#cookie cutter shape drawing challenge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

janvidevelopers · 27 days

Text

Small Builders in Hyderabad: Building Dreams Brick by Brick

Introduction: Unveiling the Essence of Small Builders in Hyderabad

In the vivid metropolis of Hyderabad, the place subculture and modernity seamlessly blend, small builders play a pivotal position in shaping the city landscape. These unsung heroes of building embody the ethos of fantastic craftsmanship, personalised service, and unwavering dedication to client satisfaction. In this complete guide, we delve into the world of small builders in Hyderabad, exploring their significance, key characteristics, brilliant projects, and the elaborate manner of domestic construction.

Understanding the Significance of Small Builders

The Heart of Hyderabad's Construction Industry

Small builders serve as the spine of Hyderabad's development sector, catering to a numerous customers ranging from first-time homebuyers to professional investors. Unlike massive corporations, small builders provide a extra customized approach, fostering have confidence and fostering long-term relationships with customers.

Fostering Local Economic Growth

Beyond their contribution to the housing market, small builders play a crucial function in riding nearby monetary growth. By using professional laborers, sourcing substances locally, and enticing with neighboring businesses, they create a ripple effect that stimulates a variety of sectors of the economy.

Key Characteristics of Small Builders

Commitment to Quality

Small builders prioritize high-quality over quantity, adhering to stringent requirements at each and every stage of the building process. From choosing top class substances to using professional craftsmen, they make sure that every challenge displays excellence and durability.

Tailored Solutions

Unlike cookie-cutter strategies adopted by using large firms, small builders provide bespoke options tailor-made to the special wants and preferences of their clients. Whether it is customizing ground plans, integrating eco-friendly features, or incorporating revolutionary format elements, they attempt to convey their clients' visions to life.

Transparent Communication

Clear and open verbal exchange lies at the core of each and every profitable development project. Small builders hold consistent communicate with their clients, maintaining them knowledgeable about progress, challenges, and any adjustments to the authentic plan. This transparency fosters have faith and minimizes misunderstandings.

Notable Projects by way of Small Builders in Hyderabad

Emerald Greens via Praneeth Group

Nestled amidst lush greenery in the upscale regional of Kompally, Emerald Greens exemplifies luxurious residing at its finest. Developed via the famend Praneeth Group, this gated neighborhood elements impeccably designed villas and facilities such as a clubhouse, swimming pool, and landscaped gardens.

Bloomfield Elation with the aid of Bloomfield Group

Situated in the bustling suburb of Kondapur, Bloomfield Elation stands as a testomony to super craftsmanship and modern-day design. Developed with the aid of the esteemed Bloomfield Group, this residential enclave presents spacious flats outfitted with today's amenities, which includes a gym, jogging track, and kid's play area.

The Process of Home Construction with Small Builders

Initial Consultation and Site Visit

The trip starts with an preliminary consultation, the place consumers share their requirements, price range constraints, and imaginative and prescient for their dream home. Small builders habits a thorough website go to to examine the feasibility of the assignment and collect fundamental details.

Design and Planning

Drawing upon their understanding and innovative flair, small builders collaborate with architects and designers to conceptualize the layout, ground plans, and aesthetic factors of the property. Hyderabad Builders Clients are worried in this iterative process, imparting comments and tips alongside the way.

Construction Phase

Once the sketch is finalized and lets in are obtained, the building segment commences with precision and efficiency. Small builders oversee each and every factor of the project, from laying the foundation to erecting the superstructure, making sure adherence to timelines and pleasant standards.

Handover and Aftercare

Upon completion of the construction, small builders behavior a thorough inspection to make sure that each element meets the client's expectations. They facilitate a easy handover process, supplying preparation on maintenance, warranties, and any post-construction offerings required.

External and Internal Links for Additional Resources

Hyderabad Real Estate Market Analysis: Link

Tips for Choosing the Right Builder: Link

Conclusion: Small Builders - Architects of Dreams

In conclusion, small builders in Hyderabad play a pivotal function in shaping the city's city landscape, one brick at a time. With their unwavering dedication to quality, customized service, and modern design, they stand as paragons of excellence in the development industry. Whether it is crafting luxurious villas or inexpensive apartments, these builders seriously change goals into reality, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts and houses of their clients.

#Small Builders in Hyderabad

0 notes

shereen1 · 4 months

Text

Unveiling the Canvas: Crafting Creative Logos that Spark Recognition

In the crowded digital landscape, a logo isn't just an emblem; it's a beacon. It's the silent ambassador, the visual whisper that draws us in, sparks recognition, and whispers promises of value. But in a world teeming with generic fonts and tired clichés, how do you create a logo that truly sparks creativity?

Forget cookie-cutter templates and pre-made clipart. Embrace the unique canvas that your brand represents. Here's your cheat sheet to crafting a logo that sings with originality:

1. Dive Deep into Your Brand DNA:

Before pixels dance or lines converge, embark on a soul-searching mission. Who are you? What story whispers from your core values? Is it the playful, vibrant energy of a young startup, or the timeless elegance of a heritage brand? This introspection will define your logo's personality, the soul that imbues it with magnetism.

2. Speak Through Visual Metaphors:

Forget literal translations. Craft a visual language that speaks volumes without uttering a word. A paintbrush dancing across a canvas could hint at artistic expression, while a compass needle might guide the adventurous spirit of a travel app. Don't be afraid to layer symbols and meanings, creating a visual puzzle that compels viewers to solve it.

3. Befriend Negative Space:

Empty space isn't a void; it's a potent tool. Let negative space become your accomplice, shaping and defining your logo's form. A cleverly carved-out negative image can add depth and intrigue, like the FedEx arrow hidden between the "E" and "X." Remember, sometimes less is truly more.

4. Embrace the Magic of Typography:

The font you choose is not just a typeface; it's the voice of your brand. A playful, hand-drawn script might suit a whimsical bakery, while a sleek, geometric sans-serif could embody a tech company's precision. Don't be afraid to experiment with custom fonts, but ensure they remain legible and resonate with your brand's essence.

5. Color Psychology: Unleash the Emotional Spectrum:

Colors aren't just visual adornments; they evoke emotions and set expectations. A burst of orange screams energy and enthusiasm, while a deep blue exudes trust and tranquility. Use color strategically to tell your brand's story and set the mood for your audience's interaction.

6. Don't Fear the Unconventional:

Break free from the shackles of trends! A truly creative logo dares to be different. It might challenge expectations, like the Google Chrome logo's unexpected three-dimensional twist, or embrace minimalism, like the iconic Nike swoosh. Just remember, being different doesn't mean being unintelligible; ensure your unconventional flair stays true to your brand's core.

7. Test, Tweak, and Iterate:

Your logo is a living entity, not a static image. Don't be afraid to test different versions, get feedback from diverse audiences, and iterate until you find the perfect fit. Remember, a logo that evolves alongside your brand will remain relevant and continue to spark connections for years to come.

Crafting a creative logo is not just about aesthetics; it's about weaving a tapestry of meaning, emotion, and brand identity. By diving deep into your brand's essence, embracing symbolism, and playing with visual elements, you can create a logo that resonates, ignites curiosity, and ultimately becomes the visual anchor of your brand's success.

Now, go forth and unleash your creative spirit! The world awaits a logo that will leave its mark.

0 notes

bdmjs · 9 months

Text

Developing Fine Motor Skills in Preschool: Fun Activities to Enhance Hand-eye Coordination

Fine motor skills are essential for a child's development, as they enable precise and coordinated movements of the hands and fingers. These skills are crucial for activities like writing, drawing, and buttoning clothes. Preschool is a critical time for fine motor skill development, as children start to refine their abilities in preparation for more complex tasks in later years. To foster these skills in an engaging and enjoyable way, preschool teachers and parents from a renowned primary school near Bansdroni can use a variety of fun activities that enhance hand-eye coordination.

The Importance of Fine Motor Skills

Fine motor skills involve the coordination of small muscle groups, especially those in the fingers and hands. These skills play a significant role in various aspects of a child's life, including academic success, independence in daily tasks, and overall cognitive development.

Fine motor skills are essential for tasks such as holding a pencil, cutting with scissors, and forming letters and numbers. Proficiency in these skills is a strong indicator of academic readiness, as they are necessary for successful participation in activities like writing and drawing.

Developing fine motor skills as part as part of preschool learning allows children to become more self-sufficient in daily activities like dressing, eating, and personal hygiene. Children who have well-developed fine motor skills can button shirts, tie shoelaces, and use utensils with ease.

Fine motor activities engage the brain in complex processes that improve cognitive development. These activities require planning, problem-solving, and attention to detail, all of which contribute to a child's cognitive growth.

Many fine motor activities involve cooperation and communication with peers, which helps children develop essential social skills. Working together on projects or games promotes teamwork and friendship building.

As children at a top primary school near Bansdroni master fine motor skills, they gain a sense of accomplishment and increased self-esteem. These positive feelings can have a lasting impact on a child's overall well-being.

Fun Activities to Enhance Hand-Eye Coordination

Engaging activities used at the best preschool in Kolkata to help preschoolers develop these abilities while having fun.

