#i want to dye every item i own

[cyrantelnovapaleorayeeso]

god i wish sn had a dye system like lm does....

[saekkas]

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

summary: in which you need to wrestle your boyfriend, michael kaiser, out of his bed to fulfil a promise- re dye his hair.

notes: it's meant to be a continuation of this fic but you can read it as a standalone too! 2.1k words for my favorite german pomeranian <3

germany is beautiful. in all seasons and weather, even with rain and snow pelting down the windows. the bread and sausages make amazing breakfast items, the beer is pleasantly warm, and the sight of castles and palaces all around the country make you feel like a princess. your favorite though, is when spring comes around.

spring blows away the last dregs of winter. there are puddles from melted snow all over the station, sweaters are still needed because of the chilly air, and christmas decorations still litter around town square, ready to be replaced by the eggs of easter. it's when mother nature reappears, pushing winter away for another half year.

coincidentally, it's michael kaiser's least favorite time of the year.

"you don't love me anymore, do you?" he dramatically sobs into your neck, his hands holding onto your body for dear life. "you're moving away to break up with me, aren't you?"

his duvets feel like clouds. made out of the softest material, you find it hard to haul yourself out of the room every day. his sheets are made of silk, a beautiful rose gold in hue, and his bed is enormous, framed by mahogany wood on all sides. kaiser's bedroom is heaven on earth, and you've got your personal angel lying in the middle of it all.

"you've finally found someone better, haven't you?" he asks once more, his eyes peeking from your chest. his hair is a mess, the blue streaks already fading out to match the rest of his hair, there are dark circles surrounding his eyes, and he's got patches of drool in the corner of his lips. but you don't think he's ever looked more ethereal than this.

"who is it?" there's a pout on his lips, his eyes still drowsy from sleep. you watch with a smile of your own, taking in his fluttering eyelashes, your faces close enough to count every last one. "is it a guy from china that you met in hawaii? is he prettier than me? richer? is that why you're leaving me for him?"

"what are you even talking about, silly?" even when you roll your eyes, the smile stays, and you look at him with every bit of fondness in your body. "you're the only pretty boy for me. you know that."

his lips stretch out into a dopey smile, an uncontained giggle spilling from his lips. there's a certain giddiness in his motions, as if he couldn't contain his feelings inside his body. you watch with amusement as he kicks his feet, accidentally pushing pillows out of the bed.

"mhm. i know. just wanted to hear you say it," he hums, going back to nuzzling your tummy. he mumbles incoherently against your shirt before yanking the fabric up, burrowing his face onto your bare skin. "love you, pretty."

"were you out drinking last night?" you shake your head, squealing when he blows against your bare skin. "i thought i could trust ness to keep you out of trouble."

"i wasn't drinking." he's back to his whiny state, both of his hands tightening on your waist. there's a glare this time, his lips twisting back into a pout. "you shouldn't trust ness. trust me instead."

sunlight bleeds into the room, soft and serene as they bypass the curtains. a ray bounces off the mirror on kaiser's vanity, one he specifically added just for you, and makes its way to his face, bathing him in a dreamy glow. the reflection of light turns his eye into an icy blue, stealing your breath. he looks divine.

you take him in, as much as he does you. there's a muted sound from traffic, and the chatter of birds but in the moment, nothing else matters except you and him. his frown deepens after a moment of silence and you chuckle, relenting as you thread your hands into his hair.

"love you too, baby."

if there's anything you've learned from dating him through years, it's that your boyfriend absolutely loathes it when you fail to respond to his declarations of love. another thing, is that he becomes clingier and far more possessive when spring comes, dreading every moment he has to be away from you for matches.

it's seen in the way he's holding your body tighter, preventing you from moving an inch off the bed. he's pouty, lips twisted downward because it's the last day he has you to himself before he's called back to the field. it's on days like this that you smother him until he can't shake away the ghost of your lips around his body, even in the middle of a match.

"gonna let me move anytime soon?" the hand on his head moves to glide down his neck, stroking the sensitive skin around the back of his ear. you watch as he moans, his eyes snapping shut at the touch. "mein kaiser?"

