#and i like the graphics and multitasking

[argentinesunshine]

how to choose the new pope

[zevrans-archive]

.

[bowofbalance]

I definitely don't have an entire essay on why 13 is just like me (yes I do)

[cloudyluun]

Serendipity & Stumbles

Summary: Based on this request. You never expected to keep bumping into Harry Styles, single dad and bookstore owner, but fate—and your kids—had other plans. From coffee shop disasters to rainy-night rescues, your lives keep tangling together, no matter how much you try to resist. But when two very determined little matchmakers step in, running might not be an option anymore.

Slow-burn, single-parent chaos, meddling kids, and Harry in full-on dad mode? Yeah, you’re in trouble.

A/N: I dragged this slow burn out on purpose. I made you suffer. And honestly? I’d do it again. Thanks for sticking around, even when you wanted to scream at them to just kiss already. This isn't proofread, sorryyy

Word Count: 8,4k

Warnings:

Single parent struggles (exhaustion, self-doubt, balancing work & motherhood)

Mentions of past unhealthy relationships (nothing graphic, but allusions to emotional difficulty & fear of attachment)

Slow-burn romance (painfully slow at times, because I like to make you suffer before the payoff 😌)

Lots of angst, mutual pining, and missed opportunities before they actually get their shit together

Fluff so sweet it might rot your teeth

Smut!!

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside the bookstore café, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, guiding Lily toward an empty table near the window, where golden afternoon light streamed in.

She clutched her book to her chest, her small fingers curling around the edges of the worn cover like it was something precious. “Can I get a hot chocolate, Mummy?” she asked, peering up at you with wide eyes.

You smiled, smoothing down the flyaway curls at her temple. “Of course, love. Let’s get settled first, yeah?”

Balancing motherhood and work had turned you into an expert multitasker—or at least someone who tried very hard to be. You pulled out your laptop as Lily slid into the chair opposite you, already flipping through the pages of her book. The café was busy but cozy, the low hum of conversations blending with the clinking of mugs and the occasional flutter of a turned page.

This bookstore had quickly become your sanctuary—somewhere Lily could sink into stories while you answered emails or proofread articles. It was one of the few places where you could steal a moment of peace.

At least, until peace became a fleeting thing.

One second, Lily was happily stirring her hot chocolate, her lips moving as she silently read. The next, her elbow knocked against the cup, and the dark liquid sloshed over the rim, spilling onto her dress.

She froze.

You saw the panic flicker across her face before the wobble in her lip began.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” you soothed, immediately reaching for the napkins. “We’ll clean it up.”

But her breath hitched, and her eyes grew glassy, the embarrassment of it all outweighing any comfort you could offer. You could see it coming—the slow build to a meltdown in the middle of a crowded café.

And then, a voice—warm, steady.

“Need some help?”

You looked up.

The man standing beside your table held out a stack of napkins, his green eyes bright with amusement but softened by something kinder. His dark curls were pushed back from his face, a few strands stubbornly falling forward. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, dressed in a sweater that hugged his frame just right, sleeves pushed up to reveal inked skin.

Lily sniffled, her tiny hands twisting in the fabric of her stained dress.

Harry Styles.

You knew of him, in the way that people who lived in the same neighborhood knew of each other. The bookstore café was his, after all. You’d seen him before, in passing—restocking shelves, chatting with customers, sometimes with a little boy by his side. But you’d never spoken beyond polite nods and murmured thank-yous.

You hesitated before taking the napkins, flashing a quick, grateful smile. “Thank you. She’s just—”

“Having a rough go of it,” he finished, nodding. “Understandable. Hot chocolate tragedies are serious business.”

Lily blinked up at him, her lip still wobbling but her sniffles slowing.

Harry crouched beside her, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got a spare jumper in the back—belongs to my son. I can grab it for you, if you’d like.”

Lily glanced at you for reassurance. You squeezed her small hand before nodding. “That’s very kind of you.”

“No trouble at all,” he said before disappearing into the back of the shop.

Lily fidgeted in her chair, picking at the hem of her dress. “I didn’t mean to spill,” she murmured.

“I know, sweetheart,” you said softly. “It was just an accident.”

Before you could say more, Harry returned, holding out a navy-blue sweater. It was slightly oversized, well-loved, the sleeves a little worn at the cuffs.

“Here we go,” he said, handing it to Lily. “Theo—my son—outgrows things faster than I can keep up with, so we always have extras.”

Lily took it, her small fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Harry smiled, standing back up to his full height. His eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in his gaze. “No need to give it back. Consider it a gift from one hot chocolate lover to another.”

A beat of quiet passed between you, something unspoken lingering in the air.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Part of the job.”

Lily tugged the sweater over her dress, the sleeves hanging past her fingers. You expected her to protest, but instead, she let out a small giggle, wiggling her arms. “It’s soft.”

Harry grinned. “Glad you approve.”

You exhaled, finally allowing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “Well, thank you again. We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, giving a small nod before turning back toward the counter.

You watched him go, your fingers absently tapping against your coffee cup.

You weren’t sure why, but something about the moment stuck with you longer than it should have.

Maybe it was the ease of it, the way Harry had stepped in without hesitation, like it was second nature for him to help. Maybe it was the way he spoke to Lily—not as if she were just a child, but like her feelings mattered. Or maybe it was the simple fact that for the first time in a long while, someone had made your chaotic day feel just a little bit lighter.

You thought about it again a few days later as you sat on a bench at the park, the cool afternoon air crisp against your skin. Lily was somewhere nearby, her laughter carrying on the breeze, but your eyes were glued to the screen of your laptop, fingers tapping against the keyboard as you proofread an article on deadline.

“Just five more minutes, baby,” you murmured absently, knowing she probably wasn’t even listening.

It was one of those afternoons where time felt both endless and fleeting. The playground was buzzing with energy—kids climbing, running, the occasional squeal of excitement cutting through the air. You weren’t really paying attention, though, too caught up in work, too focused on making sure the words in front of you made sense.

A few benches away, Harry was doing much of the same.

Phone in hand, he paced a few steps back and forth, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the mobile to his ear. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in that concentrated way people had when they were trying to remain patient on a frustrating call.

Neither of you noticed at first.

Neither of you saw them.

Lily and Theo.

Two tiny forces of nature, colliding without you even realizing it.

It wasn’t until a burst of laughter pulled your focus that you finally looked up.

Your gaze landed on Lily first, standing in the middle of the grass, her hands on her hips, head tilted back in giggles. Across from her, a little boy—a year or so older, dark curls peeking out from beneath a beanie—was laughing just as hard.

They were playing together.

You blinked, momentarily thrown, scanning the area for whoever the child belonged to.

Harry’s voice was still a low murmur as he spoke into the phone, but his eyes had landed on the same scene. His expression softened instantly, the stress from his call momentarily forgotten.

Theo.

You recognized the sweater immediately—the sweater. The same one Harry had given Lily after the hot chocolate incident. It was still too big on her, the sleeves hanging past her fingers, but that wasn’t stopping her from flapping her arms dramatically while Theo doubled over laughing.

It was oddly fascinating, watching them.

Lily, typically so shy around new kids, was standing toe-to-toe with Theo, chattering animatedly, completely unbothered by the fact that they’d only just met. Theo, for his part, looked just as amused, his eyes bright with mischief, like he’d already decided they were going to be best friends.

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile.

It was… sweet.

Something in your periphery shifted, and you realized Harry was looking at you now.

There was a moment—an unspoken, quiet kind of moment—where neither of you said anything. Just sat there, watching your kids become friends without effort, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Harry’s phone was still at his ear, but whatever conversation he was having was clearly secondary now. He shook his head slightly, amused, before rubbing a hand along his jaw, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Without thinking, you spoke.

“Well, this is convenient.”

Harry huffed a laugh, finally ending his call before slipping the phone into his pocket. “Guess they’re making the decisions for us now.”

You nodded toward them. “I take it Theo is the mastermind behind this plan?”

He smirked. “Oh, definitely. He’s got a talent for roping people into whatever ridiculous scheme he’s come up with.”

Lily’s laughter rang out again as Theo dramatically flopped onto the grass, pretending to faint over something she’d said.

You shook your head fondly. “I think Lily might have just met her match.”

“Looks that way,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the bench, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on his son.

You let the silence stretch between you, comfortable in a way you didn’t expect.

It was a strange thing, this… whatever this was.

Before the café, Harry had been nothing more than a familiar face. A neighbor, a bookstore owner, someone you exchanged brief smiles with but never really knew.

Now, though—now, he was sitting next to you, watching your kids become fast friends, and somehow it didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.

Just as you were about to say something else, Lily ran up to you, breathless and grinning. “Mummy! Theo says he has a dog!”

Harry chuckled, clearly predicting where this was going.

“Not just a dog,” Theo corrected, running up beside her. “A really big dog.”

Lily’s eyes went wide. “Can I meet him?”

Harry shot you a look, brows raised in amusement. “You alright with that?”

You hesitated, caught between the natural urge to say no to anything spontaneous—and the realization that, maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to say yes.

After all… maybe there were worse things than a little serendipity.

That thought lingered in your mind long after the park playdate, long after Lily had chattered endlessly about Theo’s “really big dog” and how she was convinced they needed one just like him.

It was still there a week later, tugging at the edges of your thoughts as you walked into the parents' meeting at Lily’s school.

You weren’t particularly looking forward to it—these things were always a mix of too much small talk and too many emails you’d later forget to reply to—but you showed up, because that’s what you did. You juggled deadlines and grocery lists and bedtime routines, and you showed up.

Sliding into one of the chairs near the back of the classroom, you pulled out your notebook, half-listening as the teacher welcomed everyone and started discussing upcoming class activities. The words blurred a little, your mind already jumping to your to-do list for the rest of the day—until a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation beside you.

“Didn’t peg you for the back-row type.”

Your head turned sharply.

Harry.

Seated next to you, clad in a well-fitted jacket over a soft-looking jumper, casually sprawled in his chair like he wasn’t completely throwing off your focus. His green eyes flickered with amusement as he drummed his fingers lightly against the desk.

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “I—what?”

His lips twitched. “Back row. Feels like the kind of seat you pick if you’re planning to sneak out early.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Right, because I’m clearly a rebel parent.”

Harry smirked, but before he could respond, the teacher started explaining the logistics of an upcoming field trip, and the room quieted.

You tried to focus—you really did—but awareness prickled at you, your body attuned to the fact that Harry was right next to you.

It didn’t help that every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way when the teacher said something mildly ridiculous, his expression just amused enough to make it harder to keep a straight face.

Or that when the topic of chaperones came up, Theo’s name was read out right before Lily’s, the realization settling between you with an unspoken of course they’re in the same class.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t miss the way Harry muttered a quiet figures under his breath, a slight shake of his head that made you bite back a smile.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the teacher dismissing everyone with a reminder to sign up for volunteer slots, you were already gathering your things, ready to slip out—when Harry turned to you.

“Fancy a coffee?”

You froze for half a second.

It was a simple question. Harmless. A casual offer between two parents who, apparently, kept running into each other.

But something about the way he said it—the way his voice dipped just slightly, the way his eyes stayed steady on yours—made it feel less casual.

You hesitated.

And Harry, ever perceptive, caught it immediately. His posture shifted, something careful settling into his expression, like he wasn’t quite sure whether to push or back off.

“I mean,” he added, lightening his tone, “it’s just down the road. No pressure. Could be a good excuse to talk about how we’ve accidentally ended up with kids who seem hell-bent on becoming best friends.”

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It was tempting. So tempting.

And maybe, once upon a time, you wouldn’t have thought twice about saying yes.

But you weren’t that person anymore. You’d learned to be cautious. To tread carefully when it came to things that had the potential to turn into more than just casual conversation.

And Harry—whether he realized it or not—felt like exactly that kind of thing.

So you smiled, polite but firm. “I appreciate the offer, but I should really get back to work.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t let disappointment show, though something unreadable flickered in his gaze before he nodded, easy and unbothered. “Fair enough. Another time, maybe.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

But as you turned to leave, your heart did this stupid, traitorous thing—this little lurch in your chest—because something in you already knew that this wouldn’t be the last time.

And, of course, you were right.

Because one week later, you were standing on the pavement, clutching Lily’s small hand, rain drenching through your coat as you tried—and failed—not to look as exhausted as you felt.

It had been a long day.

A really long day.

Your babysitter had canceled last minute, leaving you with no choice but to bring Lily along to your late-afternoon client meeting. She’d been good—so good—sitting quietly at the café table, coloring in the pages of her book while you discussed article revisions and deadline extensions. But by the time you stepped out into the dimly lit street, the sky had split open, rain coming down in relentless sheets, and you were both soaked before you even had the chance to open your umbrella.

You exhaled, pressing your palm against your forehead as you attempted to flag down a taxi. No luck.

“Mummy,” Lily whined, shivering beside you. “I’m cold.”

Your heart clenched. “I know, baby. I’m trying—”

A honk cut through the downpour.

You turned toward the sound just as a familiar black Range Rover slowed beside you, the driver’s window rolling down.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his face dimly lit by the dashboard lights, one hand gripping the steering wheel as he leaned slightly toward the open window. His brows knitted together the second he took you in.

“Are you seriously walking home in this?”

You blinked against the rain. “I don’t exactly have a choice, Harry.”

He scoffed, already reaching for the unlock button. “Get in.”

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want to—you were cold and exhausted, and Lily was on the verge of full-body shivers—but because the last thing you needed was to owe someone anything. To let someone in, even if only for a car ride home.