Playdough Creations

Playing with playdough is an excellent way to enhance hand-eye coordination. Children can pinch, roll, and mould the dough into various shapes, promoting fine motor control. We encourage creativity by providing tools like plastic cookie cutters, rolling pins, and small plastic figurines for imaginative play.

Stringing Beads

Stringing beads onto a shoelace or piece of yarn is an excellent fine motor activity that also improves hand-eye coordination. Choose beads of various sizes, shapes, and colours to make it more interesting and challenging. This activity not only hones fine motor skills but also fosters colour recognition and pattern creation.

Puzzles

Jigsaw puzzles are fantastic for developing problem-solving skills and hand-eye coordination. Start with simple, large-piece puzzles and gradually progress to more complex ones. Puzzles can be a solo or group activity, encouraging children to collaborate and communicate with their peers.

Scissor Skills

Cutting with child-safe scissors is an essential fine motor skill for preschoolers at preschool in Kolkata to master. Start with cutting paper into straight lines and then progress to curves and shapes. Offer various types of paper, such as coloured construction paper, to make it more engaging. Children can create art or decorations from their cutouts.

Sticker Art

Sticker books and sheets of stickers are perfect for fine motor skill development. Children can peel off stickers and place them in designated spaces. Encourage creativity by providing themed sticker books or letting children create their own sticker scenes.

Threading Activities

Threading activities, like lacing cards or stringing pasta onto yarn, are excellent for improving hand-eye coordination. You can create homemade lacing cards by cutting shapes out of cardboard and punching holes around the edges for threading.

Finger Painting

Finger painting allows children to explore textures, colours, and shapes while developing fine motor skills. Provide a variety of painting tools, such as sponges, brushes, and even natural materials like leaves, to add depth to the activity.

Building with Blocks

Playing with building blocks not only promotes fine motor skills but also encourages creativity and problem-solving. Offer different types of blocks, such as wooden, plastic, and foam, to diversify the experience.

Tearing and Collaging

Give children old magazines or newspapers to tear and create collages. This activity helps develop finger strength and precision. They can make themed collages or simply let their imaginations run wild.

Play with Musical Instruments

Playing musical instruments like xylophones, tambourines, or shakers requires hand-eye coordination and rhythm. Encourage children to experiment with different sounds and rhythms to foster creativity and motor skills.

Developing fine motor skills in preschool learning is a critical step in a child's overall development. These skills are not only necessary for academic success but also for fostering independence, cognitive growth, and social interaction. By incorporating fun and engaging activities like playdough, bead stringing, puzzles, and many others into a child's daily routine, parents and teachers can help children refine their hand-eye coordination while having a great time. Remember that every child is unique, so it's essential to provide a variety of activities to cater to their individual needs and interests. Fine motor skill development is a journey, and with patience and encouragement, children can achieve significant progress that will benefit them throughout their lives.

#preschool #bdmjs #education #parenting

1 note · View note

ihearthes · 3 years

Photo

Quarantine Christmas Part 2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice.

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse.

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back.

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up.

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done.

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards.

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution.

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile.

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?”

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously.

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them.

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight.

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?”

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction.

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app.

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family.

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message.

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food.

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought.

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie.

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.”

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath.

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game.

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile.

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red.

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking.

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?”

“Swimming?” I tease.

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree.

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me.

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more.

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game.

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties.

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them.

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again.

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting.

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate.

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply.

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.”

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim.

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven.

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast.

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing.

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins.

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand.

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain.

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head.

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed.

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him.

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes.

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there.

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness.

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention.

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy.

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder.

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me.

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?”

“You bet.”

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way.

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him.

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own.

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined.

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books.

A/N: This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus. Be safe. Be healthy. Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

#harry styles #original writing #my writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles reader insert #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

118 notes · View notes

marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

🎄December Writing Challenge🎄

Day 19 - Baking - Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Warnings: a swear word Words: 713

December Writing Challenge Masterpost

Marcus had taken the day off for this. He wanted a day with you to relax before the hectic Christmas shifts the two of you would be working. You could have stayed in bed all day, or gone for a walk, or had yourself a date night but no, Marcus wanted to bake.

“It calms me down. Put some music on and come and help me,” Marcus pouted, his large doe eyes making it hard to say no to him.

You followed him into the kitchen, catching the apron he threw at you and tying it around your waist. Marcus wore one too, you bit your lip when you saw it was the joke gift his brother had given him for Christmas last year that said ‘kiss the chef’ in big red letters.

“You want to?” Marcus asked with a smirk, noting your eyes on his apron.

“Maybe,” you replied suggestively, coming to stand between him and the breakfast island. Marcus caged you against it, lips almost touching yours but not quite.

“You can kiss the chef when the cookies are baked,” and with that Marcus pushed himself away from you, snickering as he busied himself with getting ingredients out of the fridge.

You sighed in mock frustration and walked over to the cupboards to collect the rest of the ingredients. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist kissing you for that long, and you made it your personal mission to prove him wrong.

You worked side by side, like you did when you were making the evening meal together, a well oiled machine of passing over what the other needed, or reaching over to drop a few more chocolate chips into the mixture while Marcus’ back was turned.

Marcus spent ten minutes hiding the cookie cutters behind his back or in draws he wouldn’t let you reach. It was then you swooped in, distracting him with a kiss that left him longing for more whilst you silently opened the draw behind him and took out the Christmas tree shaped cutters. Before he noticed what was going on, you had ran to the other side of the island, holding up the offending objects.

“Shit,” Marcus exclaimed, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I’m a terrible agent.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, laughing at his forlorn expression, “is that how you let criminals get away?”

“Only the hot ones,” Marcus mumbled, purposefully loud enough so you could hear him.

You guffawed, grabbing a tea towel and throwing it at his head, which he easily caught with a wink.

Waiting for the cookies to bake in the oven, the two of you assumed positions at the sink, Marcus washing up and you drying, occasionally having to duck when he flicked you with soapy water. These small moments of domesticity reminded you why you chose to marry him in the first place. He made the most mundane tasks exciting, the boring household chores were fun because of Marcus and his inability to take anything seriously with you.

Waiting for the cookies to cool down on the side, you and Marcus sipped on glasses of wine at the dining table.

“I wish we could have more days like this,” you confessed, the smell of freshly baked cookies making you impatient for the decorating stage.

“I felt silly suggesting the baking,” Marcus laughed self-consciously, reaching over the table to hold your hand, “I thought it was childish.”

“No it’s not, it’s fun, it’s bonding,” you assured him, topping up your wine glasses, “also, y’know,” you shrugged, suddenly feeling apprehensive about voicing your thoughts, “it’s practise, for the future.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raised and his face lit up at the suggestion of what the future may hold for you both.

“Yeah?” Marcus tentatively asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

You smiled coyly, shrugging again. “Someday,” you promised, a nervous giggle escaping your lips.

“Well then, Mrs Pike,” Marcus confidently stood up and held his hand out towards you, “next step is decorating the cookies, and we have to get it right if we’re going to impress any future little Pike’s.”

You laughed heartily, excitedly taking his hand and letting him lead you back into the kitchen, giddy with happiness and heart full with an over abundance of love.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog

#December writing challenge #Marcus pike #Marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #Pedro Pascal

29 notes · View notes

alieninatrenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Master of Christmas Cookies

(msr one shot ficlet where Scully invites Mulder over on Christmas Eve to help her prepare cookies to bring to her family )

The sun was beginning to set, and the last light of day, as orange as ever, found its way to Scully’s brilliant head. Her tight white top suddenly matched her mane. She was practically turning into an orange. Mulder was busying his hands with a plop of freshly made cookie dough, rolling little clumps into round balls to place on a cookie sheet beside him. He had been rolling it delicately, but mindlessly. His thoughts were not on the dough, but of his company. He was completely preoccupied with Scully’s orange glow, not concentrating a bit on the job at hand. The goop between his fingers started to flatten as his brain slowly forgot what its task was, allowing for his hands to still around the sugar-cookie-to-be. He watched her move at her counter top a few feet away. Her hair swaying between gleams of light and shadow, how wonderfully angelic her choice in outfit complimented the sun’s warm kiss goodnight. His thoughts were aching to reach her own in hopes that she would telepathically receive his message: ‘Please turn around so I can see how the sun looks in your eyes. Please. I bet they look gorgeous. Sculllllllllyyyyy turn around. Just for a sec.’ She was closely examining the temperature on her oven, expectantly waiting for the number to bump up by an interval of 10, meaning the preheating process could be completed. As the anticipated beep sounded, she bent over to open it up. Mulder couldn't help but stare, but his mind was quickly drawn back to reality when she dusted off her hands on the front of her pant legs and turned around to meet his gaze. His eyes quickly averted to her face. Just as he expected-

Her eyes did in fact look brilliant.

He must have been distracted again because he wasn't expecting Scully to make any remarks just yet. Arms crossed, “ If you needed me to teach you how to roll the dough, It would have been proficient to let me know instead of waiting for me to figure it out on my own.”