"wenn du so weitermachst." his voice is low, his heart beating faster as he moves from his previous position to hover above you with half lidded eyes. "du wirst dich überhaupt nicht bewegen können, liebling."

translation: if you continue to be like this, you won't be able to move at all, darling.

you suppose there's a reason he's down on earth rather than above. michael kaiser may have the looks of an angel but he acts like the devil.

he's looking down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes, as if ready to eat you alive. you gulp, eyes roaming down the expanse of his chest before they land on the necklace dangling by his neck. the ring it holds is 24 carats, gold, with roman numerals of your anniversary date engraved on the inside. it matches with the diamond encrusted promise ring on your finger, gleaming in the shade of his eyes.

you tug the necklace, pulling him until you're nose-to-nose. you shiver at the way his eyes darken even more, his lips quirking into a smirk. "who knew you were so naughty, liebling," he hums, pushing your knees apart to slot himself between your legs. "who taught you, hm?"

"you did," you say before lifting the ring to your lips, kissing it with a small smile. he shudders at the intimacy of the action. "you also taught me not to break my promises, right?"

kaiser raises an eyebrow at the direction you're taking this. he's got you on the bed, flushed, under him. to him, the only promise worth thinking about right now is the promise of intimacy and pleasure.

"i promised to dye your hair, remember?" you lean forward, this time pressing a kiss onto your beloved. "you can do whatever you want to me after we're done."

he groans, letting himself drop on your body. he giggles when you groan at his weight, his face flushing at your words. "whatever i want. that's a promise too, right?" the whisper of his voice against your ear is delightful, and you nod where you're pressed against his shoulder. "i hope you intend to keep that one too, liebling~"

he waits for a moment, savoring your warmth until you start to squirm. laughing, he hovers over you once more to press a kiss on your forehead before scooting over to make room for you to move. "gonna let me use your mask?" he grins widely when you nod, rushing over to the bathroom.

but not before stripping off his night tee and chucking it straight at your head, laughing like a mad man when you throw his beloved stuffed panda at his back in retaliation.

your boyfriend has always been restless. he's never shown much patience, and you should've known that re-dyeing his hair was going to be a hassle. "hold still, mikka." your tone is scolding but not stern, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration to make sure the dye doesn't spill. "i need to make sure you look pretty."

he stops squirming at the nickname, a mischievous smile spreading on his lips as he places a hand on your hip. "you should call me mikka more often, it's cute." he looks up from his position, seated on a chair and facing your front, and wiggles his eyebrows at you. "not only when you want something."

"yeah?" you hum, distracted by the strands of his hair in your hand. you grasp at it with gloves, sectioning to thinner pieces before using a brush to smear the color in. it comes out decently and you grin in satisfaction before moving onto another strand. "glad you like it. it suits you."

kaiser stays unmoving, not even answering back like he's supposed to. concerned with the sudden silence, you look down only to be greeted by a blinding his smile. you quirk an eyebrow, smiling at him in question. "what?"

"you're so cute." he tries to shake his head, stopping when you send him a glare. the hand on your hip squeezes at the fat in affection, his eyes shining even against the brightly lit bathroom. "ich liebe dich, liebling."

"very romantic of you," you say with a roll of your eyes. you store away the bowl of blue hair dye in your hand, leaning down to press a kiss. you feel him hum against your lips, his smile widening from the kiss as he pulls you closer. "i love you too, mikka. even when you won't sit still."

"are you done yet?" he asks with wide eyes, the sight of his puppy eyes looking at you from below sending butterflies to your stomach. "can i look?"

"mhm. go ahead." you step back, making room for him to face the mirror. you watch over his shoulder as he examines his newly re dyed hair, the blue strands at the bottom a contrast to his pale blond. you were getting used to the full head of blond, getting used to having mikka all to yourself. now you've got to share him with the world again as michael kaiser makes his comeback on the field.

"you like it?"

"i love it and i love you."

"maybe we should try another color next time. like purple or pink," you say before giggling at the way his face lights up at the suggestion. you eye him in curiosity when he turns to look at you with a proud grin.

he moves quicker than you expect, grabbing your waist and setting you on the bathroom vanity. he pushes you against the mirror, planting a searing kiss on your lips. you feel him smirk against your lips as his hands move to trail down your waist, settling on your thighs.

"there. a thank you kiss for my little genius," he says, breathless from the exchange, a wicked gleam in his eyes that you're wary of. he leans his forehead against yours, pressing a kiss to your nose. "one 'i'm sorry' kiss too."

"what for-" you're about to question him but a sigh interrupts your words, one that comes from the feeling of wet hair dye trickling down your neck and clothes.

you glare as he presses another kiss in apology. "i'm sorry."

"no, you're not," you snort at the teasing smile on his face. "now i have to go bathe."

he perks up, "want me to join-"

"no."

bonus:

"you really are pretty, mikka." glancing at the mirror from behind him, you watch with fascination as kaiser pushes a hello kitty hairband onto his head. it's yours, one you bought as a pair with his pink panther one. surprisingly, he likes this one more. "the prettiest."

you watch him nod to his own reflection, seemingly agreeing with your words. his newly dried hair bobs along with the motion, the strands fluffy and smooth. you'd run your hands through if you hadn't just spent the last half hour styling it.