Harry must have noticed the reluctance on your face because his tone softened. “Come on. No agenda. Just two parents helping each other out.”

Before you could argue, the back door swung open.

“Mummy! Theo’s in here!” Lily’s delighted voice rang out, already scrambling into the seat beside him.

You turned sharply—traitor!—but Lily was grinning, the excitement of seeing her new best friend completely overriding any of your hesitation.

You sighed, defeated. “Guess we’re getting in the car.”

Harry smirked. “Guess you are.”

You climbed into the passenger seat, the warmth of the car immediately soothing your frozen limbs. Your coat dripped against the leather as you fastened your seatbelt, and when Harry reached into the back and wordlessly handed you a hoodie—probably Theo’s again—you swallowed past the tightness in your throat before accepting it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He shifted the car into drive, glancing in the rearview mirror where the kids were already chatting excitedly. “Where to?”

You gave him your address, and he repeated it under his breath like he was committing it to memory.

The hum of the car filled the space between you for a moment, the rain drumming against the windshield. You were suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the front seat—how the easy banter you’d shared before wasn’t there now, replaced by something heavier.

“Long day?” Harry finally asked, his voice softer than before.

You exhaled. “You could say that.”

“I get it,” he murmured. “Some days just feel impossible.”

You turned to look at him, but his eyes stayed on the road, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

It would have been easy to nod and leave it at that.

But something about the way he said it—like he really did get it—made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“My babysitter bailed last minute,” you admitted. “Had to bring Lily to work with me. I know she didn’t mind, but it’s just… a lot, sometimes.”

Harry’s fingers tapped lightly against the wheel. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“It’s just you and Lily, then?”

You hesitated. Not because it was a secret, but because it was one of those questions that carried weight, even if it was asked casually.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “Just us.”

Another pause. Then, quietly—

“Same. Just me and Theo.”

You glanced at him.

There was something different in his voice now, something laced with memory, something personal.

“What happened?” you asked gently.

He inhaled, long and slow. When he spoke, his voice was even, but you could hear the emotion beneath it.

“My wife—Theo’s mum—passed away a few years ago.”

Your chest tightened. “Harry, I—”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It was… unexpected. One day we were planning holidays, the next, I was trying to figure out how to be a single dad.”

Your fingers curled into the sleeves of the hoodie.

You weren’t sure why, but something about hearing him say it—acknowledging it so openly, without dramatics, without self-pity—hit you harder than you expected.

“I left,” you admitted softly.

Harry turned, brow furrowing. “Left?”

You swallowed. “Lily’s dad. I left him.”

Understanding flickered in his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited.

You let out a slow breath, focusing on the rain streaking against the glass. “It wasn’t… good. I knew if I stayed, it would only get worse. So I left.” A pause. “For her. For Lily.”

Harry didn’t ask for details. Didn’t push.

He just nodded, like that was enough. Like he understood more than he was saying.

The air in the car was heavier now, but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t pity, wasn’t awkward sympathy. It was just two people, two parents, who had both lost something. Who were still finding their way forward.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your building, you turned to him, fingers hovering over the door handle.

“Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you expected.

Harry met your gaze, something steady and unreadable in his expression. “Anytime.”

And as you climbed out, leading Lily inside, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the last time, either.

And again, you were right.

Because the universe—or fate, or whatever force kept weaving Harry into your life—wasn’t quite done with you yet.

It started as a normal evening. A school event—one of those midwinter, PTA-sponsored gatherings where the kids were running on pure sugar-fueled excitement, and the parents were running on nothing but caffeine and obligation.

You had barely stepped inside the decorated gymnasium when Lily had spotted Theo, the two of them taking off toward the craft station without so much as a backward glance.

“Yeah, sure, don’t say goodbye,” you muttered, exhaling as you peeled off your coat and shoved your gloves into your bag.

“You get used to it.”

Your stomach dipped at the sound of his voice.

You turned to find Harry standing beside you, shaking snow out of his curls, his jacket dusted with white. He looked unfairly good for someone who had just come in from the cold—cheeks flushed, green eyes bright with amusement as he nodded toward the kids.

“First time they ditch you, it stings,” he continued, smirking. “By the hundredth time, you stop taking it personally.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Good to know.”

For a while, the event played out exactly as expected—parents milling around making polite small talk, kids crafting messy holiday decorations that would inevitably end up forgotten at the bottom of their backpacks.

You kept an eye on Lily, but she and Theo were perfectly entertained, alternating between cookie decorating and attempting to build a fort out of the chairs in the corner of the room.

And then, just as you were considering sneaking off to the refreshment table for a refill on your coffee, the first announcement crackled through the speaker system.

A snowstorm.

A bad one.

Roads already piling up, traffic at a standstill. Everyone advised to stay put until further notice.

A slow, collective groan moved through the crowd.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your fingers over your temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Beside you, Harry let out a low whistle. “Guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “You sound entirely too relaxed about this.”

He smirked. “Because I’ve accepted my fate.” He nodded toward Theo and Lily, who were thriving in the chaos, currently attempting to organize some kind of group game. “They, on the other hand, are living their best lives.”

You sighed, watching as Lily excitedly gestured for Theo to follow her to the makeshift play area.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

Harry chuckled. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward an empty classroom that had been opened up as an extra seating area. “Might as well find somewhere to sit before we’re reduced to standing in the hallway.”

You followed him, grateful for the momentary escape from the crowded gym.

The classroom was small, with a handful of desks pushed against the walls. Harry dropped into one of the chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him, while you settled into the seat beside him, cradling your coffee cup between your palms.

For a moment, there was nothing but the muffled sound of voices from the hallway, the occasional scrape of a chair from another room.

And then—

“So,” Harry mused, glancing sideways at you. “On a scale from mild to intervention-level dependency, how bad is your caffeine addiction?”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward your cup, smirking. “That’s, what, your third coffee tonight?”

You scoffed. “Second, actually. And I’ll have you know that my caffeine intake is perfectly normal.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I bet you have a thing too, don’t you?”

His brows raised. “A thing?”

“Yes. Some habit or vice you’re embarrassingly reliant on.” You smirked. “Let me guess—you’re a late-night snacker.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to consider. “Okay. Chronic over-user of pet names?”

His lips twitched. “I mean, love, I do have a tendency—”

You groaned. “Oh, that checks out.”

Harry grinned, his dimples deepening. “You got me.”

For a moment, the conversation settled into something easy, the banter light, playful. And you—despite the exhaustion, despite the long night ahead—felt…

Good.

Harry shifted slightly, watching you. “You’re smiling.”

Your brows furrowed. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “It’s nice.”

And that—that small, simple sentence—made something tighten in your chest.

Because Harry wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t teasing.

He was just… noticing.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly seen.

You cleared your throat, looking away, focusing on the rim of your cup. “Don’t get used to it.”

Harry chuckled, but didn’t press.

You sat there for a little while longer, the room quieter than the ones beyond it, but filled with something else.

Something unspoken.

Something that felt an awful lot like anticipation.

That’s what had been simmering under the surface ever since that snowed-in night at the school.

You told yourself it was nothing—that it was just the circumstances, the way you’d both been forced into conversation, the way time had slowed just enough for you to forget that Harry Styles was not supposed to be part of your life in any meaningful way.

But then came Saturday.

And Saturday ruined everything.

It had been Lily’s idea to go to the bookstore café, but you didn’t exactly fight her on it.

You could pretend all you wanted, but the truth was, you liked it there. The smell of coffee, the cozy chairs tucked between shelves, the soft murmur of people flipping through books—it was one of the few places in the city where your brain actually slowed down for a moment.

So, you’d packed up your laptop, bundled Lily in her coat, and headed down the familiar street, telling yourself that Harry might not even be working today. That it wouldn’t mean anything if you ran into him.

And then you walked inside, and he was right there.

Behind the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, laughing at something one of his employees had said before turning at just the right moment—seeing you.

His eyes brightened. “Look who it is.”

Your stomach flipped. Stupid. Completely ridiculous.

“Hi, Harry.” You cleared your throat, pushing past the way his smile made your chest feel tight. “Busy today?”

“Not too bad.” He leaned against the counter. “Here for your fix?”

You scoffed, already setting your bag down on the edge. “I’ll have you know I went an entire day without coffee yesterday.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart, mock-surprised. “I don’t believe you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Lily was less focused on your caffeine consumption and more on the glass case filled with pastries.

Harry caught her staring, smirking. “Hungry, love?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got some fresh croissants that need a home.” He grabbed a plate and slid two onto it before adding, “On the house.”

You immediately shook your head. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said simply, then met your gaze. “Stay. Sit down for a bit.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t loaded with anything, wasn’t flirtatious or heavy.

It was just… easy.

So you stayed.

You found a table near the window, sipping your coffee while Lily and Theo—who had conveniently appeared out of nowhere—settled on the floor nearby with a pile of books between them.

And somehow, Harry ended up in the chair across from you.

It wasn’t intentional. At least, you told yourself it wasn’t.

It was just conversation—banter, sarcasm, Lily’s constant interruptions to tell you random facts about the book she was reading.

And then… it wasn’t.

Because at some point, the edges of the conversation softened.

At some point, you started talking about things that weren’t just surface-level.

At some point, he told you about the bookstore—how it had started as a risk, how he wasn’t sure if it would work, but he’d wanted Theo to have a place to grow up around stories.

And at some point, you found yourself telling him about your writing, about the way you’d stumbled into freelancing after leaving your old life behind, about how sometimes, you missed the structure of an office, but mostly, you liked this. The freedom. The control over your own world.

Harry had listened.

Really listened.

And then he’d said something—something about how he admired that, about how he could see how much you’d built for yourself.

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when you realized.

This feels like a date.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs.

Because it wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t even thinking about dating. That wasn’t part of your life anymore, wasn’t something you could afford to let yourself want.

And yet—

You were sitting across from a man who made you feel like maybe it was.

A man who made it easy. Who made you laugh, who made you forget to keep your guard up, who looked at you in a way that made you feel like more than just a tired mother balancing a thousand things at once.

And that—that—was terrifying.

So, before he could say anything else, before you could let yourself sit in the moment for even a second longer, you panicked.

You shot up from your chair so fast Harry’s brows furrowed.

“I should go,” you blurted, already reaching for your bag.

Harry blinked. “What?”

You forced a smile. “I just—Lily has a lot of homework, and I need to—”

Harry wasn’t stupid.

You could see the confusion in his expression, the way his body tensed just slightly, the way his fingers curled around his mug like he was trying to figure out where the shift had happened.

But he didn’t push.

He just nodded, slow and careful, like he was trying to let you run if you needed to.

Lily pouted as you grabbed her hand, but she didn’t argue.

Harry said goodbye to her, ruffled Theo’s hair, then glanced back at you just once before you pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold.

And as you walked away—your heart pounding, your hands trembling—you told yourself you’d done the right thing.

You told yourself that leaving was better.

That letting him get too close would only make things harder.

You told yourself all of that.

And yet—

It didn’t stop you from feeling like you’d just made a mistake.

In fact, it only made it worse.

The whole way home, Lily kept glancing up at you, brows furrowed in confusion, like she knew something had happened but couldn’t quite figure out what. And the next morning, when she asked if you were going back to the bookstore soon, you’d mumbled something noncommittal, changed the subject, and buried yourself in work.

For days, you convinced yourself you’d done the right thing. That putting space between you and Harry was necessary. That whatever this strange, unexpected thing was between you—it wasn’t real.

But while you were busy trying to ignore it, two small, scheming masterminds were doing the exact opposite.

“I think my dad likes your mum.”

Theo’s voice was quiet, but not that quiet.

Lily, crouched beside him under the slide at the park, frowned. “I know.”

Theo blinked. “You do?”

Lily gave him a look, as if obviously. “He always smiles when she’s around. And he looks at her like my teacher looks at her coffee.”

Theo squinted. “Like he needs her?”

“Exactly.”

Theo leaned back, lips pursed in thought. “Well, that’s a problem.”

Lily nodded gravely. “Because my mum likes your dad, too.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “But she’s scared.”

Theo considered this, chewing on his lip. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face.

“Well, that just means we have to fix it.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Theo grinned. “Leave that to me.”

You should have known something was up when Lily had asked—too sweetly—if you wanted to take her to the park that weekend.

You should have been suspicious when she mentioned, offhandedly, that Theo had told her he and Harry were going to be there at the same time.

But you—naive, unsuspecting, and still drowning in your own avoidance—had just gone along with it.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

Standing at the edge of the field, watching as Theo and Lily cackled like tiny villains, while Harry—completely unaware of their plot—ran around playing soccer with them.

And you?

You were helpless.

Because, despite everything, despite every wall you had thrown up, despite every reason you had to keep your distance—you couldn’t look away.

Harry looked happy.

Really, truly happy.

His dimples were deep, his laughter loud and unrestrained. His curls were a mess from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes crinkling at the corners as he dodged Theo’s attempt to steal the ball.

And Lily?

She looked just as free.

She wasn’t shy, wasn’t hesitating—she was grinning, giggling so hard that she tripped, falling right into Harry’s arms as he caught her mid-stumble.

And that—that moment—was what did it.

Because when Harry steadied her, ruffling her hair before sending her off again, you felt something click.

Something shift.

And suddenly, the thought you had been pushing away for weeks broke through like a crack in the dam, relentless and impossible to ignore.

This could be something.

Something good. Something real. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for—but something you didn’t want to run from anymore.

Because, maybe…

Maybe it wasn’t just serendipity.

Maybe it was something that was supposed to happen all along.