His eyes went wide as he noticed he had not placed a single cookie on the sheet yet. Remembering the glob in his hand, he theatrically placed it onto the middle of the cookie sheet and looked back up at her with an innocent smile. He didn't consider vocalizing that she looked beautiful, or angelic. This was how she always was. The sun had finally disappeared, but she was just as radiant. His Scully. He wishes he’d be able to stay with her longer tonight. Baking Christmas cookies with Scully reminded him of when he and his mother had taught younger Samantha how to mix ingredients and cut out shapes with the Santa-shaped cookie cutter for the first time. The thought of Scully baking with a child of her own one day warmed his heart much more than the warmth of the December sun ever could, but he wouldn't be sharing this with her out loud. Though, he wouldn’t mind if she received the message telepathically, that way he wouldn't feel the need to explain himself.

“Oh, I know how to roll the dough. It's a meticulous process, and it takes much effort for me to produce one of this level of finesse,” he stated proudly. A smile tugged at Scully’s lips.

“Is that so?” she challenged. It was more of a statement. The serious nature of Mulder’s voice was a stark contrast to his grin.

“Miss Dana, you might wanna take some notes from the pro,” he returned to the giant metallic mixing bowl of untouched dough, grabbing another clump and slowly rolling between his palms. Bringing his paralleled hands up to his eye level as if performing a spell, he stared down the rounding dough taking shape before him. He faked a concentrated-death stare with the dough and with a “wa - la” he procured the cookie sphere out to Scully, before slapping it onto the sheet.

“I’m overwhelmingly impressed. I don't think my skills could ever amount to yours,” she supplied, matching his sarcasm. She met him at the table, taking a piece of dough from the bowl and whipping it into a ball. Then another. And another. And another.

“No no no. you're doing it all wrong. You gotta finesse the dough.” Scully gave him the singular eyebrow raise. “C’mere, let the master guide the student. I will assume the role of your sensei, young pupil,” he held out a sugar-covered hand for her to take into her own. A hesitant smirk played across her face, but she took his hand and he pulled her down into the wooden chair beside him.

“Here,” he grabbed a piece of dough, her hand still in his grasp. He turned her palm face-up to receive the dough, and held out his free hand for her other to take. He placed her dough-less hand over the glob of cookie dough, and they began to roll it into a ball together. His hands over her own small, delicate, motherly hands. Warm from the oven.

His face was naturally within close proximity to her own, and he could smell the Christmas season all over her. Her scented candle, her peppermint hand wash, or was it a lotion? She smelled as if she could be a cookie herself.

“Good,” he drawled. “That’s good.” She smiled, watching their hands move around the dough together. It was already in the desired shape, of course, but she let him continue to ease her hands into gyration.

“Don't you think it’s ready, sensei?” she let out a giggle.

“Patience, pupil.” he admonished.

“Y’know, I really hope the oven doesn’t start the building on fire. I'd hate for this talent of yours to go to waste on teaching me.”

“Nothing can go waste on you, my pupil” Scully couldn't contain her laughter at his seriousness and the fact that the same piece of dough was still between her hands. “Alright, I think you have mastered the art.” He released her hands, and she placed the finished product on the sheet with no time to spare. She grabbed another piece of dough and looked at him expectantly.

“Now you are ready, master Scully. You no longer need me help.” He leaned against the table, resting his head in one of his hands to watch her fondly. Her cold eyes said ‘really’?’ but her warm smile betrayed her amusement.

As she rolled the final piece, the classical vinyl she had chosen for them to listen to, came to an end. Mulder reached out to move a piece of her auburn hair behind her ear as he stood to get the oven mits. His hands fit the red, puffy material snugly, and he wondered how Scully could even hold a cookie sheet with these on her tiny hands.

“Excellent work, master Scully,” He bowed and took the tray from her reverently, slipping it into the oven that he was sure must have cooled down to half its temperature by now.

Scully washed her hands, then made her way to the well-loved couch, patting the cushion to signal him over. Mulder settled himself down next to her.

“Thanks for helping me today Mulder, I really do appreciate it.”

“Bill better like them. Tell him I made them. Maybe he’ll cut me some slack”

“I'm sure he will.”

“Hey Scully, I got you a little something,” He broke eye contact for a split second to rummage deep into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a small charm bracelet. Golden, with a portrait of the Virgin Mary. He took Scully’s clean hand in his own like he did with the dough -yep, it was definitely peppermint scented hand wash- and placed the accessory in her hand. Her smile softened.

“I - Mulder I thought we agreed on not doing gifts this year!”

“Consider it less of a gift, and more of an inheritance,” Scully looked at him, puzzled.

“What for?”

“It was my mothers.”

“Oh, Mulder you don't need to-”

“-She wasn't much for religion, but a nurse sent it to my address in the mail saying it was found in a pocket of hers. It didn’t mean much to me, I had never noticed it before, but I saved it for a while, thinking maybe I could pass it on to one of my future children if I ever had any, like your mother had given that to you,” He gestured his chin to the spot on her neck. Her gold cross. “But I didn’t feel like waiting around for the possibility, y’know? It would be better off in your possession anyway.”

Scully ran a finger over the charm, porcelain and glowing in the lamp light behind them.

“It's beautiful. Thank you, Mulder. Really, you shouldn't have.”

“I know it's in good hands. Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Drawing her attention away from the bracelet, she turned back to Mulder as she slipped it on. “I know you said you had to leave soon, but you're welcome to stay a little longer if you'd like. ‘Alone on Christmas Eve’ isn't a good title for a Master sensei.” She was hoping he’d agree, and that he did not miraculously have plans elsewhere, but to her minor disappointment, he did indeed have plans.

“I gotta get back to my place before the Gunmen show up. They have some sort of drink-and-code mania they wanted my help with. You could always come join Scully,” He stood from the couch and made his way to the leather jacket waiting for him on the back of his cookie-making throne.

“That's alright. I'm not so sure I'd like to consort with a drunk Frohike at the moment,” this earned a chuckle from Mulder.

“Tell Maggie I said hello. Stop by with some of those cookies on your way out tomorrow?”

“I'll see if I have room in my schedule to add ‘delivering cookies to my hungover partner,’’ she joined him at the door and opened it for him. “Merry Christmas Mulder.”

“Merry Christmas, cookie master” He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek on his way out, and the way her eyes sparkled at him in return was enough to top any gift he’d be receiving from her this year.

(feedback/constructive crit. is always welcomed :) `hope everyone is having a great Christmas season!! )

#im obsessed with Mulder being all flirty but Scully acting like it’s normal #agent scully #agent mulder #msr ficlet #msr #msr fanfic #txf #the x files #christmas msr #fanfic #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully

13 notes · View notes

dreamweaversofficial · 3 years

Text

Year Two, Chapter Four

The outgoing second years are waved off without fanfare, apart from a rather dramatic moment in which Garen pretends he’s going to lock himself into a closet and stay instead of going home. Lyric appreciates the theatrics, but she also knows he’s going to earn himself a scolding from multiple sources.

“If you don’t go now, they might search your stuff,” she points out casually. “And that means no contraband when you get back next year.”

“Neither of us want that,” Garen promises solemnly, climbing out of the closet, and gives her a handshake. “I’ll see you next year, partner.”

“Same to you, cowboy,” Lyric replies. He picks up his suitcase and backpack and, with a last grin, ducks out their dorm room to freedom. She anticipates many a photo of him failing at some form of magical sport or another upon his return.

After spending a moment eyeing the now half empty set of rooms, idly braiding her hair, and humming a pop song that’s been stuck in her head for a solid twenty minutes, Lyric pokes her neck out the door and scans the hallway. All the doors but one have been closed and presumably locked for the summer break.

Lyric contemplates her stash of remaining snacks, plucks one from the steadily shrinking pile, and voyages to the other open door.

“Knock knock,” she offers, leaning against the doorway.

“For the love of magic, Devon, I still don’t have your missing sock,” Reema snarls from her room, emerging into the commons. “Oh. Even worse.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who brought you food,” Lyric counters primly. She tosses the package onto the coffee table, which has been propped up on its side and wedged under the hammock. The cushions have been pulled from the couch and set on the ground, creating a fort.

Lyric looks at the frankenstein fort. “I wouldn’t have expected you two to be the kind of people that enjoyed… stuff like this.”

“We have fun sometimes, what a foreign concept for you goody-two-shoes students.”

“Wow, okay, goodbye,” Lyric says, spinning on her heel and speed-walking back to her room. It’s not that the comment was particularly devastating, or that the urge to retort was the farthest thing from her mind, but if she’s going to be living with this girl and only this girl (apart from the headmaster), they should at least not be openly hostile.

From down the hall, she can hear the loud crinkle of packaging being torn open.

There’s a quiet beeping coming from inside her room, and Lyric walks over hesitantly. The source of the unobtrusive noise, her contacter, is pulsing with a soft light. She scoops it up and holds it in front of her face to receive the message.

“Lyric,” Headmaster greets her warmly. “I know break doesn’t technically start until tomorrow, but I thought I’d give you and Reema some warning.”

“Warning?” Lyric repeats hesitantly.