"your prettiest-"

"-like a german pomeranian."

"...what?"

"nothing!" you laugh at the disgruntled expression he wears, shaking your head. hoping to appease him before the whining ensues, you hand him a small container filled with matcha facemask. his favorite to wear because it does wonders for his skin.

he looks at the thing as if it's offended his entire lineage. "you're seriously going to bribe me with this?" he pouts, crossing his hands against his chest.

such a big baby. your big baby, though.

"what's wrong? pomeranians are cute!"

"yeah but i'd be more of a husky," he grumbles as he pushes the pink panther hairband onto your head, clearing any hair away from your face. he uses a brush to smear the mask across, stopping every so often to peck your lips. "they're handsome, strong, and expensive."

"high maintenance, too," you mumble under your breath before shrugging. "i just like pomeranians better," you grin, scrunching your nose when he finishes with a kiss on it.

"...fine. german pomeranian it is then."

[novelistrry]

Her mouth gawked open at how casually he said it was like it was completely okay for her eyes to be ogling him like he was a piece of meat. Every single time he wore that shirt, she felt guilty for the ways her eyes could have burnt holes through his chest. Now, she was thinking he wore that shirt so often on purpose— to make her squirm. She tucked her face into the neck of her arm to hide from him.

“Stop hiding from me. Want to see your bashful face,” he pulled her face from the neck of her arm and placed his fingers below the underside of her chin once more so she wouldn’t pull away. “Y’know if you were one of the seven dwarfs, you would most definitely be Bashful.”

With an eye roll and a defeated puff from her lips, she finally gave him the answer he was hoping for, “I’ll go with you.”

As much as he wanted to be delighted by her response, he wanted to confirm that she was positive she actually wanted to go. He didn’t want to force her into doing anything she was unsure of, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Y/N stood from the chair and stretched out to rid the aches in her joints from sitting in one position for too long. “Do you think we could watch a movie?”

Or

Harry is a young professor and Y/N has never felt this kind of attraction before.

Disclaimer: There is only light editing and it is smutty in this part!

Word Count: 14k+

Part One

The Spring breeze brushed Y/N’s cheeks.

Sprawling out on a plaid picnic blanket with her and Niall’s favorite lunch items was her favorite way to spend Sundays, especially when the park was filled with laughter, butterflies, and blooming flowers. Sunshine covered the entirety of the park, seeping warmth that trickled deep into her skin and bones, and she was soaking up every ounce she could get. Sunshine made her feel happy, and optimistic even.

Niall sat there with a book in hand, reading something for pleasure, taking a pause from all the educational content he had consumed over the past few months. It was some book that he begged Y/N to read, telling her that she would absolutely fall in love with the characters, but Y/N was too preoccupied with the tension brewing in her own life, not leaving much room for her to brew over fictional characters.

With a few snaps and a couple grunts, Niall managed to pull her from her reverie looking disgruntled as his book lay askew in his lap. “Sheesh, what do I have to do to get your attention nowadays. Dye my hair brown and curl it?”

That familiar heat that normally crept up her skin, penetrating her cheeks and the top of her ears rose once more, and her sheepish smile remained as she swatted in his direction, not actually able to nudge at him because he was a little too far. Y/N and Niall hadn’t talked about the bar a few weeks ago. He didn’t know where she snuck off to after school or why she was coming home late at night. It’s not that she didn’t want to tell him, Niall just hadn’t asked. “Oh, stop that!”

A teasing smile played upon his lips, curling just slightly and his eyes gleaming enough to know that a snide remark was going to be hurled at her soon. “So what, you spend all your time with him now and he occupies your thoughts when I’m with ya?”

Pink lips curved up, matching the same teasing smile Niall had displayed across his face. A shimmer in her eye had him realizing he wasn’t that far off the mark with his assumption, though she wasn’t keen on confirming that with him. A floral-scented breeze blew through her hair as she inhaled sharply, filling her lungs with the clean Spring air, resetting her breath and her thoughts. “How would you know if I spent all my time with him?”

In a fraction of a second, Niall was sitting a little closer to her, the book he was once enthralled with falling off of his lap and closing on itself, losing the page he had carefully left it open on. His arm extended to nudge her slightly, pushing her in the direction of that floral-scented breeze she just couldn’t get enough of. Dandelions were growing in the grass, rose petals were falling from the bushes that paved the park sidewalks, and blue skies hung over them. It was an omen of goodness, she thought.