That thought followed you home. It followed you through dinner, through Lily’s animated retelling of her very official soccer victory, through the quiet moments when she was curled up in bed, her breathing slow and even.

And it followed you long after that, settling in your chest, stubborn and impossible to ignore.

Because you knew what you had to do.

So, the next afternoon, after too much pacing and too much overthinking, you found yourself standing outside the bookstore café, heart hammering as you pushed open the door.

Harry was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he scanned the inventory list in front of him. He looked focused, but the second he glanced up and saw you, something flickered across his face—something cautious.

You swallowed. Right. You did that.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. “Can we talk?”

He set the clipboard down, wiping his hands on a cloth before nodding toward the back. “Come on.”

You followed him past the bookshelves, through a small hallway that led to a quieter seating area. It was dimly lit, quieter than the front of the shop, and suddenly, this felt very real.

Harry turned to you, arms crossed, waiting.

You exhaled. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “For running. For… whatever that was.” You sighed, rubbing your hands over your jeans. “I got scared.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. A quiet understanding settling between you.

“I get it,” he said finally. “But I need to know where your head is at, Y/N.” His voice was even, steady. “Because I don’t do games. I don’t do halfway.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

“I know.”

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what do you want?”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

But then, you thought about Lily—your Lily. Thought about how effortlessly she had let Theo in, how much brighter she had been since meeting him.

And then, you thought about yourself.

About the way Harry made you laugh. About the way he looked at you—like you weren’t just a mother, just a woman who had learned how to live cautiously, but someone he saw.

And suddenly, the answer wasn’t scary anymore.

“I want to try,” you whispered.

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. His jaw unclenched. And then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.

His fingers reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything.

He just leaned in.

The kiss was soft.

Lingering.

Like it was meant to happen.

And maybe…

Maybe it was.

Maybe it had always been leading to this. To a quiet evening, to wine and laughter and the slow, inevitable pull of something neither of you could ignore any longer.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Harry’s place that night. It had started with dinner—just a casual thing, an unspoken agreement that whatever was growing between you should have space to exist outside of fleeting moments and bookstore conversations.

The kids had been there, of course. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t something you had planned.

But it had felt easy.

Effortless, even.

Like the four of you were already slipping into place, like Theo rolling his eyes at Lily’s terrible knock-knock jokes was as natural as Harry stealing a bite of food off your plate, smirking when you swatted at him.

And then, somehow, it had stretched later than expected.

The kids had curled up on the couch, movie playing softly in the background, their laughter slowly fading into soft, steady breaths.

And then—

Then it was just you and Harry.

Alone.

A glass of wine, the fire crackling softly in the background.

Your legs tucked under you as you sat on the couch, warmth settling in your limbs—not just from the wine, but from this. From him.

Harry leaned back, fingers tapping against his glass. “So.”

You raised a brow. “So?”

He smirked. “Are we still pretending this isn’t happening?”

Your breath hitched.

Because this.

This was happening.

The easy way he watched you. The way your body tilted toward him without thinking. The way you felt calm here, in his space, in this moment.

You exhaled, heart hammering as you set your wine down.

“I don’t want to pretend,” you admitted.

Harry studied you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he set his glass aside, shifting closer.

And when he leaned in—when he brushed his lips against yours, just barely, just enough to give you a chance to stop this—you didn’t.

You pressed closer.

And finally, finally, you let yourself fall.

Right into him. Right into the warmth of his hands, the steady press of his mouth, the way he didn’t hesitate when you kissed him back.

It was slow at first, unhurried and exploratory, like you were both learning something new—even though this had been building for months. Even though the tension between you had been simmering, bubbling over in every stolen glance, every playful smirk, every time he looked at you like he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

And now, you weren’t hiding anymore.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, dragging you in until you were flush against him. He was so warm, the solid weight of his chest pressing into yours, his scent intoxicating—something woody, something clean, something completely Harry.

You let out a soft gasp when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing over yours in a slow, teasing stroke.

That sound—it did something to him.

Because suddenly, his grip tightened.

And then, you were moving.

He guided you backward until your lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. You barely had time to process the cool surface against your skin before his hands were everywhere—sliding beneath your sweater, mapping the curves of your waist, the dip of your spine, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to make you arch into him.

“Harry—”

He groaned at the way you said his name, his lips never leaving yours as he lifted you onto the counter, spreading your thighs as he stepped between them.

And that was it.

That was the moment everything tipped over the edge.

Because then, Harry was everywhere.

His mouth was hot and insistent against your neck, dragging down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, nipping at your skin just enough to make you whimper.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice thick, husky, wrecked.

Your breath hitched. “Me too.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, blown-out, his chest rising and falling as he scanned your face. Checking. Waiting.

You exhaled, chest tight, lips swollen from his kisses.

“I want this, Harry.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I want you.”

Something in him snapped.

And then, he gave you exactly what you asked for.

And then, he gave you exactly what you asked for.

But not in the way you expected.

Because for all the urgency—the heat, the months of unresolved tension stretching between you—Harry didn’t rush.

He kissed you slowly, deliberately, his hands steady as they traced the outline of your body, as if he were memorizing you. Like he wanted to savor every second.

And when he finally lifted you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly through the dimly lit hallway, you didn’t protest. Didn’t question it.

You just let yourself be his.

The bedroom was dark, moonlight pooling in through the window, the sheets cool against your back when he laid you down.

And for a moment—just a moment—Harry didn’t move.

He just looked at you.

His green eyes flickered over your face, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell beneath him. His fingers skimmed up your thigh, teasing, light enough to make you shiver, before he leaned down, his lips hovering just over yours.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t a line.

He wasn’t trying to seduce you. He wasn’t saying it just to say it.

He meant it.

And you could feel yourself unraveling beneath him.

"Harry—"

But your words cut off when he kissed you again, deeper this time, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, tugging it up, peeling it off with aching slowness.

His hands traced over your bare skin, up your ribcage, over the dip of your waist. His touch was reverent, patient—like he wanted to learn every inch of you, every soft sound you made when he touched you just right.

Your hands were just as desperate, fingers threading into his curls, tugging lightly as you pressed up into him.

He groaned, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank off his own shirt, tossing it aside before meeting your gaze again.

You exhaled sharply, taking him in.

The tattoos you had only glimpsed before, now completely on display—the swallows over his chest, the butterfly below his ribs, the intricate designs that inked his arms, his stomach, his strong, solid frame.

And then, he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Deeper.

His mouth trailed lower, over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, his fingers working at the button of your jeans, slipping them down, kissing along every inch of newly exposed skin.

When his lips met the inside of your thigh, you gasped—gasped, because he was so close to where you needed him, but still taking his damn time.

"Harry—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss higher, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. "Let me take my time with you, love."

And then, he did.

He kissed his way up your thighs, parting them further, his hands gripping your hips as his mouth finally—finally—pressed against you.

You gasped, back arching, fingers tangling into the sheets as he licked into you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every reaction, every sound that spilled from your lips.

"Fuck," you choked out, hips jerking involuntarily.

He hummed, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as his tongue flicked exactly where you needed it, his hands holding you open, steadying you, grounding you.

And when he slipped a finger inside you—just one, at first, then another, curling them perfectly— you nearly came undone.

Your body tightened, the pleasure mounting too fast, too intense, and you could feel it—feel yourself teetering on the edge.

"That’s it," Harry murmured against you, his voice thick with lust and admiration. "Let go for me, love."

And you did.

Your orgasm ripped through you, waves of pleasure rolling through every inch of your body as your hips jerked against his mouth, his tongue not relenting—**not even for a second—**as he worked you through it, letting you fall apart completely.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his pupils blown, his expression completely wrecked.

"You taste fucking perfect," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over you again, caging you in beneath him.

You were still shaking, still catching your breath, but you wanted more.

You needed more.

"Harry—"

He kissed you before you could finish, swallowing your words as he kicked off his jeans, rolling his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was for you.

And then, finally, he lined himself up, pausing—just for a second.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice ragged.

"Yes," you breathed. "I want you."

That was all he needed.

And then, he pushed inside you.

A broken sound tore from his throat the second he was buried in you—deep, slow, perfect.

And you—fuck, you felt everything.

The stretch, the fullness, the delicious ache of him sinking into you, inch by inch, until he was completely inside you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his hands gripping your hips so tightly.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, letting you adjust, letting you feel him.

And then—

Then he pulled out, just enough before thrusting back in, deeper this time.

You gasped, fingers digging into his back, clinging to him.

It was slow at first. Deep and unhurried. Like he wanted to memorize you, like he wanted you to feel all of him.

But then—

Then you moaned his name.

And everything changed.

Harry growled, his grip tightening, his pace picking up, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N—" His voice was wrecked, his body pressing you into the mattress, claiming you, ruining you.

And you—you didn’t care.

You wanted to be ruined.

You wanted all of him.

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent shockwaves through you.

"You gonna come again for me, love?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yes—Harry—fuck—"

"That’s it," he groaned. "Come for me."

And you did.

You shattered around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as he followed right after, burying himself deep, spilling inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but harsh breathing, racing heartbeats, the aftermath of something that felt inevitable.

And then, Harry moved.

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

He just wrapped himself around you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your damp temple.

"Stay," he murmured, voice soft, tender.

And this time—

You didn’t run.

The smell of coffee woke you before the sunlight did.

Your body was aching in the best way, muscles deliciously sore, the sheets warm and soft against your skin. For a moment, you just laid there, blinking slowly, listening to the faint sounds of movement coming from beyond the bedroom door.

And then you realized.

You weren’t alone.

Not in the way you used to be.

Not in the way that had felt permanent for so long.

You exhaled, stretching slightly before sitting up, pulling the duvet tighter around you.

Harry’s shirt—which you had shamelessly stolen off the floor at some point during the night—hung loosely around your shoulders, smelling like him, feeling like him.

You pushed the bedroom door open quietly, stepping into the hall, and followed the sound of voices into the kitchen.

And the sight that greeted you?

It nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Harry stood at the stove, clad in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, a spatula in one hand, a coffee cup in the other.

And he wasn’t alone.

Theo and Lily sat at the kitchen island, chattering away, their legs swinging as they watched him flip pancakes.

Theo snickered. “That one’s burnt.”

Harry scoffed, dramatically flipping it onto a plate. “It’s golden brown, thank you very much.”

Lily giggled. “Theo says you always burn the first one.”

Harry smirked. “Well, your mum distracted me.”

At that, you cleared your throat.

Three heads turned toward you in unison.

Theo and Lily grinned.

Harry’s eyes flickered over you—his shirt swallowing your frame, your bare legs peeking out from underneath.

And then, slowly, he smirked.

“What?” you asked, fighting back a smile.

His dimples deepened. “You like seeing me in dad mode?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab a mug from the counter. “I think I just like seeing you.”

Harry stilled for half a second.

And then, with zero warning, he was behind you—wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

Your breath hitched. “Harry—”

“Get used to it, love,” he murmured against your skin.

Your heart stumbled.

And suddenly, you knew.

This was real.

This was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You weren’t afraid.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[pearlzier]

tbh i think nerd!matt explaining fortnite terms, items.. guns.. ect to me would fix me

- 🧃

⠀⠀⠀ˑ   𓈒 𐔌  ㅤnerd.ᐟmatt  ×  nerd.ᐟreader   ͡꒱ ۫⠀

⎯⎯⠀⠀⠀your honour i love them !!! theyre so cutesy !!! also someone tell me if the layout is cute or not....... gdjdh yay :3 n also whether i should write more for these two gaspsies

YOU'D BEEN SAT BESIDE MATT as he played fortnite for a while now, maybe an hour or so. you didn't exactly want to bother him, so you'd been quiet for the most part. when matt plays fortnite, he takes it seriously, when he loses? yeah, he needs a little time to cool down after before he says things he's pretty sure he'll regret. his tongue idly flicks at the gum in his mouth, jaw working occasionally on it as he sits at the desk, meanwhile, his fingers deftly work at the mouse. your eyes linger on the veins on his hand a moment before you catch yourself, knowing he almost has a sixth sense for those sort of things.

eventually, he notices your silence. pushing back his headphones, he glances at you over his shoulder and gives you a soft smile. even though he was focusing on his game, he always preferred hearing your voice. "you're quiet, babe," he murmurs, multitasking glancing at you and also playing the game. you always wonder how he does it, but well, that's matt for you. "you okay?" his brow furrows a minute, biting his bottom lip before his head tilts to the side a little bit. at that, a soft smile plays on your lips, and you nod.

"yeah, yeah, just watchin' you," all you'd been doing was scrolling your phone, watching him. you were pretty content to be completely honest, but of course, you did want his attention. "m'not distractin' you, am i?" you say after a second, placing your phone down into your lap so you can focus your attention on him.

"distracting me?" matt scoffs, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips. "in all respect, you're not exactly doin' anythin' to distract me," he teases softly, and his smile grows when he sees the way you roll your eyes. a warmth runs through him at the sight—god, he falls more and more in love with you each day, he's sure of it. "c'mere," he says, "missin' you." his voice goes a little quieter there, a tad bit needy in parts.

"needy," you retort, a giggle escaping you, but all the while, you get up and make your way over to him. his eyes rake over you, lingering at different parts of you. damn it, he loves the dorky little graphic tee that you're wearing, it suits you so damn well. "y'too far away," he's quiet for a minute, "if i asked you to sit on my lap would that be crazy?"