“I’d like to give the two of you a project this time,” the woman explains. “Considering you’ll be third years soon. Have you given much thought to picking your track? We’ll need the selections from students in a month or two in order to organize classes.”

“I - have,” Lyric admits, biting her lip, “though I’d like more time to consider?”

“Of course. In the meantime, I’d like the two of you to develop new skills - typically, this is an assignment given to older students, but we have complete confidence in your abilities. We’d like for you to create something new with your magic. Something like an inventive spell, or plan of attack, or some form of research.”

“Like… together?”

“Yes, collaboration is key,” Headmaster says, distracted, her gaze drawn off screen. “So sorry, but I simply must go. There’s something requiring my immediate attention.”

There are far off-sounding screams.

“Tell Reema, would you?” With a final wave, the Headmaster hangs up, screen going dark and warm.

Lyric kind of wants to stab a man.

Just because she would like to get along with the person she’s stuck with for the summer doesn’t mean she wants to spend any more time in her presence than necessary. And creating a spell? Sweet magic. My one true weak point.

Okay, she has more than one weak point.

Turning her dread-filled gaze back toward the hallway, Lyric slips out of her room and then out of her dorm all together. At some point, she’s going to have to move into the third year dorms. Maybe she can find one that's flame retardant. Maybe you can stop setting things on fire, the tiny Garen in her head suggests. Maybe you can bring back a fire extinguisher, she mentally retorts, and promptly decides she’s losing her mind. Maybe having someone else around for the summer isn’t the worst thing, if she’s already talking to - herself? Does that count?

With that in mind, Lyric’s feet again guide her to Reema’s dorm. At least this time there’s some form of valid excuse. Does this count as a valid excuse? Is she going to be blown up in the midst of her explanation simply because she mentions the Headmaster? At least it would be an interesting way to go out.

“What’re you doing?”

“I accept death,” Lyric blurts, does an about-face, and shakes her head. “No, I meant -”

Reema leans against her doorway and smirks. “You offered.”

Lyric works her mouth for a few moments, grumbling. Her eyes zero in on Reema’s hands, clutched tight around crumpled packaging. Reema’s own gaze follows.

“You offered,” she repeats, a bit softer, a bit more defensive.

“I did,” Lyric agrees, the set of her mouth relaxing in response.

“... so?” Reema presses, folding her arms. “I assume you have a reason, unless you’re more active about your death wish than the usual thirteen year old.”

“I’m almost fourteen, actually,” Lyric replies absently, “I think.”

The other girl’s face twitches almost imperceptibly at the ‘I think’, and Lyric snaps out of the strangeness at the (least not outright) unhostile words. “We’re supposed to work on making a spell together. Or something.”

“I would’ve thought you’d have exact specifications ready,” Reema snarks, ring finger twining and untwining with her pinky.

Lyric watches the movement. “Do you - need them?”

“No,” Reema retorts quickly, “since I’m not doing it anyway.”

��You want a cookie cutter definition,” Lyric continues, smile tickling the corners of her mouth, sticky smoothness of chapstick wearing away from the movement. “Or a packet with a procedure. How’re you going to cleverly rebel if there are no instructions?”

“Open ended responses,” Reema hisses, throwing up her hands. She stalks back into her dorm, and Lyric doesn’t follow. The semi-admission is enough of an intrusion without being in her space.

“We’re gonna work on this!” Lyric calls after her. Reema uses a pulse of shadow magic to slam the door in her face, and Lyric leaves laughing. She’s faced bigger challenges.

When she returns the next day, bored of scribbling abstract drawings of Mentality, Reema’s door is firmly closed. Lyric knocks. Waits. Knocks again. Hums a little ditty under her breath.

“I know you’re in there,” she announces. “I can see the main room’s light coming from under the door.”

There’s more silence, then muffled grumbling, then smooth sliding-click noise of the door opening. Lyric, put together in her neatly done uniform, beams into the room. She needs the collaboration points, even if she has to wheedle Reema into doing it. Reema, in her torn jeans and paint-covered shirt that she must have packed from home, glares back. Clearly she doesn’t feel the same.

“Hey, partner,” Lyric greets her. Reema makes to slam the door closed again, but Lyric shoves her foot in and heroically avoids emitting a pain-filled whine. “Ready to do magic?”

“I do magic every day of my life,” Reema deadpans, scowling down at the offending foot.

Smile becoming somewhat more manic, Lyric sidesteps this comment and the door. Without crossing the threshold, she shoves it open a bit further.

“You love magic,” she says firmly.

“You love magic,” Reema contradicts, releasing the door and stalking away. “Not all of us are… you.”

“Can we just make an attempt?” Lyric shouts after her. “Think of how impressive it would be - to get in their good graces? Maybe they’d be more willing to compromise if you were!”

Reema stops in her tracks.

“You won’t regret this,” Lyric promises as the other girl spins on her heel and marches out the door, almost nailing her in the face as she goes.

Reema rolls her eyes. “I already do.”

Three explosions, an immense amount of screaming, and two casualties in the form of textbooks later, they’re staring down at a… substance. It’s glowing white, maintaining ridgid form in the shape of a circle. There are wisps of smoke coming off of its smooth shell.

“What in the name of Helena the Wise is that,” Reema demands, prodding it with a pencil.

“I don’t know!” Lyric wails. “I was trying to create a light source!”

She stares. “Why would you do that if we can already control light?”

Leg moving up and now as if exercise will reduce her stress, Lyric looks away. “I wanted to make something for people who can’t do magic. It always feels so… inspiring, seeing something implausible.”

“There is such a thing as electricity,” Reema points out, grudgingly.

“It doesn’t feel the same.” Lyric insists. Wordlessly, Reema reaches out and pulls the ball of magic towards herself, rolling it between her hands. Smoke leaks through her fingers at a steady rate, though the orb itself shows no signs of shrinking or dissipating. She teases at the curling mist with plucking motions as if playing an instrument.

“What does it feel like to you?” Lyric asks.

Reema stares down at her hands. Barely audible, she murmurs, “Like smoothing out clean fabric.”

It’s not the wondrous expression of delight Lyric feels when she does magic, like she’s filling up with breath and her concentration is so pure that she can do anything. It’s like singing a hard song and having to concentrate on nailing all the notes. Something in which she feels ethereal, like the light itself, instead of something so… blatantly ordinary.

Ordinary, something Lyric has spent her life trying to escape. Reema’s apparent longing for it is foreign.

It’s far, far too early to be asking about Reema’s family, but the question hovers on her lips like gossamer. Lyric snaps them closed when she feels them parting. Whatever truce the two of them have, whatever fragile agreement that prevents them from going at each other’s throats, breaking it seems unfathomable.

“Well,” Lyric says, stupidly, “we made something.”

Reema stares down at the orb. “I guess. If you could call this something.”

“I just meant we could turn it in to the Headmaster,” Lyric defends, stung.

“Or -” Reema licks her lips, gaze still stuck on their creation, and her fingers tighten infinitesimally. “Or we could try again. I mean, this is kind of shoddy.”

Lyric swallows in turn. “I suppose we could. To appease your pride.”

Reema looks up from the orb at last, makes eye contact, flicks away again, lands on the book spread in front of them. “We’d better get to work, then. Otherwise, this could take all summer.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Lyric agrees, and ignores the hesitant smiles spreading across their faces.

#dreamweavers #dreamweavers official #fantasy #lgbtq+#original story #originalstory #original content #original writing #orignial work #original fiction

1 note · View note

drawfee-quot3s · 5 months

Text

what do you think you're doing, watching this?

what do you think you're doing? be with your family it's the holidays

we didn't give you permission to wAtch this

- jacob + nathan

#cookie cutter shape drawing challenge #drawfee #drawfee quotes #drawfee video #jacob andrews #jacob drawfee #nathan yaffe #nathan drawfee

36 notes · View notes

love-takes-work · 4 years

Photo

Cookie Cats: Vanilla Variant

A recipe for you Cookie Cat lovers craving a simpler taste

See more SU food tutorials!

Here's a rare recipe for people who love uncomplicated flavors!

Did you notice that when Steven sings the Cookie Cat jingle in "Gem Glow," he's shown against a background of alternating chocolate and vanilla Cookie Cats?

That must mean there's a Vanilla Cookie Cat option out there! Let's make one!

This is a small batch. You'll get about 10 Cookie Cats out of this. (That means 20 cookies. Each has a front and a back.)

To make the cookie part, get your ingredients:

1 cup flour

1/4 cup milk powder or buttermilk powder

1/8 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup powdered sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened

1 egg yolk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

And vanilla ice cream will be used for filling later.

Even though the drawing is simplified and shows plain undivided vanilla ice cream in the chocolate as well as the vanilla flavors, I figured vanilla Cookie Cats would appeal to people who like calmer, less jazzy tastes, and elected to fill with just one flavor.

You’ll also need two mixing bowls, a spatula, and a strainer or sifter. (Powdered sugar and milk powder do not go well with this recipe unless you sift.)

Take one mixing bowl that can hold your flour, milk powder, and salt. Sift the milk powder into the flour, add the salt, and mix.

Then, in the other bowl, mix your softened butter together with the sifted powdered sugar.

