Something like that. I know I have it here somewhere." I carefully placed the book down then moved to a different stack, taking the lantern with me. "And I remember it being on this half of the room. I thought it was upstairs but then I remembered the light coming in from a window on my right." I rambled as I started the new stack.

"What does the book look like?" he asked.

"I don't remember. They all look the same anyways."

I hissed loudly when I stubbed my toe on one of the crates. I used the stack for balance as I held my injured foot off the ground and tried to breathe through the pain, tears poking through the corners of my eyes. I lowered it back to the ground once the throbbing subsided.

I flinched when Alastor's red hand suddenly came into view and took one of the books. I looked up and found myself unable to tear my gaze from his, intense as it was but with no malice behind it.

He blinked. Then again. Until he regained control of his body and stepped away to put some distance between us. He cleared his throat as he summoned a pencil and paper and let it rest on one of the nearby stacks. "If you write the title in Old World language, I can help look for it," he said. He pretended to look at the book in his hand, suddenly very interested in its blank cover.

I stared at him.

He looked like the Radio Demon but sounded like Al. 

I wrote down possible titles in Old World language and handed him the paper. He took it, careful not to touch my fingers, and started somewhere else in the room.

We worked in companionable silence for several minutes. His long, red tipped fingers touched the books with care, and I found myself occupied with watching him work. 

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Author's Note:

A sweet, calm chapter with lots of information for the upcoming plot points.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reflection Readers:

@fynariel

Interested in being one? Read about it HERE

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Taglist:

@torustesseract @sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette @eris-norwega

[sharp-silver4795]

What creeps houses/rooms will look like?

Rooms of the Mansion

Here’s for the dungeon and this is for the mansion…. remember the mansion layouts? That’s important here

Rouge Proxy & Wilson the Basher

they have two twin beds with one nightstand in between them

It kinda looks like a hotel room, ngl

Their dresser is shared and kinda short. They keep things like hair brushes, weapons, and their masks on it.

Their window is right above the beds.

Kat Hunter & Zechariah

They have bunk beds- sort of

Kat has an elevated/loft bed shaped like an L and Zechariah sleeps on a mattress underneath.

Zechariah’s dresser is under the other side of the loft bed and Kat uses the closet across from the bed.

The window is on the far side of the room so light shines on the bed(s)

Since this can be blinding for both they have darker curtains.

Kat has a Mexico flag on the ceiling above his bed.

Kate the Chaser & Neon Spike

they sleep in old-fashioned beds

Neon takes the wardrobe and Kate uses the closet

They have a bathroom in the far right corner and no windows

Masky & Hoodie

they have a petty fancy bed on the left wall with the foot point towards a window with black-out curtains

Their room is in the hallway, first door on the left

They have separate dressers, Hoodie’s is taller and Masky’s has a small vanity.

X-Virus

he has a pretty basic room

He has a twin sized bed with an averaged sized dresser, a desk, and a bathroom.

There’s a window on the right side of his bed. He keeps it really fucking cozy.

Puppeteer

His strings hand from the ceiling to make a hammock.

A Canada flag is hanging in the back of the room.

No windows with a barrels used closet in the back.

Clockwork

They share a room.

Lots of fairy lights around the window with light coloured curtains.

She prefers natural light. She has a hand-made clock above her door and a queen sized bed with the foot facing the door.

She keeps it tidy. Her room is closest to the door of the cabin and the walls are thin. So she has a hook on the wall that holds her coat, a hoodie, and noise cancelling headphones.

She has a little holder in her closet- the far left corner- for her weapons/blades.

Jane & Nina the Killer

When you walk in, Nina’s bed is on the far wall, head on flush against the right side and Jane’s is set vertically a meter or so away from Nina’s.

Nina’s dresser is right up against the back wall with a full body mirror on the closet door which is right across from her bed.

Jane’s bed is across from the bathroom which her dresser set horizontally against the wall at the foot of her bed.

They have a few hanging plants that both are in charge of caring for.

Nathan the Nobody

First apartment to the T

BEN Drowned and Lost Silver live in the scream. It’s best described in my BEN Drowned HCs post.

L. Jack and Jill live in their boxes still- they’ve just been ‘expanded’

Jason lives in his workshop and Candy hangs out with Jason.

Jeff the Killer

It looks like a hospital room kinda.

The bed looks like it would be from one of those old timey shows in the mental ward.

The window is on the right side of his bed. The head of which is on the wall on your right when you walk in.

He has a dresser across from the foot with a tiny TV on the wall and a full-body mirror to the right.

His ‘desk’ is just a table he puts scar medicine and bandages on just in case he needs it, along with a first-aid kit.

His room’s door is on the back wall in the far left corner of the living room. His bathroom is then in the left wall on the far left corner.

Ticci Toby

think of a dude's first apartment.

He has a mattress with sheets, a chest for a nightstand, a little coat rack in the corner for his mask, axes, and goggles, and that’s about it.

His room is in the back room of the OR cabin. The laundry room is right next to him, so he has easy access to it. He’s always first on laundry day

Liu Woods & Eyeless Jack

The giant ass bed is in the centre of the room with the head against the left wall.

They have a closet on the right AND left of the bed

The right one is where Liu keeps his personal stuff like a picture of his Dad and Mom and the altar for both.

The left one has Jack’s personal stuff like the broken ritual knife.

There is a Russian flag on the inside of Jack’s closet and a Chinese flag is in the upper right corner of the room.

The bathroom is on the right as soon as you walk in the room.

Their shared dresser is on the right side of the room across from the bed. It has weapons, a head mannequin for Jack’s mask, and a vanity.

The lower eighth drawer has some *clears throat* devices in it

There is another chest on Jack’s side of the bed that is what holds more of his things from the Red Army and Russian Army (from before the Soviet Union) like the shadow box with his and his friend’s medals from the Red Army, his uniforms, and his friend’s uniform. The USSR flag is draped on top of the chest.

Divider Creds: Sisterlucifergraphics

Header Creds: MEEE!!!!