"might have to ask my lawyer," there's a playfully reluctant tone in your voice, and matt gasps, his mouth falling open with a little indignant noise. that in itself makes you giggle, and you peck a quick kiss to his forehead before planting yourself into his lap. matt leans back, letting you settle in his lap before he moves forward again to press his chest up against your back. shifting his weight beneath you, a soft sigh slips past his lips. "comfy?" he asks, head tilting to the side.

glancing back at him, you agree, "comfy," and he hums, resting his chin against your shoulder so he can look at the screen once more. wrapping his arms around you, he gets back to playing the game, humming occasionally. "gonna actually crash out if some kid starts campin' again," he scoffs, eyes rolling as he plays. your brows furrow a moment, a tad bit of confusion filling your gaze. "campin'?"

"y'know, people who stay in a certain area, jus' waitin' to kill you. campin', like they're settin' up a tent in a place just to shoot at ya," he explains it effortlessly, licking his lips after, not even giving it a second thought. he knows fortnite like the back of his hand, like he knows you. basically—he knows practically everything about it. "oh," you nod, biting your bottom lip before you release it with another nod. "you get it?" matt asks gently, wanting to make sure you understand what he's on about before he continues playing.

he enjoys telling you things about the stuff he likes, sharing his interests. though he knows you're not as into fortnite or gaming as he is, he knows you like learning things from him anyway. "okay, good, you'll be a pro in no time," he muses, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder before he glances back at the game again. you watch him, seeing how he doesn't have to focus all that much and still be damn goof at the game. it's admirable.

after a few minutes, he realises the warmth that ran through him when he'd explained what camping was. it was simple, shouldn't have meant as much to him as it did, but it did. he's quiet, quiet grunts coming from him as he plays before he's speaking again, voice soft, "y'know what a dub is, baby?" it's hard for him to hide how giddy this makes him, getting to teach you this stuff.

"uh.." immediate thought? like, the english voice overs for animes and stuff, but you're 99% sure that's not what he's talking about right now. "no," you say, once you've considered his words. "mmh, a dub is just a win, i guess. what, uh, about a one pump? in game, of course, uh.. not anythin' else," he knows you don't know this stuff, which makes it a little better for him. eyes lifting to yours, a soft smile plays on his plush lips, followed by a flush on his cheeks when he clears up any misconceptions.

"you're askin' me like m'supposed to know," the words are grumbled as they leave your mouth, but you smile, shaking your head. you're not exactly into video games like he is, he's a video game fiend. you literally have to rip him off his console to get him to sleep or to get him to leave the house. meanwhile, you've got your head buried in a book or eyes glued to your phone screen 'cause of some good fanfiction. you'd get him to read some fanfics with you one day, you're sure of it.

"there's uh," matt sits up, "one sec," he waits until he's shot some guy in the game, so he can focus on explaining to you as he hides out in some corner of the map. "i mean, it got vaulted, but there's a pump shotgun, right?" you nod, not exactly understanding what he means by vaulted, but sure. seemingly, he notices this, and he adds, "vaulted s'like, they're not in the weapon rotation right now. so taken out, like, to balance the loot pool. you followin' so far?" you're a little busy looking at the way the light in his eyes shimmers with every word he speaks, but you mumble a quiet, "uh-huh," in response to show you're listening.

"okay, yeah, so s'called the pump shotgun, so what d'ya think a one pump is?" damn matt and his ability to teach so well. no wonder he tutored people for some extra cash on the side, he was damn good at it.

"one pump?" you ask after a few seconds.

one corner of his lips flits up, into a small smirk. "that's right, yeah, one pump. think about it," matt encouages, leaning his head against your shoulder a little more before he adds on, "you got this. real simple. like.. a type of shot."

"one pump.. uh, takes one shot to kill someone in game? with the.. pump shotgun?" it's a wild guess of yours, you had no clue, a shot in the dark, to say the least. but to your surprise, it's right, and he practically beams. "you're so fuckin' smart," he sighs, a little giggle of his own escaping him. nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, he gives you a few gentle kisses as a little well done for getting it right. it was simple, sure, but he was so proud of you for getting it right.

"y'sure you haven't played fortnite before? might be even better than i am," matt mutters, and he revels in the way you laugh at his words. "you're laughin', i mean it!" he whines a little, poking you in the side which only causes you to laugh more. "mmh, okay, baby, whatever you say," though your words are a little muffled by the kisses you give him on his cheek, he hears you, and his smile only grows a lot more. "don't 'whatever you say' me.." he grumbles.

the moment is cut short however by him realising that the storm is closing in on him, and he quickly sits up, "oh, shit," he grabs the mouse again, "impromptu lesson on don't stay in the storm or y'die, you payin' attention? great."

ִ ֹ ★ @mattybsgroupie, @mattslolita, @stellasturns, @stevelacylovebot, @55sturn, @jetaimevous, @phone4pills, @aesthetixhoe, @venusiers, @chrissdollie, @stvrnmc, @sarosfilms, @beetlejenna, @funkycoloured, @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @deansbite, @beridollie, @pr3ttyf4wn, @sincerebabydoll, @cayleeuhithinknot, @j2ss7, @sweetrelieef, @l3sbiancvnt, @fallbhind, @beausling ִ ꒱

[solarmorrigan]

The Pumpkin (Spice) King

For the @steddie-spooktober day 24 prompt: Pumpkin Rated: T | Words: 945 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, this is very silly, fluff Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The clues had been there all along. Eddie should have paid more attention.

It starts with the candle.

“Why does it smell like a craft store in here?” Eddie asks the moment the apartment door has closed behind him.

Steve, half engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through on his phone, shoots Eddie a quick, puzzled look. “What?”

“Like cinnamon sugar and spices. Fake fall.” Eddie sniffs the room speculatively. “This is what craft stores smell like every year from September to January.”

“Oh.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not ‘fake fall,’ it’s just the candle I have burning.”

Now that Steve’s mentioned it, Eddie spots the candle on the table, one of the ones you get in a fancy-looking glass jar, the label of which proclaims the scent to be–

“Pumpkin spice?” Eddie utters, nose wrinkled.

“You got a problem with pumpkin spice?” Steve asks.

“It’s–” Eddie starts, then takes in Steve’s single raised eyebrow, registers the catty lilt to his tone, and changes tracks, “–barely September.”

If anything, Steve’s eyebrows get more judgmental, but he looks back to his phone, apparently dismissing Eddie as a threat to his fun, fall-scented good time. “They start selling these things in August," he says. “You should appreciate my restraint.”

“Riiight,” Eddie drawls, deciding to adjourn to the bedroom and leave the living room to Steve and his mass-produced miasma of imitation autumn.

Of course, it doesn’t end there.

Eddie barely notices in time, reaching for the pump of the hand soap by the kitchen sink and stopping just short of using it when the colors register. It isn’t the usual bland bottle with its inoffensive citrus and herb scent, but something brightly-colored, all orange and shiny silver. There are little wheat sheaves and pumpkins on the label, and the scent is, of course–

“Fucking pumpkin spice,” Eddie mutters.

Fine, okay, so there must have been some kind of sale at fucking– Bath and Body Works, or wherever the hell it is that sells this stuff, and Steve had temporarily lost his mind. Or something. Whatever.

Steve can go around smelling like something that wishes it could be cinnamon all he likes, but Eddie will not be joining him. He uses the dish soap to wash his hands instead. His eczema will not thank him later, but he thinks it’s a fair price to pay for his continued dignity.

(And if Steve eyes Eddie’s reddened, peeling knuckles later in the week, and the lemon herb soap reappears next to the pumpkin spice soap, well – that’s close enough to a win that Eddie will take it.)

Then there’s the coffee.

This one is technically the final nail in the coffin, but it takes a bit to really dawn on Eddie. He maintains that he had been understandably distracted at the time – largely because he only finds this one out by drawing the taste straight from Steve’s mouth.

It isn’t unusual for Steve to have been up and about for an hour or two (or three) before Eddie rolls out of bed on his days off; Eddie prefers to keep late hours, and Steve, as much as Eddie loves him, is a morning person. This had caused some friction when they’d first started living together, but it’s been nearly a year now, and they’ve managed to work it out. Often, their first kiss of the day tastes like whatever coffee Steve’s already been drinking.

It’s different today, though. Sweeter than usual.

Eddie hums, licking deeper into Steve’s mouth, trying to place the difference, and Steve groans, tugging Eddie closer by the hips, mistaking his curiosity for passion (and, well – it’s not not passion. Eddie can multitask).

“What’ve you been drinking?” Eddie finally asks when they pull apart.

“Pumpkin spice latte,” Steve answers, and then gives Eddie absolutely no chance to process this information, pulling him back in for another deep kiss.

It’s only later, back in bed when Eddie had barely even been out of it for half an hour, that Eddie has to admit to himself: his boyfriend is a pumpkin spice girl.

And that’s fine! Eddie can be mature about this!

Sure, it’s the sort of thing he’d sneered at back in high school—the conformity of the masses flocking to whatever seasonally-scented item corporations are hocking at the time—but he’s grown up since then. Someone’s preference for a certain flavor or scent doesn’t determine their worth as a person, et cetera, et cetera. Eddie knows this.

But still, he’s only human. He does have a breaking point.

“Oh, baby, no.”

“What?” Steve pulls his head out of the fridge, where he’s been putting the cold stuff away as Eddie unloads the grocery bags destined for the pantry.

Eddie holds up the offending item – possibly the most offending item he’s ever seen.

Pumpkin spice candy corn.

Steve blinks at him. “What?” he asks again after a long moment of loaded silence.

“Oh god, it’s already infected your brain,” Eddie laments, dropping the bag of candy on the counter and reaching for his phone. “I’m calling Robin, we’re staging an intervention.”

“Oh come on, what? They’re good!” Steve insists.

“Objectively, sweetheart, they really aren’t. But don’t you worry,” he leans over and pats Steve on the arm as he searches for Robin’s number in his contact list, “we’re gonna save you from yourself.”

(Later, of course, he’ll find out that Robin has already tried to break Steve of his tendency to buy anything labeled with “pumpkin spice.” His love of the stuff is ironclad. She tells Eddie that he’d better learn to enjoy the taste, or else give up making out with his boyfriend until Thanksgiving.)

[icanseethefuture333]

PAC: Urgent messages from your shadow self 🕷🕸🖤

Please leave a tip if you can $$$

Trigger warning: These tarot cards contain graphic content (gore, syringes, etc.) and in this pac there is mentions of trauma, substance abuse, inner child wounds, etc. The tone of the words will also sound blunt because the shadow self is brutally honest. Viewer discretion is advised.

Pile 1:

Beautiful Liar by Beyoncé & Shakira

Special by Ashnikko

Black Swan by BTS

Four of Fire, Two of Air, & Daughter of Air.

(Clarified by Adjustment)

Your shadow self wants to urge you to find balance within yourself and your life. Perhaps you are someone who is constantly juggling with tasks, hobbies, or responsibilities. You are being a "jack of all trades, but a master of none". You don't know how to multitask and yet you are still trying to do it - why? You are overwhelming yourself. Take smaller steps vs trying to finish everything all at once. You are making yourself sink into this hole of frustation on your own. In the future, you will just make things more difficult if you persist in this charade of yours. Your shadow self is giving you a kick in the butt because you rely too much on charm when you mess up or to get away shit. Also your "white lies" could turn into big lies. If you needed a job per say, this behavior could have you looked down and be seen as unprofessional. There's a lot of visuals regarding the circus. Such as the acrobats or fire tamers. You are talented and witty. Use your wits to find ways to accomplish your goals. I am also being reminded of the scene from Mulan where she unsheaths her swords and you can see her reflection. Perhaps you have a duality to yourself that you are unaware of. You need to look into the lightness and darkness of your soul. What are your light or shadow attributes? Your strengths or weaknesses? Think of what they are and write it down, then create a plan. Once you have decided what to do or how you can make better decisions. You will start to make progress in your journey. The girl is walking on a tightrope with a stick and bowls(?) on her head. This could mean you literally need to "tighten up" which is an expression of handling your business basically. There is birds flying behind her. Your spirit guides and higher self are supporting you as you walk towards your destiny. Be patient and grounded. You will feel proud of yourself in the end and feel grateful you learned this lesson. (Clarifying song: Libra by The Deli) You could be someone with Libra placements or you need to surround yourself with people that are this sign. This could also mean embodying the traits of Libra. They are known for their balance, diplomacy, fairness, friendliness, & charm.

Pile 2:

Assassin by Au/Ra

Cellophane by FKA Twigs

Go To Sleep by Bearson ft. Kailee Morgue

Five of Water (reversed), Seven of Air, & Son of Earth

(Clarified by The Magus (reversed).)

Tsk tsk. You're self sabotaging. What's going on, pile 2? I feel like you're trying to get over past disappointments but things keep crumbling and falling apart in your very eyes. You could be dealing with depression right now or you're avoiding the world because of this fear of yours. You could be laying in bed a lot or sleeping more than usual to cope. Some of you could have gotten rejected by someone you really liked and are thinking the worse as if it's the end of your love life. There's over 8 billion people in the world, it's not the end unless you act like it is. There could be so much abundance ahead of you if you would just stopped being so inconsistent and indecisive. Reflect as to why you're afraid, why are you self sabotaging, why are letting your life past you by when there's a whole world out there ready to be explored? (Clairifying song: NO PROBLEM by Nayeon ft Felix of Stray Kids) Whatever you dealt with is not happening to you right now. You survived baby. Sometimes it's good to be single because you can focus on putting that love towards your own heart. Try to focus on having fun vs finding the "one". You'd be surprised by how many people will be knocking at your door when you realize how much of a catch you are. Also stop comparing yourself to people on social media. Learn to see past people's illusions and understand they only post the positives of what's going on their life because they're scared of being vulnerable or seen as a failure. You are gonna do just fine if you focus on your own happiness.