Add the egg yolk and the vanilla.

If you have no experience separating eggs, it can be challenging. Just crack the egg and let some white fall into a bowl, and then try to dump the yolk back and forth between the eggshell halves until all the white has come off into the bowl. Then dump the yolk in your recipe. I always put the whites aside and when the dough is chilling I make myself an egg white omelet.

After things are mixed creamily, add it into the dry ingredients and mix it up.

You’ll get a nice thick dough with a consistency like this! Wrap in plastic wrap, and chill for at least 20 minutes.

Now you need a Cookie Cat cookie cutter.

You can search for a pattern and try to make your own from firm moldable metal if you want, but honestly I recommend buying a fan-made Cookie Cat cookie cutter. I got one which is a 3D-printed cutter made by Etsy artist LeahGMaloney. Hot Topic also sells official ones, but they are smaller and more difficult to use.

After your dough is chilled, you can work with it. You'll want a sturdy, clean surface dusted with flour to roll out the dough, a rolling pin, and a spatula that helps to lift the cookies off onto a baking sheet.

Roll the dough out to 1/4 inch and begin cutting cats. To make the final product slightly less messy, I recommend leaving the eyeholes in your cats on half the cookies so your bottom piece of Cookie Cat does not leak ice cream.

Put up to 10 cookies on a lined baking sheet. They don't spread much as they bake, so it's okay to put them relatively close together.

You’ll want to bake at 350º Fahrenheit / 175º Celsius for about 10 minutes. (Please note that this recipe cooks faster than cocoa dough traditional Cookie Cats. I recommend using only the center rack. They are tender.)

When they come out, cool them for a Long Time. They have to literally be completely cooled before you use them in an ice cream sandwich. Use wire racks if you have them.

After they're completely cooled, set up your assembly station. Don't take your vanilla ice cream out until you've done everything else to set up.

Get slices of aluminum foil or plastic wrap that are big enough to wrap each finished cat in. Put a bottom cat head face down on the sheet. Set up several cats.

I used a spatula to slice out a nice sheet of ice cream to put on the cat.

And I put the top cat head on. Here’s the messy part: Squish the top cookie down a little so the ice cream goes out to the edges of the cookies, and use an icing knife or spatula to gently trim the edges into a bowl. (Yes, I ate the bowl after I was done making cats.)

And then put the finished sandwich back on the wrap and wrap it up individually. This should help it hold its shape and insulate it.

I cannot stress enough how melty ice cream gets. Keeping it frozen is vital to getting these things to behave. You should leave yourself enough time that you can stop a couple times to re-freeze any melty ice cream if it’s getting soggy in the box.

I recommend letting finished Cookie Cats freeze overnight before trying to eat them. And they’re not as messy to eat as they are to make, but drips are likely, so be careful! The cookie softens to a traditional ice cream sandwich texture after about a week in the freezer. That's when they taste best.

So there you have it! The lesser known variant: vanilla Cookie Cats!

Let's compare!

Cute! A (vanilla) pet for my tummy!

See more SU food tutorials!

#steven universe #food #ice cream #cookie cat #myblog

29 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

Text

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like... (part two)

A/N: Back to Benjamin. No golden rings for Day 5 of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics, sorry. Have some golden biscuits instead. And a dose of sweetness. And also some truth.

Word Count: 3,144

Prompt from: @malionnes

"Flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

Benjamin had been watching you from the doorway to the kitchen as you pressed hard into the dough you were working, the wooden rolling pin flattening it out over the flour-sprinkled counter top. A few strands of your hair had fallen free of the loose ponytail you’d gathered it in, framing your face and catching the sunlight through the window. Stunning. “Flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

With a smudge of flour streaked across your nose, you looked up at the sound of his voice. You blew the hair away from your eyes and it fluttered gently back down as you smirked at him. “Oh come off it, I’m a mess.” You rolled your eyes as he stepped away from the door frame, unable to keep himself from filling his hands with you any longer. Letting go of the rolling pin, you allowed him to pull you away from the counter, revealing more flour smears and streaks running down your thighs. You used the back of one powder caked hand to swat your hair away, leaving a new smudge on your forehead.

You are a mess. Benjamin reached for your hip with one hand, slowly bringing the other up to wipe the newest mark away from your hairline with his thumb. He let his fingers comb through your hair, brushing the strays back behind your ear and out of your face. “Not to me.” He’d seen you with plaster in your hair, with paint stains on your jeans, with ink and dye and bronze polish underneath your fingernails after a long day of work. “I’ll take you dunked in flour and rolled in sugar any day.”

You let out a loud burst of laughter, your eyes warm atop your rosy cheeks as you fell against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, surely leaving white hand prints on the back of his sweater. I don’t care. “Well, you’re in luck then,” you said, your words slightly muffled as you spoke into the soft green fabric. I sure am. He pressed you closer, smiling at the way it felt to have you in his arms as his lips found a sugary spot near your eyebrow.

It was different, holding you, than it had been with anyone before, even Julia. Especially Julia. He’d never felt so sure in his bones as he had with you, never felt like he had to be anyone other than himself. With his ex-wife, he was constantly challenged to prove himself- prove that he was more than his shortcomings and less than the malicious intentions that Julia’s oldest son Patrick refused to let go of. With Allie there was a never ending race to prove that he’d be able to give her more. What next, what else, what then- she was never happy enough with him to spend a single minute in the moment, always looking for more, which she eventually found in someone else. But with you, he felt relaxed for the first time in decades. With you, he thought that maybe there was a chance that he could tell you everything, open up all the closets and free the skeletons he’d conditioned himself to hide. Right after the holidays. No need to ruin Christmas.

You sighed, giving him a squeeze before unwinding yourself from around him. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold on you, palms sliding down your arms to stay connected as long as possible. You rose on your toes to press a quick kiss to the birthmark beneath his eye, a habit you’d formed that made him feel known on a level he’d never felt before. Flattening your feet back out, you returned to your normal height before turning back to your biscuit making, moving the pin aside and picking up a snowflake shaped cutter. “Did you finish what you needed to?” You asked, pushing the metal form into the gingerbread dough.

“I did.” Benjamin leaned back against the counter, crossing his ankles and gripping the edge of the granite. “I’m all yours until after Christmas.” He’d been waking up early to get his work done so that he’d have the day free to help you with the cooking, baking, wrapping and everything else that comes with hosting family members for the holidays. Classes had finished the week prior, but Benjamin had been given a work-study position with the head of the History department. Dr. Kesting was writing a new book on the Russian Revolution, and he was in need of a research assistant to fact check and compile lists of dates and references. Benjamin had been all too eager to accept the position, as it was the only way he had been able to resume work towards his Masters degree once the Julia Day Scholarship was no more. He’d taken two semesters off following the divorce, and was starting to lose hope of ever being able to continue his education and the subsequent debt that it would put him further into. He admired Dr. Kesting, and though he didn’t talk about it much, he hoped to continue on the path to his Doctorate, so getting to work closely with his mentor was a gift in more ways than one.

“That’s great,” you paused halfway through pressing the snowflake into the last inch of usable dough and looked up at him. “You should be proud of yourself, I hope you are.” You finished cutting the shape and then worked your fingertips beneath the excess dough to lift it away, leaving a dozen or so perfectly cut snowflakes behind. With the same careful precision that he’d seen you use to peel back layers of paint or plaster with a spade, you slid a thin spatula under each shape and gingerly transferred them onto a waiting parchment lined tray “I am.”

Before his heart could swell at your words of encouragement, he felt his insides twist. Will you still be proud when you know everything? Do I deserve you to be? He tried to assure himself that you would understand, that you wouldn’t blame him for the cards that he kept close to the vest. Hi, I’m Benjamin. I did time in a juvenile detention center for a murder that I covered up for my older brother, and then I changed my name, moved away and pretended that I had no family. Not exactly the greatest conversation starter. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t make you love him less, and perhaps more importantly, that it wouldn’t make you trust him less. But despite the fact that he was sure that he wanted- no, needed- you to know everything, he found himself afraid to actually bring it all up. His phone vibrated in his pocket and brought him back to the kitchen and back to your flour streaked cheeks and the smile you were treating him to.

You smashed the excess dough between your hands, combining it all to be rolled out again for another round of snowflakes, your brow furrowed at his lack of a response. “Benjamin?” You smacked the ball of dough again before dropping it back on the counter and wiping your hands on your pants. “What’s wrong?” Your frown took the light right out of your eyes.

He shook his head and pushed off from the counter, reaching for your forehead to smooth the worry lines back out. “Nothing. Nothing at all, love.” Yet. “I’m... sorry, I was distracted.” He felt you relax under his touch, your lips falling into a more neutral set. “My phone went off and I was thinking about…” He shook his head again. “Never mind.” Picking up the ball of dough and the rolling pin, he turned to face the counter top where you’d been working. “Should I..?”

You nodded. “Yeah, sure, if you want.”

“I want to help you,” He insisted, leaning in to kiss your nose. When he pulled back, all the signs of worry were gone from your face, and you smiled again.

“Alright then, roll away.” You grabbed the full tray of unbaked cookies and turned your back to him to open the pre-heated oven. “I’ll get this batch in, and then we can-” When you turned back around, he was leaning on the counter again, his phone in his hand. “Benjamin.” You let the oven snap closed, the sound drawing his attention to you. “What’s going on? You’re...something’s up.”

Shit. He gaped at the screen in his hand and then back up at you. Shit, shit, shit. “It’s…” he pointed to the phone. “It was an email from Dr. Kesting...I figured it was just him thanking me for the notes that I sent over this morning.”

“But it wasn’t?” You asked. He shook his head. “Okay...well, what was it about then?” You set the timer on the oven before swiveling to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Benjamin took three deep breaths through his nose to combat the dizzy, tingling sensation that was creeping into his brain. He rubbed his fingers against his sweaty palms, thinking about how to answer you. It had been an email from Kesting, that was true. And he had thanked Benjamin for the notes, as he always did. But he’d also let Benjamin know that he’d gotten a phone call from a man claiming to be his brother, asking how to get in contact with him. Goddamnit Kieran, can’t you let me have a life? He hadn’t noticed that his hands had started to shake, but you had. You took them between yours and he looked down at you, wide-eyed.

“Benjamin,” you said his name softly, trying to coax some words out of him. “Hey, come on, you’re scaring me here. Spit it out, what happened?”

Okay. Now or never. He recalled the way that Julia looked at him when she found out the truth about Kieran, about him; utter distrust and a hint of betrayal. No, she’s not like Julia. It will be different. Closing his eyes he swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat, blowing out a breath when he opened them again. You were waiting patiently, your hands still around his, your thumbs caressing the cup of his palm soothingly. “I really didn’t want you to find out this way, I-” He pulled one of his hands free from yours to drag it over his mouth and chin leaving his beard dusted with white from the flour. “Have you ever had a secret that just...that just got so big it became a part of you?”

You pressed your lips together, confusion etched into your face again. “Sure, I mean, everyone has secrets…” You shrugged. “But what-”

“I need to tell you something. Now. Right now. Because I should have told you already, and now I…” That dizzy feeling was coming back, but he fought it by focusing on your eyes. “Just promise me it isn’t too late. It can’t be…”

“Benjamin...it’s not. Whatever it is, it’s not too late.”

“I just… I don’t want you to...Look. There are things that you don’t know about me. Bad things. Things I don’t...like to think about, or...or tell people, because it’s better for everyone if I don’t.” Shit, this is not how I… “I waited too long to tell Julia these things, and it made me look like I was lying to her, that I was purposely keeping things from her, and with her son already in her ear about me, it almost...we almost didn’t go through with the wedding because of it...and we shouldn’t have, because she never really trusted me afterwards and I just…” He paused, taking a breath and reaching for you, pulling you tightly to his chest without warning. “I can’t let that happen again. Not with you. I can’t lose you for him, I won’t.” He stroked your hair and spoke quietly into your ear before leaving a kiss there and pulling back just as abruptly as he’d gathered you up.

“Who, Benjamin? What are you..?”

“I have a brother. Half-brother, really, our mum she… well she wasn’t around much, she’d rather be out with her,” his lip curled as he thought about the men his mother used to bring home, and you moved to sit on the counter while he continued. “Her boyfriends. And she’d leave Kieran and I alone alot. We grew up looking after each other and… and, well I guess that was a good thing because she…” He sniffed, looking away for the briefest of moments. “She died young, left us on our own. We were hard, but we were just kids. Couldn’t stay fed off Kieran’s job at the petrol station, so he had this...this idea that we could knock over a corner store. You know, grab all the cash and run. He’d staked it out, checked, made sure there weren’t cameras. It was before everyone’s mobile could record, so he figured what could go wrong, right?”

He looked at you, quietly sitting amongst the mess, Christmas lights twinkling from the next room and the smell of baking gingerbread wafting through the air. This is not at all how I saw the day going. You looked sympathetic, concerned, saddened for the lost little boys in the story he was telling, but you kept listening, you didn’t run, didn’t tell him to get out or start throwing things around the room. You sat there, waiting for the rest.

With a sigh, he continued. “Keiran told me he’d take care of the shop owner and that I should wait outside, keep an eye out for the police or...or anyone. He said he was just going to knock the guy out and that he’d wake back up before we got home. He said…” Chest going hollow, he remembered the look of fear on his brother’s face when he ran out of the store, wads of quid stuffed in his pockets, grabbing him by the arm and urging him to run. He looked up at you to see that your mouth had fallen open, one hand suspended midway to covering it. You know where this is going, don’t you. He knew you did. You were smart. “The man...the shop owner...he didn’t wake up. He...Keiran didn’t mean to...but he…”

“He killed him.” Your voice was paper thin.

Benjamin nodded, trying with everything in him to keep tears from his eyes. “He killed him.” He echoed your words, their truth scratching at his throat on the way out of his mouth. “He was already 19, but I was a few years younger...young enough just to get juvenile punishment, so…” He let the sentence trail off with the lift of one hand.

“Oh, Benjamin...you…”

“Yeah… so…” He rid his lungs of air with a huff. “So when I got out, I…” He stepped closer to you. “I changed my name. My name’s not really Benjamin it’s...It’s Sean. Or it was...I” It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know if Sean still existed, if there was any piece of that person left inside of him. “I changed my name and moved...put all of that behind me and...and I just… I invented a life for myself. One that I would have wanted if I could have it...and…” He looked at you again, a wave of nausea rolling through his belly. “Can you say something, please?”

You sighed, sliding from the countertop and taking a few steps toward him. Your arms came around his neck and you pulled him against your body. “I’m so sorry, Benjamin.” Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails slowly scratching his scalp. He closed his eyes and finally lost his battle, tears slipping silently from under his lids. “I wish I could take that from you.” Your other hand came behind his neck as you pressed your lips to the exposed skin above the collar of his sweater. “I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner, I do…” You do? “But I’m glad you told me now.” You...are? Pulling back, you used the bent crook of your finger to rid his cheek of the single salty drop that was falling down. “I want you to be able to tell me anything, Benjamin. I love you,” his heart stopped as you said the word, starting back up again with a different rhythm. You still… “I love you, and I want us to be a team.”

He surged forward and kissed you then, taking your face between his palms and pouring every ounce of himself into that kiss, tilting your face to get a better angle and feeling like he could fly from the soft little moan that you let out against his lips. When he broke apart you were both gasping. “I love you.” He nodded, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “So much.”

You let out a burst of air that took the form of an emotional laugh. “So much.”

“I wanted to tell you...I was going to, after Christmas. I didn’t want to keep this from you...but I also…” He breathed your name. “I didn’t want this… Keiran, my past… I didn’t want any of that near you. Near us. But now…” he gestured at his phone and the email that Kesting had sent. “Now I guess he’s found me again… I couldn’t...I...you needed to know. I couldn’t risk him coming here or...or looking for you. Kesting didn’t give him my number or our address or anything, but...when Keiran wants to find someone, he does, and I didn’t want you to be caught off guard or...and I don’t want you to think I’m...It was starting to look like I was lying and...I’m not...there’s nothing else that you don’t know, now and…” he sighed. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Now?” You asked. Yes, please, I… “Right now?” He nodded. “Right now, Benjamin Greene, I think that I love you. I think that you’ve been through so many unfair situations. I think that you’ve come out on top of all of them, and I think…” You scooped up some powdered sugar from the bowl behind you before wiping both hands down the front of his shirt, pulling a genuine laugh of surprise from his heart. “I think that flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

How did I get so lucky? The thought melted into thin air as he held you down and rubbed his hands all through your hair, turning it white from the flour, turning your face red from your squirming laughter. By the time the day was done, the kitchen was a disaster, the biscuits had all been baked, and you knew the truth about him. And you loved him anyway.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @malionnes @becs-bunker @warriorqueenofnarnia @elanor-of-imladris @traeumerinwitzhelden @songtoyou @michellemybelles-world @obscurilicious please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tags!

#benjamin greene #gold digger #gold digger fanfic #benjamin greene x you #benjamin greene x reader #the sugarplum gets sugary #12 days of christmas #12 days of christmas fics #it's beginning to look a lot like...#part 2 of 3

46 notes · View notes

veilbetweendreamsandreality · 4 years

Text

Tangled Fairy Lights

A/N: This is my contribution to Day 23 of the @holidayblindspot Winter 2020 challenge. Jeller and Bethany find themselves snowed in and attempting to return to (a new) normal after the events in Iceland. Post series 4, AU. I haven't written fan fiction for a while, so apologies if this seems rusty. Please enjoy my last Blindspot fan fiction of 2019.

***

'We are putting a crown on springbok plushie. He can be one of the three wise men.' Bethany stated as she helped Jane pull out some little decorations from the overflowing cardboard box. The stuffed animal in question had been one of the little girl's belated birthday presents after Jane had resolved her conflict with Remi.

Jane pulled out a tangled ball of fairy lights. Lips pressed together. Damn it Kurt, you had one job. 'Does he have a crown?'