Pile 3:

Dëserve It by Yeat

I'm Not Sorry by imagine Dragons

Element. by Kendrick Lamar

Three of Earth, Eight of Water, & The Universe

(Clarified by The Fool)

You usin' work and self achievements to cope huh? You're always working so hard to accomplish things, but have you ever took a minute to realize that you are already accomplished even if you don't succeed? (Clarifying song: No L's by Smino) Why do you always need to win? What's so bad about losing? Loss can be scary, but it can teach us valuable lessons in life as well. You fear of being seen unsuccessful, a failure. You don't want to be the gossip in your town, at your job, or family functions. Everything you do, you just work and work. You not addressing the problems in your life. What are you working for? You have money, you have trophies, you have awards, you have a long list of achievements, you have your own place, but that is not healing you. Your valuables are just things. They are not fulfilling you emotionally or mentally. For some of you, you need to stop being a doormat just for the sake of a paycheck or being provided for. This could be someone at your job, school, etc, who is stressing you. Your shadow self wants to tell you to not let anyone make you act out of character but it also gives you permission to put a bitch in check and in their place if needed to. Start setting boundaries. You need to start treating yourself with love and care as if you were a baby. You deserve to be taken care of. Nurture your soul. Nurture your heart. Nurture your mind. If you're not protecting yourself then what is the point? Don't fall into the system of being a worker bee or give into hustling and grinding culture, to the point it's gonna harm your health.

Pile 4:

UNFUCKWITTABLE by Stunna Girl

Team by Iggy Azalea

Player by Tinashe

Ace of Water, Mother of Water, & Eight of Earth

(Clarified by The Star)

Okay so I had to reshuffle for this pile because I didn't take a picture of the first cards I got so I had to redo this, so this is the last spread I finished out of all the other piles. What's interesting is that since it's getting dark I had to turn on my led mirror and use it as a lamp. It was illuminating a light onto The Star card, which I find interesting. A wish fulfillment is on its way. You guys could be manifesting something or reciting affirmations in the mirror. In the song, Stunna Girl keeps saying "I'm a stunner girl" repeatedly, stunner means to be "a strikingly beautiful or impressive person or thing". Stunna Girl has also went viral and become more popular after appearing on the show "Baddies West". You could be growing into your confidence soon and learning to love yourself unconditionally and unapologetically. You could even become more popular or go viral on social media. For some of you, you are healing generational trauma for your female ancestors. They are so proud of you! Or you could come from a family with a lot of powerful, strong, independent women. In a patriarchal society, a woman who is outspoken, knows her worth, and is self assured, is looked down upon because they are less easy to humble and manipulate. Insecure men could paint you as a "bitch" or that you look "mid", to try to humble you when that is just lies. You need to know that you're a bad bitch and that you deserve the best. Your shadow self wants you to stand tf UP! Stop giving a fuck about what other people want you to do or think of you. Make them uncomfortable with your glow up. The women in your family worked and yourself as well have worked too god damn hard for you to sit on your ass and wallow in your tears. You are smart enough, you are strong enough, you are pretty enough, you are ENOUGH. Straighten up your spine and fix your posture. Walk into the room as if you own it. I don't care if you just rolled out of bed with a pair of stained sweatpants and dirty Chuck Taylor's on, you better rock it as if it's designer. Your shadow self will back hand your ass harder than Maddy slapped Cassie from Euphoria if you keep getting in your head and overthinking about shit that's not even that serious. Also, you can have anybody you want, if somebody is stressing you out - Drop their ass and move on. You deserve to be treated like royalty. Stop settling for dust! For some of you, this message could be specific, but your mother is very proud of you or you will be set free from a mother wound. You need to read a book (48 Laws of Power and The Art of Seduction for example) or head to the books if you are a student. Also in your love life, you will not be getting played anymore, but you will be the player (not talking about breaking people's hearts or cheating, calm down Karen 😮‍💨). You will stop chasing love interests and they will be chasing you. Secure attachment for the win 💪🏽. (Clarifying song: Eat It Up by Kaliii ft. BIA). Eat this shit up, pile 4. All this is yours. You are gonna be living your best life soon. NSFW message but some of you will also feel more pleasure in your sex life and will feel more confident about demanding what you want in the bedroom. People will live to please you. There is a lot of fertility here, so be careful if you are able to get pregnant.

Pile 5:

For The Record by Sophiya

Up All Night by Drake ft. Nicki Minaj

Energy by Beyoncé ft. BEAM

Father of Fire, Four of Air (reversed), & Nine of Water (reversed)

(Clarified by Seven of Fire)

You have a lot of passion, pile 5, but you seem to get burnt out easily when it comes to trying to achieve your desires. There is a goal that you are reaching towards that you so desperately wish to achieve to the point its keeping you up at night and causing you to feel restless. Some of you could smoke, you need to cut that down or quit all togerher because it is making your nerves really bad or making you even more anxious (could cause you to age physically faster as well). Some of you could have been ghosted by someone you fell in love with pretty quickly. Possible love bombing? There is a lot of highs and lows in this relationship. Is this a friends with benefits situation? You could have a crush on someone but you are too afraid to state your feelings, so you use your sex appeal to keep them around. You need to voice what you are wanting out of this relationship because this flame will only last so long if you keep going this way. (Clarifying song: My Strange Addiction by Billie Ellish) there is so much about "fire", "lighters", "matches", "fuses", and "smoke" being mentioned in this pile. Are you guys pyromaniacs 😂? I would hope not, if you are please seek help for that lol. If not, you guys could be drawn to the "fire" as in things that intentionally just burn you in the end. It's almost as if you get off to this toxic behavior but then when it ends, you act unstable. You need to find the courage to stop engaging in behaviors that are bad for your mental, emotional, or physical health. Also be brave when expressing your needs in a relationship, if they agree then maybe you can work it out, if not, then it's time to leave. Some of you also could have an anxious attachment or have a fear of abandonment due to a absent father. You need to do shadow work or talk with a therapist to heal that. Learn to find emotional fulfillment and security within yourself.

Pile 6:

Skinnydipped by Banks

Don't Recall by KARD

Sober by Mahalia

Are you overcoming an addiction, Pile 6? Or wanting to go sober? Either way, I commend you for the strength in wanting to do so, since I know that isn't easy. This could also mean your shadow self wants you to quit doing drugs or drinking alcohol because it is making you act manic. I feel like you were treated harshly growing up or you were left with the "vultures". You could have been neglected growing up and had to learn to survive. You could of used maldaptive daydreaming to cope. Your fantasies gave you comfort in a time of stress and turmoil. I'm so sorry for that, pile 6, but you have to understand you no one is out to get to you. You can choose a new story for yourself. You dont have to be a victim anymore. You are free to start a new life for yourself. Some of you came from abusive households or were put in the system at a young age (either you were adopted or was in foster care). You could have lived in multiple places or went from house to house as a child. Did you run away as a kid? Why were you running, sweetheart? You can stop running now, take a new route. Just peacefully go towards your new journey. There is no need to rush. (Clarifying song by Come Down by Anderson .Paak & They Reminisce Over You (T.R.O.Y) by Pete Rock & C.L Smooth) October is significant for some of you. There is going to be growth and prosperity in your life. You need to take time to nurture yourself and practice some self care. I heard "sprout" so you need to look inwards and have a conversation with your inner child. Can you remember your childhood? Do your memories seem blurry or you can't recall anything that happened? Be kind to yourself and be patient. I know it can seem nerve wracking at first but overtime you will be grateful you did it. Think of your younger self as this seed, if no one watered the plant, gave it sunlight or natural light, or fed it with fertilizer, then you can be the first to make that seed grow. Tend to your garden. This will help you build character and gain optimism. You will start to think "Hey, you know what? Maybe life isn't so bad. Maybe I can be a somebody!" And you will :) ♡ You could also be feeling very nostalgic or reminisce your youth. People could also see your growth and remember as a kid, they are going to be surprised how successful you've become to overcome your hardships. Also try to seek the professional help of a therapist or counselor if you try to unpack childhood trauma, or if you can't remember your past, it can be a sign your brain is possibly blocking you out from remembering something traumatic. Be safe and take care, pile 6 🙏🏽

Pile 7:

Run by SAAY

Monster by EXO

Just A Girl by No Doubt

Nine of Fire, Five of Air, & The Empress (reversed).

(Clarifidd by Son of Water)

Oh my 😃! Wow pile 7, do you hold a grudge against the entire male population or a masculine in mind, it seems? You are acting mad bitter. I feel you have the tendecy to be a misandrist out of the trauma from your past. You feel angry that men can get away with their wrong doings while women are forced to suffer. Ironically, you are still attracted to them. You could be struggling with your divine feminine energy. You are also resenting what it means to be a "feminine". You wish to create this on your own terms. Are you apart of the LGBTQ? or consider yourself a feminist? Maybe even both? If you are someone who is a man or identifies with masculine energy, it could mean you behave feminine in a negative way (as in you "nag" or are too "sensitive"). This also reminds me of Jules in season 2 of Euphoria when she cut her hair, started wearing black, and began to feel comfortable in her androgynous style. Some of you guys are really mixed up emotionally and mentally. Like no offense, I take that back, your shadow self wants to say "full offense" - you are acting crazy. Slow down, take a deep breath, and let it go. You are valid in your pain and your emotions, but you cannot let this world make you bitter. You can't inflict pain onto other people just because you were hurt. You are not a monster, you are not the person who hurt you. Do better and be better than them. (Clarifying song: Close Your Eyes by Kim Petras & The Hills (remix) by The Weeknd ft. Nicki Minaj) I am being reminded of the scene from Doja Cat's Streets music video when she was like this spider crawling on it's web, catching their "prey" (the love interest). You are like a black widow. Beautiful to admire from afar, but dangerous to interact with up close. There is someone who is head over heels for you. You could like this person or are pushing them away out of fear. You could be the type of person who warns people before they fall in love with you (Watch the movie "It's A Thin Line Beyween Love & Hate"). You could have even sworn to never love again (Your shadow self: "bffr" 💀). You need to harness this hatred, anger, and darkness for a better cause. Use your pain as a passion to transform yourself and become someone magnificent. Like a spider, you are resourceful. Use your sources and use your intelligence to begin this new transformation. You're lashing out of fear. You're pushing people away because of your trauma. You deserve to be treated tenderly, you're not some scary creature. You are actually so empathetic, intuitive, creative, sensual, and enticing. A mystery that people want to unravel. You are a going to be a femme fatale in it's purest form.

Pile 8:

By Any Means by Jorja Smith

Feelings by Tinashe

Human by Sevdaliza

Five of Fire, Nine of Air, & The Moon

(Clarified by The Hierophant)

Pile 8, why are you ripping yourself apart to fit into society's pressures and demands? When will you realize that you are beautiful in your own way? I remember when Kendrick Lamar said: "If a flower bloomed in a dark room would you trust it?". Not every flower grows in the sunlight or the spring or the summer. Some grow during the harsh, cold weather of the winters or when everything falls in autumn. You are in competition with no one but yourself and you are not going to win this game if you treat yourself like shit. If you wanna be a winner, then you need to start acting like one vs acting like a sore loser. When things go wrong, you are so unnecessarily rude and hard on yourself. Why is that? Ask yourself these things next time you catch yourself thinking that way. You're not anything of the mean things you say about yourself or what people have said to you. You struggle with your insecurities and cling to what gives you comfort even though you know you want better than this, you want better than what you are currently doing. Why do you stick to the same routine everyday even though you know you want change? Sometimes you have to be uncomfortable so you can be comfortable. You may compare your beauty to other people but you need to realize no one is perfect. You are human, as the song goes. A human with "flaws, veins, scars". Embrace your imperfections. You don't want to look back at your past and regret you never took action on anything because you weren't "pretty" enough. Look past your appearance and look inside. (Life Goes On by BTS) What are you are clinging to, pile 8? Are you holding onto something? You're holding sanding at this point and it's slipping through your fingers, you are stuck in this hour glass, wishing to be released. Time keeps ticking and life passes you by. Break free from the perceptions of time and start living your life to the fullest without limitations, doubts, and fears. Life has its up and downs but you have to learn to find hope in dark times. Seek help from your shadow self or the universe when you are in need of faith. Trust the divine that things will always work out for you, no matter what.

Pile 9:

Let It Out by Rico Nasty

UCKERS by Shygirl

Ghetto Gatsby by Brent Faiyaz ft. Alicia Keys

Two of Love, Three of Air, & Eight of Water

(Clairifed by Ace of Air)

Time to end it with a bang 🤬🥊💥! Did you just go through a break up, pile 9? Whether it was with a friend or partner. You are internalizing a lot that happened from this relationship, honestly, you interalize everything. Your shadow self wants you to let out whatever you're feeling. Scream, shout, yell, etc. It is time to stop turning the other cheek and speak up. You also need to confront something or someone who hurt you. (Clarifying song: Fingers by Zayn & Roman's Revenge by Nicki Minaj ft. Eminem) Ugh this person is so LAMEEE 😒🙄 Once you finally get over this connection, they will want to come back and talk to you about what happened. You or this person could have been writing text messages but never sending them. This conversation will be your chance to gain clarity and communicate about how you felt in your relationship. This will help you move on and also allow you to learn to stand up for yourself.

[gilbertscurls]

The mall was alive with the chaos of the season—holiday music playing overhead, shoppers bustling between stores, and twinkling decorations hanging from every available surface. You followed Chris through the crowd, clutching your coat tighter against the chilly draft that seemed to sneak in every time the automatic doors opened.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked as Chris stopped in front of a store window. “Find something perfect for Nick and Matt and avoid the last-minute panic shopping?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Exactly. But I’m also multitasking today.”

“Multitasking?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer, just winked and led the way into the store.

Chris moved with purpose, scanning shelves and racks with a focus that was almost impressive. You trailed behind, offering suggestions when he asked, though he mostly seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. After about ten minutes, he grabbed a hoodie that screamed "Nick" and a beanie that Matt would probably wear every day until summer.

“Alright, that’s round one,” he declared, heading toward the register.

As you waited in line, you felt him slip away. Before you could call after him, he returned, holding a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper. He handed it to you with a grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking the box.

“A little something,” he said casually, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his excitement. “Open it.”

You carefully peeled back the paper to reveal a tiny snow globe, the inside featuring a miniature Christmas tree surrounded by glittery snow.

“Chris,” you said, smiling as you held it up to the light. “It’s adorable.”

He shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I thought you might like it. Plus, it’s Christmas—Santa’s gotta spread some cheer, right?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Alright, Santa. Let’s keep shopping.”

The pattern repeated at every store. While Chris shopped for his brothers—picking out a pair of sneakers for Matt at one stop and a graphic tee for Nick at another—he’d inevitably disappear for a moment and return with a little gift for you.

At a quirky boutique, it was a set of peppermint-scented candles.

“You’re always burning candles,” he explained with a shrug.

At a bookstore, he handed you a slim notebook with a festive cover.

“For all those brilliant ideas you’re always scribbling down,” he teased.

By the time you reached the food court for a much-needed snack break, you were carrying a small collection of thoughtful little trinkets, each one perfectly suited to you.

“You know,” you said as you both sat down with your hot chocolates, “you’re making it really hard for me to keep up. I didn’t plan on shopping for you today.”

Chris leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You don’t have to. This is way more fun for me.”

“Why, because you like watching me get flustered?”

He laughed, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “Maybe a little. But mostly because I like seeing you smile.”

You shook your head, warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. “Well, mission accomplished, Santa.”

As the two of you finished your drinks and prepared to tackle the rest of the mall, you couldn’t stop glancing at the little gifts he’d surprised you with. It wasn’t the things themselves that meant so much—it was the thought behind each one, the way he’d noticed the little things that made you happy.

And as you walked beside him, listening to him debate whether Matt would prefer a new set of headphones or a novelty mug shaped like a basketball, you realized that this impromptu shopping trip was more than just errands—it was a memory you’d treasure long after the season ended.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry

[andmaybegayer]

Do you know of a decent place to see which phones still work well after years? I'm noticing pretty damning performance issues with my Xperia meanwhile my razer phone 2 is still chugging along!

Longevity is kind of double edged, there's update support and there's raw performance. For update support, there's EndOfLife which has details for a few brands, and you can otherwise usually find a recent list pumped out by an aggregator site if you search "Update Support <Brand> Phones". Just because support is long doesn't mean it'll necessarily run well, (Samsung has long support on even their slowest phones) but it's a start.

For performance, the flagship phones with high end processors and tons of RAM do a lot to future proof a phone against the increasing resource demands, so your best bet is often just benchmark results relative to those.

GSMArena will usually have GFXbench or 3DMark and GeekBench results for phones. Versions change often but, you can usually look at like, the contemporary Samsung S or S Ultra whatever which is pretty reliably one of the fastest fast phones of its generation and see how what you're looking at stacks up. e.g. here's a Nothing 3a pro vs the Samsung S25.

Huge performance gap! GeekBench and AnTuTu are sort of holistic usability benchmarks, while 3DMark is mostly gaming focussed. Here's my phone (Pixel 8) vs its contemporary S24. Now that I mention it, contemporary pixel is also a good "middle of the road" benchmark for recent generations.

No good graphics comparison, but you can see, ~65% performance give or take in general use. This also shows you how big the inter-generation gap was this time, pretty big!

Another thing that matters more than you might think is storage. Modern phones use eUFS 2.x or eUFS 3.x, both of which are high performance flash standards and which are a huge step up over older eMMC storage. Slow flash like eMMC dramatically affects app performance and only makes it worse if you run out of memory and have to hit swap. Snappy app transitions under Android involve a lot of careful memory management and swap usage so slow storage can really highlight that. GSMArena will usually list the flash standard a phone is using.

Memory has a much narrower spread these days, even the cheapest new budget phone will usually have 6GB of RAM, but getting 8 or 12GB will help reduce swapping and improve caching for application launching and multitasking.

[gargoylesister]

Trial by Lightning [Chapter 8]

Tlyla I

“The root of all evil is desire” Siddhartha Gautama

“Paraphrased. This saying is not in reference to intimate troubles. The scope is far broader and includes positive desires. Wanting anything at all, according to this mode of thought, inevitably leads to disappointment and loss. Even when you get what you want, who is to say that you will be satisfied? True satisfaction comes from letting go.

“In other news, I have decided to continue writing out this work rather than illustrating it entirely. The variety is helping me multitask.”

↪️ [Directory]

🪶 Assets from The Second Calamity @inali-of-winterfell

❗Note: someone is threatened with drowning and torture, though nobody drowns, dies, or is tortured. There is a depiction of physical violence, though the description is not graphic. Someone is called a whore. These events are meant to be darkly comedic. Enjoy!

*************************

            “Start from the top,” Tlyla said. Balisti and Malin stood before her.

            Balisti nodded and began. “Malin’s scouting party saw two giant birds in the sky, flying open in the storm. After the birds landed, the party secured them and brought them to see me at one of our outposts. We determined they were sentient beings, not monsters.”

“They started speaking and arguing with each other,” Malin explained.

            Tlyla chuckled. “Of course they’re knowledgeable beings… they’re arguing! That’s what knowledgeable people do. And what were they discussing?”

            “Well--” Balisti hesitated. “They really didn’t like each other, to be perfectly honest. It seemed a little like a lover’s spat.”

            “Two unruly lovers flying in a storm?” Tlyla said. This was getting a little unbelievable. “That sounds ridiculous. What did they say to you?”

            “They said they were here to find and speak to us—the Dracozu, I mean.” Balisti said.

            Tlyla sounded confused. “Fascinating. Were we supposed to counsel their marriage?”

            “They were carrying a proposition from Rito Village: if we ally ourselves with the Rito and declare independence from Hyrule Castle, we can help each other break free from the Hylians.” Balisti glanced at Malin, who nodded in support.

            “They mentioned a birdman who had been here before. He was carted around in a cage by the Hylians, to scare us. That caged bird is their leader now and it sounds like he’s been actively fighting against the state,” Malin said. “I don’t remember that event. But I remember the Hylians attacking us-- he must have been there that day.”

            Tlyla straightened her posture in her throne. “The bird with the ruined wing is named Karranis, and yes, he was here. I am glad to hear he has wrested control of his people from the Hylians’ grip.”

Tlyla felt a surge of hope. The quarrelling couple were actually friendly messengers from Rito Village, and they wanted to join forces. While it didn’t bode particularly well that two bumbling fools had been sent to represent them, there was so much potential here that she could look past the faux pas. “Even more fascinating… What else did they say? Why aren’t they here now?”

            “I came back here to update you, but there’s been a serious development. One of the birds is gone, and Tatsu can’t be found.” Balisti said.

            Malin frowned, as much as someone without eyebrows could. “The birds had a particularly bad argument, and one walked off. Tatsu went to retrieve them. They’re both missing now.”

            The hope in Tlyla’s chest was replaced with fear.

            Malin shook his head. “Valina and some warriors are out searching now, but the two are completely gone. No tracks, but no sign of foul play either.”

            “Could the bird have picked up Tatsu and flown away?” Tlyla asked. From lost lovers, to hopeful emissaries, to potential assassins and spies. What a precarious situation.

            Malin and Balisti made hesitant noises and waved their hands.

            “He’s so heavy…”

            “She said she was soaked, she couldn’t fly…”

            Tlyla sighed. “So, no, then. Where could they have gone?”

            “Well,” Balisti offered, “we do still have the other bird. He seemed very anxious when I asked what had happened between them. He will certainly have insight.”

            “Then bring him in!” Tlyla sounded like she was starting to get impatient. “That’s the first thing that should have been done—enough time wasting. Get it in here and get it talking!” She stood and walked away. “I’ll get my husband. Be quick about this—if they’re Hylian spies or not, we need to address this now.”

            Balisti gave Malin instructions, and all three Zora fled from the room.

*********************************

            Tlyla had made her way to her position on the throne through a lifetime’s worth of sacrifices, careful thought, and planning. That wasn’t even taking into account the favor of all the gods of the Dracozu. The stone dragons watched her patiently from the walls, and the Hylian statue smiled upon her from the ruins at the mouth of the river. She could tell when Beloved Farosh was snaking through the sky near the city, and she soaked in divine messages when the rain touched her skin. She was connected deeply to a facet of the world so few could see—but that connection came with heavy commitments.

            She’d been born into the highest caste of the Dracozu, instantly awarding her preferential treatment and opportunity afforded to few. A sign of godly preference had appeared at her birth as well, marking her for a life of greatness. She had been chosen by the gods to do their bidding with strange power and mighty resources at her fingertips. But few really envied her status and responsibilities. For all that the people of the Dracozu looked up to her, they did not want to be her. She was bound to execute the will of the Dracozu and the gods, both. What time was there for herself?

            Tlyla reflected on her life thus far and wondered. If she’d been given the choice, would she have traded her autonomy for this power? She reached her bedroom and found Chlorla.

            “Husband?” Tlyla took off her mask.

            The man sat on the edge of a sleeping pool, placing jade jewelry in his fins. “What.”

            “Malin’s troop have found a possible Hylian spy.”

            Chlorla cast aside the jade and in a moment was out of the room raging over plans. There was little love in this marriage for power and security, but Tlyla did truly enjoy Chlorla when they could agree on things. She grabbed his jade mask and clothing from the room and followed him to the thrones.

*******************************

            The bird stood in the center of the room surrounded by onlookers. The anxiety was palpable.     

            “So,” Chlorla shouted. The bird flinched. “I hear you came here with your wife! Where is she?”  

            The bird looked like it had wet itself, but it was simply standing in a puddle of rainwater. The feathers were sopping wet, which didn't help the bedraggled, pathetic appearance. It whined, “She’s not my wife, I mean not exactly, she-”

            Chlorla yelled. “Where is she?!” The bird jumped in shock.

            “Lanayru’s Balls man, I don’t know what that woman does! She probably went back to Rito Village!” The bird exclaimed.

            Tlyla put a hand on Chlorla’s arm, and he paused. “And why would she have left you behind?”

            The bird winced. “Like I said! She does irrational things!”

            “He’s a spy, it’s obvious. Torture him.” Chlorla waved his arm in dismissal. The bird screeched.

            “I’m not a spy! Wait!” The bird scrambled forward. “I’m Kheel Summerborn of the Rito, Third—” he stumbled over his words, paused a moment, and then stood with as much confidence as he could muster. “Third Warrior of the Rito! Yes! I’m an important man and if you kill me then Karranis Winterborn will destroy your ugly little settlement in retribution!” He tried to puff up his feathers.

            Tlyla had learned to read her husband’s expressions through the jade mask, and she could see the old “are you serious” face making an appearance as he leaned toward her.

            “Maybe I’m wrong,” Chlorla said. “He’s too stupid to be a spy.”

Tlyla laughed. “We know of Karranis Winterborn, and if he sent you to represent him, I fear for his health and sanity.

            “My ambassador tells me you came here with your wife on behalf of Karranis. He wants to arrange a talk, to discuss becoming allies. Both our people have been subjugated by Hyrule Castle; both our people want freedom. Is this true?”

            Kheel Summerborn’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” He gesticulated wildly. “Yes! We want to help each other! See? You had it all wrong. No need to go torturing anybody!”

            “That’s wonderful.” Tlyla nodded. “In that case, you can easily explain to me why your wife disappeared, along with the warrior who was sent after her? The one meant to retrieve her?”

            Kheel froze. “Uh—” He stammered. “Uh—Well yes of course! Well, you know, she’s a bit of an irrational girl. I mean she’s not my wife. Not yet anyway! Er—we’re supposed to get married but she—”

            Chlorla slammed the arm of his throne. “I will kill you myself!” He stood and walked the few stone steps down to where Kheel stood, now shaking violently. “Where is she! And where is my warrior!”

            Kheel shrieked. “Wait! By Hylia—” He slipped in his puddle and crumpled to the floor, talking so quickly Tlyla couldn’t make out a single word.

            Chlorla hit him across the face with a hard blow that ceased the blabbering.

“Where is my warrior?” Chlorla growled. “I’ll send you back to that castle in six pieces! Answer me!”

Kheel whimpered. “I told you, oh god—she’s probably back at Rito Village! She’s a whore! She probably couldn’t stand to leave Karranis for a single night!” He tried to back away, but Chlorla grabbed one of the bird’s braids.

            Tlyla rubbed her eyes beneath her mask. “I think you might be right, he is a little too weak to make for a very good spy. Maybe the other one was the spy?”

            “Neither of us are spies!” Kheel shrieked. Chlorla paused his assault on Kheel’s head to consider.