'Oh, not yet.' Bethany looked down at the plushie and set it down on the couch. Pine needles scattered across the floor as she dug around the box for her favourite set of snowman decorations dressed in different winter attire. One in a bobble hat and mittens, another wore a ski mask with skis on the bottom; the third was in "classic" snowman attire with a top hat and scarf. 'Yay, they're here.'

The three snowmen sat on the coffee table as Jane and Bethany worked to find the end of the fairy lights. Inside Jane chuckled. Bethany's little tomgue poked out in concentration, like father like daughter. With both ends located, the pair turned their attention to the mess in the middle.

Snow battered the door to terrace and blanketed the outside in a fresh layer. A white Christmas in both New York and Colorado was the perfect weather for the pair get into the holiday spirit.

'Did you send your letter to Santa sweetheart?'

Bethany nodded. 'Mommy helped me post it the day after Thanksgiving, so it reaches the North Pole in time.' She beamed, tugging at a knot. Eyebrows knitted in frustration.

'Have you made the Nice list?' Jane teased as her stepdaughter huffed and yanked at knot, only tightening it. Another yank, another tightened knot. 'Here, let me help. Try and push it, as though you are undoing laces from the middle of the shoe. Gentle.' Bethany scooted into Jane's lap as they worked on easing a knot together, 'See?'

'Now, this should be your daddy's job, so we are going to leave the lights and go through the box of decorations and decide what we want on the tree this year.'

Bethany shuffled off Jane and looked into the box.

'Is Mister Weitz still being a meanie?'

'He's taken a step back for now, but will always be a Scrooge.' Jane replied, lifting out paper angels Bethany had made the year prior back in their apartment, as Allie watched over. 'These angels are going up.' She carefully placed them on the coffee table.

'What's a Scrooge?'

'Ebenezer Scrooge is a character in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. He's a bitter man with a cold heart. Hey I tell you what. There is a Muppets from Sesame Street version. We can watch that later if you want?' Jane helped her pull a bauble off the tangle of fairy lights.

Bethany grinned and nodded. 'Kermy! Froggy.'

The pair giggled as Jane scrunched up her face in an attempt to mimic the famous frog's "anger" face. The girl collapsed on the carpet in a fit of giggles.

Laughter rang out as the latch of the front door, opened with a soft click. 'Daddy!' Bethany rushed headlong into her dad's legs; Kurt chuckled. 'Hey Bee.' He held his arms out as he juggled with the bags of groceries. Arms stuck out, as his fingers attempted to navigate inside the thick red and blue snowflake pattern mittens Jane had bought him as a stocking filler the previous year.

Kurt set the shopping down on the kitchen counter. 'Did you girls start without me?' Scooped up in his arms, 'Yep. We did. Should my springbok be a wise man?' Bethany put a thumb in her mouth in thought. 'If you want Bethany, he can be a wise man.'

She paused, 'You look like a melting snowman Daddy.' Kurt looked down at his winter jacket, the melting snow dripping off the sleeves and fluffy scarf. He pushed his hood back to remove the woolly hat, a matching set to go with the mittens. 'Huh, I guess I do.' He grinned, his nose numb from being outside for a lengthy period of time.

Weller looked at the floor from the dropping pine needles to the tangle of fairy lights. 'Was I supposed to-?' 'Yes you were,' Jane cut her husband off; hands on her hips. Accompanied by a smirk. 'I'll sort out the shopping.' His expression sheepish, careful to reposition Bethany in his arms.

'Then myself and Bethany are going to making cookies, and watching the Muppet version of Scrooge.' She stole a quick peck on the cheek, before pulling out a handful of carrots of the bags - into the bottom draw of the fridge.

'Are you don't to help me with the lights sweetie?'

The girl shook her head. 'No. I help Mamma Jane with food.' She folded her arms.

Jane chuckled, reaching for the dairy free butter from the hessian bag. 'You can grab the rolling pin before untangling the lights.'

Kurt scowled and grabbed the rolling pin from a high cupboard. He sat his daughter on the counter and strained as it rolled to the back of the cupboard. Only Rich would put it up here. Perhaps I stood consider changing the locks; again. With a grunt Weller grabbed the pin and handed it to Jane.

'Thank you dear.' Jane replied, placing it next to the bag of flour. Bethany watched from the counter as her stepmother put the groceries away, passing items from the bags.

The warmth of the heating hit him as he untucked his scarf and shrugged off his white - now grey from the damp - coat. The scent of cinnamon tickled at his nose as Jane buisied herself in the kitchen. Cosy, warmth, home.

Kurt knelt on the floor and pulled at the fairy lights. The knot tightened. He picked up another section and poked at it, his picky looped through and wiggled it until the tangle loosened. One down, numerous more to go. Tongue poked out, he threaded through the knots and teased a handful more out.

Jane placed two mixing bowls on the counter, and turned to the counter's occupant. 'Ready to make cookies sweetheart?' She settled Bethany onto a chair. She nodded and pushed the ingredients to make aquafaba towards her stepmother.

In the middle of mixing Jane and Bethany looked up to watch Kurt wrestle with the fairy lights, muttering under his breath as he ended up with an ankle caught in a loop. The man grumbled as wriggling his foot only made the situation worse. The pair suppressed laughter as Weller toppled over onto the rest of the lights.

'Thanks for the support girls.' Kurt stated, sarcastic in his tone; and held up a thumb. He groaned and gingerly sat up.

'You can diffuse a bomb, but you can't untangle fairy lights?' Jane asked rhetorically.

Bethany leant over to grab the dough. 'Now we roll it out.' Jane nodded, 'Do you want to choose the cutter you want?'

'Snowman!' The little girl pulled it towards her, beaming.

'Very apt.' Jane placed flour onto a board and dropped the dough, pin in hand. She started to roll it flat, Bethany's hands on top of hers. Once the dough was flat enough the pair pressed the cutters into the dough.

Once the cookies were cut and prepared, Jane placed them into the oven. Bethany hopped off the chair and sat next to Kurt. 'Are you okay Daddy?' She played with a handful of pine needles and watched the white outside.

'I think I'm almost there. I just hope the electric doesn't go out. Did you send your list in time?'

Bethany nodded. 'Did you send yours in time Daddy?' Kurt nodded, as he continued with undoing the knots.

The pair looked up as the front door rattled. Rich poked his head around the door, a familiar voice followed the hacker. 'Knocking is the polite thing to do Rich.'

'PATTERSON!' Bethany squealed running towards the door. Rich opened the door fully as the child collided with the blonde.

'Hello Bee.' Patterson crouched down and let her squeeze.

Rich entered the apartment and watched as Jane placed the rack onto the counter. 'Oh yummy.' He reached out to grab one.

'No!' Bethany squeaked. 'They need to cool and decoration before eating.' Rich stopped mid-air and blinked. He looked at the hot cookies at Bethany and back to the cookies. Dotcom lowered his arm.

Jane laughed as Rich let his arms hang loose. 'You can decorate a cookie if you like. But Bethany is right. Let them cool first.'

'Would you two like coffee?'

Patterson sat on the couch and picked up the springbok. 'Thank you Jane. Tasha texted, her and Edgar are on their way - the snow storm is turning into a blizzard. Reade is finally on crutches and out of the wheelchair, however the doctors reckon he will never be able to walk properly again. They are keeping tabs on his spine, but we're hoping it's his legs themselves that are affected. Field work won't be an option until at least the summer.' She sighed, 'It's the holidays and yet I cannot turn off from work.'

Rich looked Weller up and down. 'At least I'm getting some entertainment since being in that blacksite.' Kurt had managed to get a wrist, and the other ankle tied up in the fairy lights.

'Seriously?' Kurt groaned. 'Help me, or leave me alone Rich.' He twisted the wrist.

'Now now munchkin, no need to be a bah humbug at Christmas.' He grinned and undid the knots with a simple tug.

Weller shuffled away from the lights and sat on the couch, feigned exhaustion.

'Lights are supposed to be on the tree, not the floor.' Rich cooed, nudging Weller so he could sit on the couch.

Kurt grunted as Bethany climbed onto him. 'Hey sweetheart.' The girl poked her dad. 'Do you want to decorate a cookie?'

'Sure. Why not.' Weller grinned and stood up, Bethany in his arms.

Jane placed the cookies on a tray and put the icing next to the tray.

'I call dibs on the Santa.' Rich piped up. Bethany sat on a seat, grabbing the white icing for the snowman. 'Which one do you want Patterson?'

Patterson looked over the shapes. 'I'll take the reindeer. Which leaves the holly, star, angel and elf.'

'It's only fair we let Tasha and Reade choose when they arrive.' Jane stated, and turned the oven down. The coffee pot had almost finished when a bang on the door, coaxed the room into hushed tones.

Jane glanced through the peephole, Reade smiled. 'Morning Jane,' the Assistant Director put his crutch down.

The door opened and the snow covered pair hobbled in. 'Hey Reade, Tasha.'

'We come bearing gifts.' Tasha looped an arm around Reade as she placed the presents on the coffee table.

Jane poured out the coffees. 'Tea, Reade?'

'Please. You've been baking. They smell delicious.' Edgar grinned, hobbling towards the counter.

'Whoa!' Tasha exclaimed, the outside world was now opaque white. 'Looks like we'll be here for a while.'

Bethany craned her neck. 'Decorate a cookie?' Edgar nodded, 'Can I decorate the elf?' The little girl smiled and nudged the elf cookie towards him. He grabbed the green icing and traced the shoulders.

Tasha joined in and decorated the angel in blue.

Kurt laughed, 'Look at us. Family together, home and safe. Finally.' He hummed as the others decorated around him. Careful he added icing to the cookie Star of Bethlehem. 'Merry Christmas everyone.'

#blindspot fanfic #holidayblindspot #fic: tangled fairy lights #jeller #winter

33 notes · View notes

zephyrises · 4 years

Text

“Morning, Master!”

A light swing of the wicker basket in attendance serves as Ventus’s wave. It’s set in the grass as he kneels down to the grave marker, putting the assemblage of glossy yellow petals within on full display. Taking note of this, he glances between the blooms and the keyblade’s grip, leveling with the latter as if it were a set of eyes.

“Sorry. They’re not your favorites. It’s still a little too early for those—but buttercups are pretty too, aren’t they?”

The breeze picks up a bit, carrying the crisp smell of a nearby waterfall and tickling the boy’s nape. He crosses his legs, draws the mortuary wreath into his lap and, one by one, unravels the wilting flowers that he and Aqua had spruced it up with a week and a half ago, allowing his thoughts to flow freely all throughout.

“A bunch of things have been on my mind lately. I’m not sure where to start.” Fingers falter, resume their work in double time, then falter again. “I guess the biggie is… I wanna put on a happy face for Aqua and Terra. They’ve got fun plans for the day and I owe it to them to let ‘em know just how much I appreciate it and everything they do. It feels like there’s never been a time where they haven’t been looking out for me… but all I can think about is how scary it is that I’m gonna be taking my exam in a year.”

He laughs. It’s a weak, lackluster sound.

“Between you and me, I probably won’t be ready by then. Or ever.”

“You’re doing it again!”

Ventus’s hands recoil from the arrangement of wood and plantae, upper body twisting as he whips to identify the source of the echo. On cue, Chirithy makes their presence known, the puff of brightly colored smoke they generate dispersing completely by the time their pudgy little limbs make contact with the ground.

“Huh—wha—”

They heave a frustrated sigh, pointing straight at Ventus after it runs its course.

“Selling yourself short!”

The addressed’s mouth contorts into a deep frown, heat sprinting to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, well… you’re doing that thing you do again!”

“Huh? What thing?”

“Listening in! And sneaking up on me!”

“Oh.” Chirthy shakes their head in apology, ears flopping with each motion. “Sorry. You never used to mind all that much, so…”

Those words wash over Ventus like a bucket of cool water over the head.

“No. It’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure, volume and posture backpedaling. “It’s gonna take some getting used to. That’s all.”

Neither comment on the fact that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this sort of exchange, nor that it’s been a hearty sum of months since they resumed being a part of one another's lives. It would be redundant. Instead, Ventus tries an encouraging smile and waves his old friend over, who responds in kind with a gravity defying hop and flourish.

Chirithy isn’t built for the precision work that the assembly of a wreath demands, but they’re still eager to be of some assistance, so Ventus tasks them with passing him leaves, flowers and stems in accordance with aesthetics and the obligation to conceal the frame beneath. In no time at all, they’ve settled into an easy rhythm that suits both of their paces.

Their progress is so palpable that they’re nearing completion not five minutes after they had gotten started, at which point Chirithy pipes up.

“This is a nice ritual,” they supply, their enthusiastic rocking and crescent shaped eyes catching Ventus’s gaze. “I’ve never done anything like it.”

“You—I mean, we—didn’t do stuff like this back when?”

“Nope. Spirits and their keyblade wielders… one day, they’d be there. Then, the next...” The silence lasts for mere moments, but it’s cavernous and aching all the same. “We mourned for our friends, sure, but nobody ever thought anything of it. Or to celebrate.”

There’s a great deal that could be drawn from that somber piece of knowledge. Ventus should be taking the necessary steps to digest some of it, or at the very least, endeavor to learn more. It’s rare for Chirithy to speak of the past of their own accord. Ordinarily, they’ll tighten their lips at the foggiest mention. Without a doubt, this is an opportunity to make the most of—and yet, the blonde allows himself to become preoccupied with the creature’s throwaway observation instead.

“Celebrate?” It’s repeated slowly, inflection reminiscent of one that might accompany a word sourced from a foreign tongue. “Is… that what you think this is? What I’m doing?”

“Sure! What else?” Chirithy pads closer, setting a paw over one of Ventus’s downturned palms and the wreath in turn. “This artifact, which you and your friends have made with your own hands… it’s so lively and colorful. And he was your Master, wasn’t he? It only makes sense that you’d want to keep his life in your memory. Flowers sure are a beautiful way to do it.”

It couldn’t be clearer that there’s been some sort of severe disconnect between the two. The boy’s emeralds have widened, still meeting Chirithy’s stare, but not seeing. Then, all at once, the tears come cascading down.

“Ven?! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s just…” His shrill hiccup is the first of many. “I want to remember him—and I wa-want to do it fondly. I really, really do. But whenever somebody says his name, I’m never thinking about how much I miss him... o-or that I wish he was still around. I don’t miss him. N-Not like they do. I just... feel sc-scared. And angry. ‘Cause the very last time I saw him alive, he wanted me dead. He didn’t even give me a chance.” Clenched teeth sink and hide behind the knees Ventus draws to his chest. Master Eraqus’s wreath falls casualty to the abrupt movement, tipping from its already precarious position on his thigh and plopping onto the ground just aside. “So… I dunno if celebrating is something I can do. Not with my whole heart, anyway.”

His spirit companion remains silent, ears drooped despondently. Their paw has since moved to the small of his back.

“I’m sorry. For my heart not being in this. For being so different.” Another humorless huff of laughter. “It’s gotta be tough. You thought you were about to reunite with an old friend, but really, you were jumping into the arms of a total stranger.”

Intent on challenging that notion, Chirithy perks up, administering a faint pat to the boy’s bared skin.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ven. If you ask me, it’s a good thing that you’re a different person now.”

There’s a hasty intake of breath on Ventus’s part, a surefire sign that he convinced himself he could anticipate the essence of whatever Chirithy was about to say and fire off the cookie cutter response he had raring to go, but he cuts himself off the moment that reality and their actual sentiment catches up to him.

At a pace slower than a snail’s, he lowers his folded arms and lifts his head. It’s just enough to establish eye contact again.

“It is?”

The spirit bobs as confirmation, glee radiating from the subtleties of their expression and timbre entirely sincere.

“Mhmm! The Ven I used to know would’ve let anybody do him harm. He would’ve thought that he deserved it, too. So if you’re mad and think that what happened was wrong—and it was, by the way—then you’ve changed for the better.”

Unreservedly speechless, Ventus straightens his posture, capable of nothing other than that and goggling at Chirithy.

“And… admittedly, I probably should have picked and chose my words a bit better. I already knew that your relationship with your Master wasn’t the best.”

At that, the boy disentangles his limbs completely, appearing almost panicked.

“H-How? I’ve never...”

“From the moment we were separated, I’ve been watching over you,” they admit, floating up before Ventus in hopes that he’ll catch them—and he does. “Anyone could tell just by looking and listening. He was a step up from your last Master, but he still made you miserable. And after what he did to you… what he tried to do to you… who wouldn’t feel the way that you do?”

Once more, Ventus curls forward. This time, rather than collapsing in on himself, he embraces Chirithy.

“Then... there’s nothing else to say about it, is there?”

“Not unless you want there to be.”

He counts to ten, then backwards from ten, digits finding comfort in the texture of the other’s fur.

“I think I do. But not right now.”

“That’s okay too,” Chirithy coos, nuzzling against the side of his face. “After all, it is your special day. You should spend it how you want to.”

The air begins to move again, and time along with it. When they inevitably part, it’s only for the sake of bringing the wreath to completion. With it assembled, hung in its proper place and the now emptied basket’s handle stable on the crook of Ventus’s arm, he beckons to his friend once more. Just like the day of their reunion, Chirithy bounds straight for his chest.

Once they’re settled, the keyblade wielder bounces them in arms.

“Say, Chirithy—when’s your birthday?”

“Huh? Mine?” If they had the capacity to blink rapidly, this would be the perfect opportunity. “Spirits don’t have birthdays. We’re created, and then... that’s that.”

“Then we’re coming up with one! ASAP.” “W-We are?!”

“Yeah! ‘Course! Everybody needs a birthday, even if it’s not the one they’re s’posed to have.” Ventus cradles Chirithy just a smidge tighter, grinning brilliantly as he falls into familiar step along the mountain path. “C’mon. Terra and Aqua are waiting. Let’s go ask ‘em how they picked mine!”

The spirit’s surprise fades, and in its place, happiness swells.

“O-Okay!”

#★; diary entries { solo writing }#{ THIS. still needs workshopping tbth.#but i'm content enough. so here it is in Beta Format! }#character death cw #child abuse cw #attempted filicide cw #attempted murder cw

5 notes · View notes