            “The Hylians would be slimy enough to infiltrate the Rito and try to spy on us. Bastard apes. This idiot must be the distraction.” Chlorla released Kheel’s braid and moved back to the thrones. He gestured to Malin, who moved forward from the crowd. “Malin. Come with me. We need to plan.”   

            Chlorla left the room followed by an entourage, and Tlyla stood to look upon Kheel. He kneeled on the ground and rubbed his face.

            “You people are horrible! What is wrong with you?” Kheel cried out. Tlyla walked down to him.

            “You came to my world, disrespected my people, and did a great disservice to your leader. If you were one of my men, I would have you exiled if not killed." Tlyla regarded him through the jade mask with hidden disgust. “Is this really the best Karranis can send?”

            Kheel was quiet.

********************************

            “You want to go to Rito Village?" Chlorla bobbed in the sleeping pool as Tlyla paced their room. "Really? What is the point, after they’ve shown us what a complete catastrophe their operations are? You want to see in person how decrepit their leaders have become?”

            Tlyla grimaced. “As much as I want to drown the idiot bird and be done with it, I have to go. Someone has to go. Someone needs to speak to Karranis and the Rito.” She turned to Chlorla. “I have a premonition. We need to send someone to them.”

            Chlorla grimaced in return. “A premonition. From Farosh?”

            “No…” Tlyla undressed and crouched to get into the pool. “I saw something very dark and hideous. There is something new in our world, and there is something very wrong with it. It's connected to the Rito, but the image is so obfuscated by darkness I can't see it clearly.”

            Chlorla grunted. “Something evil?”

            “Of course.” Tlyla sighed. “It seems like in this day and age, the only new things to arrive in our world are evil and terrible. What a lifetime we live in that we are beset by so many troubles.”

"So we charge headfirst into the dark?" Chlorla looked incredulously at Tlyla.

"As we always do."

⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️⛈️

Well well well, how the turns have tabled...! We got to learn a little about Chlorla and Tlyla, and kick Kheel some more while he's down? Incredible.

I have a couple instances of dark comedy that I figured I'd alert readers to just in case. I sort of hate traditional trigger warnings because they don't actually give me much information?! "TW: blood and gore" like okay does that mean someone gets bisected like that dude at the end of Bone Tomahawk, or did someone just get bitten by a dog and the injury is pretty deep? What are we doing here? Man I gotta rewatch that movie again lol it's messed up

Anywho, my arm is feeling so much better, but I'm going to continue writing my chapters! It's making me think about things in a very different way. I have to keep myself on my toes. Hope you enjoy.

And as always! If you see typos tell meeeeeeeeee

[huntiesworld]

Shower Time | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

Warning: Reader in shower naked.

Requested: Nope!

Notes: I don't know if anyone has done this, I haven't been on Tumblr in a while.

Pink: Reader

Blue: Chris

Chris's fingers tapped eagerly on his phone screen as he dialed Y/n's number. He was brimming with excitement, and the day's shopping spree had been a successful one. After a whirlwind of trying on different outfits and browsing through racks, he had picked up a few new pieces he couldn't wait to show off. It was one of those days where every little thing felt like an adventure, and sharing it with Y/n was the cherry on top.

On the other end, Y/n was enjoying a relaxing shower. The bathroom was filled with steam, and the sound of running water created a soothing background. She had just started lathering up when her phone buzzed. As she reached out to grab it, she saw Chris's name flash on the screen.

“Hey, Chris!” she called out, slightly muffled by the steam and water. She answered the call and held the phone in one hand, carefully balancing it on the edge of the sink.

“Hey, beautiful!” Chris’s face appeared on the screen, his grin as wide as ever. “I’ve gotta show you what I just bought. I know you love fashion, so I couldn’t wait!”

Y/n laughed, her smile evident even through the misty bathroom. “Oh, really? I’m all ears. Just give me a second to get out of the shower.”

“Wait, don’t go yet!” Chris protested. “I’ve got a plan. How about you just watch from the shower while I model my new stuff for you?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want me to watch you from the shower? That sounds like an interesting way to multitask.”

“Exactly!” Chris said, holding up a shirt and winking at the camera. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

As Chris began to show off his new clothes, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiastic poses. He twirled and strutted in front of the camera, dramatically modeling each outfit. The first was a sleek leather jacket that he paired with an exaggerated tough-guy stance.

“What do you think?” Chris asked, his expression a mix of hope and mischief.

Y/n tilted her head, pretending to ponder. “Hmm, very James Dean. I like it, but you might need to work on your serious face.”

“Noted!” Chris said, changing into a trendy graphic tee next. He made a point to show off every detail, from the pattern on the front to the way it fit his shoulders.

“Nice choice,” Y/n commented, nodding approvingly. “That looks great on you. The color really brings out your eyes.”

Chris’s grin widened at the compliment. “Thanks! I was hoping you’d like it. And last but not least…” He pulled out a new pair of sneakers, their bright, neon soles practically glowing in the room's light.

“Whoa, those are cool!” Y/n exclaimed. “They look like they’re from a sci-fi movie or something.”

“I know, right?” Chris said, bouncing slightly on his heels. “I had to get them. I just knew you’d appreciate them.”

“I do,” Y/n said, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “But you know what’s even cooler?”

“What’s that?” Chris asked, tilting his head.

“Seeing you happy and excited about your new clothes,” she said warmly. “It’s like we’re on a little shopping date, even though I’m stuck here in the shower.”

Chris chuckled, his face softening. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I missed you today. It feels like you were right here with me, cheering me on.”

Y/n reached out to the phone, her hand brushing against the screen. “I missed you too, Chris. Next time, let’s make sure we have a real date—no showers involved.”

“Deal,” Chris said, his eyes locking with hers through the screen. “Can’t wait for our next adventure together.”

As the call ended, Chris waved one last time, and Y/n watched as he disappeared from the screen. She finished up her shower with a smile, feeling grateful for the simple joy of sharing moments with someone she loved, even from afar.

[sprunki-hcs]

Since I am not gonna stop, I shall deliver more 'normal' Lime (and OWACKX) headcanons (or Orwald as I like to call the normal version of OWACKX) and some other characters

VERY HEAVY THEMES (PSYCH WARD MENTION, SELF HARM MENTION, MEDICAL ABUSE MENTION, EMETOPHOBIA MENTION)

Orwald was one of the very few people who didn't percieve Brud as dumb or didn't infantilise him; he helped him raise his self-esteem and encouraged him to not take other people's comments to heart

Very good at multitasking

Can pronounce tongue-twisters really well

Was friends with Raddy before the hammer incident; lost all trust in him afterwards

That doesn't mean that Raddy didn't feel guilty for it, especially after hearing that Lime was sent to a psych ward

His relation with Black was something like 'Me and the spirit that WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!'; just imagine a shadow with a tophat constantly following you, watching your every move, knowing your thoughts, yada yada

Maybe Black used to be friendly with him, but that was just to give him a false sense of security before showing his true colors (pun intended)

Before being summoned by Jevin, Black didn't have a body, but he could be sensed in a mental plane, and he would feed off of his victim's agony. As the legend says, he would do so in order to clean the world of despair, and those who were seen as worthy would be considered saviors of the world (a legend that will be proven false to Jevin in the horror mode)

In order for Black to have a body, he needed someone to take the hat to free him and enough agony; it's a genie in a bottle situation

the hallucinations induced by Black were so graphic, Lime would have panic attacks, and he would feel very nauseous to the point of vomiting

he would pinch himself to ground himself from his hallucinations, but that escalated to scratching his own skin to the point of bleeding

the reason OWACKX has messy hair? Trichotillomania/ hair pulling

Lime may or may not have tried to hint at his paranoias, yet people didn't get the gist; that left him thinking 'Why don't they believe me? Am I really going crazy? Why can't I be normal? Can I really trust them? Can I really trust myself and my thoughts?'

may or may not have ended up sleeping with a knife under his pillow because of Black who would knock at his door or windows, pretending to be other sprunkies

kept a camera which he would use as a journal (inspired by Simon Petrikov from Adventure Time); not everyone knew about his past, so they found out through the tape

After the psych ward stay, OWACKX was reluctant towards taking medicine (he had it shoved down his throat), so Vineria would help him through holistic alternatives

Simon is always asking Lime to join the crew in certain activities, and he does join them when he's in a good mental state (he genuinely appreciates the gesture)

Has nightmares about Black and the psych ward, so Jevin, Vineria and Tunner are not surprised when they get a call at 2 AM anymore; helping their friend through thick and thin

Do you know why Lime cried when he was discharged? Because he did not expect the entire town to come and pick him up from the psychiatric hospital; they all gave him a big warm hug (all for one and one for all aaah town)

He's trying to comfort others whenever they're sad; he doesn't want anyone else to endure the things he went through

🎶.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promtober Day 21: Gears

Wuh-oh! What's the content warning for injury/blood doing with the suggestive one? It's because I'm mean, that's why :P

Content Warning: slightly graphic depictions of blood/injury, slightly suggestive themes

Word count: 1131

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

"Alright," You pull on your remaining glove, "Ready to get to work?"

"Ready as ever, Starshine!" Sun answers. 

You pat his chest once, "Let's get to it then, open up for me please."

You're down in Parts and Services, doing a bit of routine maintenance on the Daycare Attendant. Well, you'd say routine but in reality it's a borderline emergency scenario. In that Sun's been putting off letting you work on him for weeks despite all your pleas for otherwise.

He never gave you a valid excuse however, and while you'd been planning to lure him down here with the promise of kisses, he'd strangely changed his mind all the sudden. Which hey, whatever works. 

As his chest panel opens, you search around for your flashlight, taking a peek inside. Though, you don't get very far.

"I believe," Sun's hand intertwines with yours, "You promised me something for my efforts, hm?"

You scoff lightly, "After I get some work done, yes. I can't multitask with this."

"Maybe you should try, just to see."

"Sun," You warn, "While you're soft and sweet on the outside, this in here is a whole different story. I can't be distracted or I might end up hurting one of us."

There's a pout to his tone, "Pretty please? I promise you won't be distracted!"

"That's a big promise," You huff.

"I'll just hold your hand," He assures, "You won't even notice!"

You frown, but think on it. 

Finally you sigh, "It's going to take a lot longer if I'm only working with one hand, you know."

"That's okay! I'm very patient."

You pause, raising a brow, "You've been acting a bit off tonight, you know?"

"How so?" Sun asks, as he does not just hold your hand. You can't see but you can feel him press his faceplate to your hand several times.

You shrug, examining all the gears and wires inside his frame. Looks like a couple replacements due to wear and tear, but otherwise an easy job, "Dunno, you just seem, off."

Quiet. You glance up after a moment or so. 

He's still got your hand pressed to his faceplate, but there's something about his eyes that makes you feel, unsettled. It's cheeky, but there's something more there. Something unfamiliar. 

"You must be imagining things, Starshine~ I'm the same as ever."

You scoff, trying to play it off as a joke, and get back to it, "Sure, sure, whatever you say."

It's mostly soft conversation between the two of you from then on. The work, as you initially guessed, is slow going. It's not that you mind per say, rather, it's that you think because you're not moving quickly Sun is finding ways to get bolder and bolder with his, affection. 

He's moved from kissing your clothed wrist and hand to your exposed forearm, causing you to have to slightly change the angle at which you're working in order to still do things with your one available hand. You think at this rate he's going to continue on until you have to move entirely, and then you'll end up getting no work done at all. 

Which, if it was anything other than maintenance on him you wouldn't be opposed to. But you really need to get this done, despite how, nice it is to have all this attention. Usually, it was you flustering him, and while this change of pace isn't unwelcomed, it's still strange to you. 

You finally have to say something when you realize that you've gone from sitting beside the bot, to now having to straddle him in order to work on him properly. 

"Okay, loverbot. You've had your fun, I need my hand back now so I can finish this up," You reach around with your free hand to grab another tool you need, which would be a lot easier if you could just use the one that's preoccupied instead.

Sun's grip tightens slightly, but his playful tone doesn't match the action, "But I'm not done yet! We haven't even gotten to the best part."

"We're not going to either if you don't let me do my job," You chuckle, "What'll take to get my hand back, huh?"

He tuts, "Negotiations, hm? I can work with that. Tell you what, Sunshine! If you give me something, I'll let you go, how's that?"

"Something?"

His finger taps against the smile of his faceplate methodically, "Something."

You snort, "Wonder what it could be. Alright, hold still then, silly."

"Of course."

You lean forward, hovering over his open chest and being careful so to not damage anything. As you take one hand to hold his faceplate, he releases the other so you can use it as well. As you start to close the gap between you both, you feel his arms wrap around you. 

You press your lips softly to his, and are slightly surprised when he suddenly takes the lead, kissing you harder, eagerly. He then pulls you closer as you mumble out concern, but it does nothing to stop him and you find yourself nearly touching the innerworkings of his frame. 

You lose focus however when he steals another breath-taking kiss from you and-

You stop dead. Quite literally losing your breath as you realize that there's a sharp pain in your stomach. Shakily you struggle to inhale when click, click, click, click, click, snap! another stab. You cough, it's like fire. In shock, and utterly lost and terrified, you look down. 

There's two pieces of metal protruding for your stomach, their origin is Sun's chest. Red slides along the edge of the metal, starting to drip onto the gears which turn in all different directions below. You cough again, blood splattering your shirt and the Attendant's face plate. 

Before you can even think to have a reaction, Sun sits up, causing you utter agony as the metal inside you shifts with him. His arms wrap tighter around you, pressing you even further into him. 

You can barely feel his hand come up and start to stroke your hair, attempting to shush you as your breathing grows heavier and ragged. The room’s starting to grow dark, you can only stare out into the void as your eyes gape at unfocused nothingness. 

You can't make out what's he's muttering to you now, you don't know if you'd understood it even if you were coherent. 

The only sense left that's somewhat reliable-beyond the taste of blood in your mouth and the overwhelming smell of iron in the room-is the feeling of the tick, tick, tick, of Sun's gears against the side of your head. They practically vibrate his frame and you, in this state of oversensitive you're in. You cling to it like a life raft. It's the only one you've got.

Tick, tick, tick.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Well, I think we all knew how this was going to end up. All that's left to say is OUCH! Anywho, other promptobers are here, thank you for reading!

Edit: Here's the link to a sketchy thing i made to accompany this :)

[piastrixpole]

two

march 2025

dublin, ireland

Fiadh Kinsella was not a morning person. Despite her best efforts, especially on travel days for the band she couldn't function normally before noon usually. The weight of exhaustion often hung heavy on her eyelids, dragging her back into the warm pull of sleep. Alarms be damned - she would sleep through every last one most days.

The only exception to this was when she woke up at ridiculous hours during the night to catch F1 races when the time zones didn't align. Fiadh found herself wide awake in the pitch dark at ridiculous hours, with her laptop balanced on her knees and her duvet pulled up to her chin, eyes wide and glowing in the screen light. She may have been half asleep but she was devoted.

Last year had arguably been Fiadh at her most unhinged. Not only was she following the F1 season religiously, but she'd committed to the entire F2 calendar too - even if it clashed with studio time, she found a way to multitask. Much to the amusement of her bandmates it was all because of one driver too.

It hadn't taken the group that long to catch on. In Fiadh's defence it was impossible to keep secrets when Rowan was literally family and Cian a notorious gossip. Wren had once barged into their hotel room while on tour in the States and found Fiadh curled up at 3am whispering "let's go Isack" to her screen like a prayer.

Rowan made it a running joke, claiming every love song Fiadh wrote was just about a "French boy in a helmet." And Cian, ever the menace, had changed her contact name in the band group chat to Mrs. Hadjar for an entire month.

She took it in stride. Mostly.

Today, though, she wasn't waking for a race. There were no time zone gymnastics or overtired replays to chase. No, today Fiadh Kinsella woke up because her phone was buzzing nonstop and that kind of chaos could only mean something big had happened.

She groaned, rolled over, and fumbled blindly for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up in her hand, far too bright for her still-adjusting eyes.

37 notifications

12 tags

49 messages in the band groupchat - most in all caps

Her pulse kicked up before she even unlocked her phone.

Please don't let it be a scandal, she thought, already imagining the worst.

Instead, at the top of her feed, bold and unmissable, sat the latest post from Silverstone's and F1’s official accounts.

☆

FRIDAY NIGHT HEADLINERS: HAZE

The graphic was sleek and dramatic — their band name dead centre in glowing white text, set against a backdrop of the main stage under stadium lights. The same stage she'd watched interviews filmed on. The same one her favourite artists had stood on. The same one that had never even been on her radar as a possibility.

Fiadh blinked. Twice. It didn't go away.

Of course she knew they'd make an announcement eventually but she hadn't expected it so soon.

✨ FRIDAY NIGHT HEADLINERS ✨

We're thrilled to welcome Haze to the Main Stage at this year's British Grand Prix!

Catch them live at 7:30pm — you won't want to miss this.

#SilverstoneGP #HazeLive #BritishGPWeekend

@F1girliesunite:

why is this band... hot. who's the drummer. i'm scared

@slowburnplaylists:

Haze??? At SILVERSTONE??? they're finally getting the recognition they deserve i'm sobbing

@formuluhhhh:

if i see Isack Hadjar in the crowd during haze's set i will combust

@cianupdates:

they let the chaos band play in front of influencers, royalty and george russell. this is so unserious

@formulahaze:

I saw Haze in a tent with 200 people last summer and now they're playing Silverstone?? crying. sobbing. throwing guitars.

@guitarsnacks

Rowan O'Sullivan is the coolest drummer alive i'm not even into f1 and now i wanna go

@wrenhollowayfanpage

wren better wear that little black tank top again or i'm rioting

@gridgossipdaily

can we talk about how the lead singer of haze is a known isack hadjar fan??? silverstone romance incoming

@hazefan6

screaming. shaking. sobbing. main stage at silverstone. our little band is all grown up 🥹

@mclarenandchaos

if cian stage dives at a motorsport event i will lose it

@flannelandfastlaps

manifesting fiadh singing a love song with isack in the crowd. i'm just saying. i'm manifesting.

@oversteeranonymous

why is everyone thirsting over the band. like yes they're talented but also why are they all so hot

☆

Her stomach dropped and soared all at once.

She barely registered the comments, though they flickered past with dizzying speed — excitement, disbelief, fangirl chaos. Someone had already clipped a video of their last festival performance and edited it with footage from past Silverstone concerts.

As the stream of notifications continued to blow up her phone, Fiadh put a stop to the incessant dinging and finally checked their band group chat.

☆

get the brits out (sorry wren!!)

Wren:

wake up silverstone sluts

Rowan:

good morning to everyone except

the person who's now the main

character on motorsport twitter

Cian:

guys. i went to check our tag and

someone said "this is isack hadjar's fault"

LMAOOOO

Fiadh:

what the fuck what the fuck

what the fuck

Wren:

ur trending babe

right under "charles leclerc shirtless"

and just above "lando norris girlfriend

soft launch"

Rowan:

our vocalist? famous

our guitarist? terrified

our drummer? deeply unwell

our bassist? screenshotting thirst tweets

Cian:

"if fiadh sings 'slowburn' and isack's in

the crowd i'll need CPR" ← that one

made me wheeze

Fiadh:

i hate all of you. i'm leaving the band

Wren:

can u leave after silverstone?

i already picked your outfit x

Rowan:

also. question. are you gonna make eye

contact with him during the bridge or—

Fiadh:

ROWAN NO

Cian:

new lyric idea:

"you were f2, i was stage two"

Fiadh:

i'm going to walk into the sea

Wren:

not before the livestream. i want them

to pan to isack's reaction when you hit

the high note

Fiadh:

this is bullying

Rowan:

this is marketing

Cian:

this is art actually. indie romance.

soft launch via main stage.

Wren:

i'm pitching "haze ft. hadjar" to the

label as we speak

Fiadh:

if i throw my phone out the window will

that cancel the performance

Rowan:

no but if u faint on stage i am taking

your mic and saying "she wrote that one

about a french driver in red bull overalls"

Cian:

the poetry of it all

Wren:

should we choreograph it? like if he's there,

we all take one step back and leave fiadh at the

front of the stage. spotlight. soul-bearing bridge.

you cry. he cries. crowd cries.

boom. sold out world tour.

Fiadh:

you're actually all unwell

Rowan:

and yet. we're still your band

Cian:

and your biggest fans.

and your biggest problems

Wren:

and your stylists. don't forget i already have a pinterest board called "race weekend witch"

Fiadh:

...okay that's actually kind of a serve

Rowan:

she's breaking. we're wearing her down

Wren:

see u on the main stage, princess

Lizzie (Label)

hi. just popping in to say i'm deeply concerned

by everything i've just read

Lizzie (Label):

also: DO NOT flirt with F1 drivers onstage.

i'm begging. you're not insured for that.

Cian:

too late

Rowan:

define "flirt"

Fiadh:

i haven't even agreed to look at him

Wren:

girl you look at him all the time

but also...her voice is the flirt, technically

Lizzie (Label);

jesus christ

Lizzie (Label):

okay. more goes live in 3 hours. please

behave until then. also please eat something.

especially you, Fiadh. i know you forget.

Fiadh:

i'm literally having toast rn

Cian:

what she's not saying is that it's burnt

Wren:

emotionally appropriate tbh

Fiadh set her phone facedown on the windowsill, like if she gave herself even one more minute looking at it, her head might combust. The group chat was still going off — memes now, mostly. Edits. Rowan had just sent a cursed collage of her face photoshopped onto a podium next to Max Verstappen. Cian was adding dramatic Lana lyrics beneath every fan comment.

But the rush was starting to thin now, the laughter fading under the weight of what it actually meant.

Silverstone was in theory just a gig. The biggest headline of their career so far but a gig none the less - but it didn't feel like something so trivial. Not to her.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching condensation from her tea mug trail against the surface. The buzz of it all hummed under her skin like static electricity, prickling and fidgeting. Too many thoughts, too many eyes, too many expectations.

This was the kind of thing she used to dream about when she was sixteen and bored in Irish class, scribbling band name ideas into the margins of her copybook. The version of her that used to sit cross-legged in front of her mam's old telly, watching Grand Prix interviews on YouTube like they were gospel, would've lost her mind at the idea of this — performing there. With them. On a stage that big, at an event that loud, in front of an audience that massive.

And yet here she was, with burnt toast in one hand and half a song stuck in her head, about to become part of something way, way bigger than she thought they were ready for.

Fiadh let out a slow breath.

She wasn't sure if she was terrified or thrilled.

Maybe both.

She pulled her notebook closer, thumbed to the page with the new lyrics she'd jotted down at 3am the week before, and scribbled one more line beneath it:

looks like you've gone and made it

[memedical-attention]

I’ve been thinking about this for a little while — something I’d want to do if I had the time and money would be to design a Motorola 68000-powered tiny (10” or smaller) laptop. Modern CMOS 68K implementations are very power-efficient and decently well-suited to handheld and portable devices (see: TI-92 series), and if combined with a crisp, modern monochrome OLED display, could get you days of continuous usage without needing a recharge! Add a few megabytes of RAM, some peripherals (IDE/CF controller, ISA or S-100 slots, DMA controller, SPI bus, RS-232 port, SD or CF slot, PS/2 port for a mouse, text mode + hires monochrome video card, etc…), and you have a nice, flexible system that can be rarely charged, doesn’t require ventilation, and can be just thick enough to fit the widest port or slot on it.

The main issue would be software support: nearly all existing operating systems that ran on a 68K were either intended for very specific hardware (Classic Mac OS, AmigaOS) or required more than a flat 68000 (NetBSD, Linux, or any other UNIX requiring MMU paging). So, it would probably end up being a custom DOS with some multitasking and priv level capability, or perhaps CP/M-68K (but I don’t know how much software was ever written for that — also, it provides a “bare minimum” hardware abstraction of a text-mode console and disk drive). A custom DOS, with a nice, standard C library capable of running compiled software, would probably be the way to go.

The software question perhaps raises another, harder question: What would I use this for? Programming? Then I’d want a text editor, maybe vi(m) or something like that. OK. Vim just needs termcap/(n)curses or whatever to draw the text, and not much else. That’s doable! You’d just need to provide text-mode VT100 emulation and termcap/curses should “just work” without too much issue. I like writing C, so I’d need a compiler. Now, I’m assuming this simplistic operating system would be entirely written in a combination of assembly language (to talk to hardware and handle specific tasks such as switching processes and privilege management and whatnot) and C (to handle most of the logic and ABI). I could probably cross-compile GCC and be good to go, aside from handling library paths and executable formats that don’t comply with POSIX (I have no intention of making yet another UNIX-like system). Hopefully, most other command-line software (that I actually use) will follow suit without too much trouble. I don’t know how much work it is to get Python or Lua to a new platform (though NetBSD on the 68K already supports both), but Python (or Lua) support would bring a lot of flexibility to the platform. Despite me being a Python hater, I must admit it’s quite an attractive addition.

What about graphics? All the software I’ve mentioned so far is text-mode only, yet historical 68K-based systems like the Mac and Amiga had beautiful graphics! Implementing X11 would be a massive pain in the ass, considering how much it relies on UNIXy features like sockets (not to mention the memory usage), and I really don’t want Wayland to have anything to do with this. I guess I’d have to roll my own graphics stack and window manager to support a WIMP interface. I could copy Apple’s homework there: they also made a monochrome graphics interface for a M68K configured with a handful of MiB of RAM. I could probably get a simple compositing window manager (perhaps make it tiling for a modern vibe ;3). Overall, outside of very simple and custom applications, functionality with real software would be problematic. Is that a big problem? Maybe I want an underpowered notebook I can put ideas and simple scripts down on, then flesh them out more fully later on. An operating system allowing more direct access to the hardware, plus direct framebuffer access, could yield some pretty cool graphing/basic design utility.

I’d need a way to communicate with the outside world. An RS-232 UART interface, similar to the HP-48 calculator (or the TI-92’s GraphLink, only less proprietary) would help for providing a remote machine language monitor in the early stages, and a real link to a more powerful (and networked) machine later on. I think real networking would defeat the purpose of the machine — to provide a way to remove yourself from modern technology and hardware, while retaining portability, reliability, and efficiency of modern semiconductor manufacturing techniques. Giving it a CF or SD slot could provide a nice way to move files around between it and a computer, maybe providing software patches. A floppy drive would be amazing: it would provide a way to store code and text, and would be just about the right storage size for what I want to do. Unfortunately, there’s not really a good way to maintain the size of the laptop while sticking a 3.5” (or worse, 5.25”) floppy drive in the middle of it. To my knowledge, 3.5” floppy drives never got thin enough to properly fit with all the other expansion slots, socketed components, and user-modifiable parts I’d want. A completely solid-state design would likely be the best option.

Anyway, uhh… I hope this made some semblance of sense and I don’t sound insane for going on a rant about building a modern computer with a 1979 CPU.