“You think I don’t realize how late you sneak through the door? I can hear ya!” He wasn’t speaking to her in an accusatory tone like she was sneaking behind his back because she wasn’t. He spoke to her in a tone that says I’m your best friend, I just wanna know what’s going on in your life, so she decided that she would give him a glimpse at how her afternoons are spent.

“He’s been tutoring me, that’s all. He found out I was failing abnormal psych and told me he can help me. It’s completely innocent, but he helps me after school…” She trailed off, leaving out the details that he drives her to his apartment where they lay her books out on the kitchen table and he goes through each concept with her, or that sometimes when they’re feeling a little tired, they lay her books out on the coffee table and sit together on the couch, elbows and knees brushing. She leaves out the fact that she stares at the way his mouth moves when he speaks, and sometimes he gives her a stern look, indicating that he knows where she’s looking and she needs to focus on the subject at hand. Besides the subtle and gentle brushes of bare skin, and the fact that she sometimes stares when she shouldn’t, it was a completely innocent thing.

“But you don’t want it to be innocent, is that it?” Niall asked, the judgment-free from his tone. Curiosity was interwoven between the syllables, but there was no indication that he was judging her for her…. Er… Feelings? 

Hummingbirds flew past them as she thought of an answer. A couple thoughts were swimming through her brain, but none that she wanted to share with him. No, she wanted to keep some of them private, just for her. She didn’t want to tell him about the kiss they shared, or the way her fingers would graze her lips the following week after their lips had touched ever-so-gently. She didn’t want to tell him that when she breathes in the citrus scents in the produce aisle at the grocery store she thinks of his minty citrus cologne, or how sometimes when he would lean in while she studied, her heart would thump a little harder and her skin would warm with a feeling she couldn’t quite place just yet. 

“I don’t think so,” was all she said, not giving any other information. That is all Niall wanted to hear, that she knew she was feeling something more than a bond between two colleagues. If he was being honest with himself, he was a little worried for her. A professor and TA isn’t the worst combination, eventually, when the semester ended, she would no longer be his TA, but she had never expressed a crush even throughout undergrad. Hell, Niall didn’t think she had very much experience with guys, but that would never be an appropriate question to ask her.

“As long as you’re being safe, I’m happy that you feel so happy,” the response was honest. He was happy, though a tad nervous like mentioned before, but happy to see her so consumed with the sunshine, the flowers, and the hummingbirds that swirled around them. He thinks maybe, just maybe, her sweetened mood might be the force that brought Spring on so suddenly.

“Thank you, Niall,” she said slowly, “I am happy.”

____

“Are you understanding this?” Harry pointed to words in bolded letters that read mood disorders. His tongue flicked out across his bottom lip as he lowered himself from the couch to the floor, criss crossing his legs so that he was adjacent to the book Professor Smith required in his class (it happened to be the same one Harry required, so he knew the book like the back of his hand and it made the lessons with Y/N so much simpler). 

A puff blew from Y/N’s lips as she eyed him, the words he was speaking weren’t registering in her ears. It seemed that with each passing day, she became more flustered with the proximity of him and more restless each time their skin brushed or she watched his tongue wet his lips— something she had never quite experienced. To her own embarrassment, she had googled the symptoms and Google had told her she was experiencing a kind of attraction she had probably never experienced before. Y/N thought back to the few people she had a crush on years ago and realized that they just made something bubble in her tummy, but never made her feel the way she felt when she looked at Harry. She felt so jumpy and jittery around him, she was beginning to think something was wrong with her. Quickly, she clicked out the tab and then cleared her search history, although she knew that no one was going to be able to look through it beside her. She just didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that she had googled something that made her feel so virginal.

It was true, she had only ever kissed one person other than Harry. She didn’t have half the experience Harry had, and she probably couldn’t even convincingly say she had a quarter of his experience either. The boy was named Kitt, and she met him at a summer camp they both attended in high school. At the end of the camp, right before she was shipped back home, Kitt planted one on her. She didn’t feel for Harry the same way she felt for Kitt, her relationship with Kitt felt childish in comparison. She wanted to feel Harry, really truly feel his mouth against hers. Not the way he kissed her in the office to cheer her up, make her feel better, and soothe the horrid thoughts that were rifling through her brain. She wanted a kiss where she was attentive, where she could explore every inch of his mouth, and where she could—

“Are you even listening to me?” He asked her, pushing his face into his hands. At first, she thought maybe he was losing patience with her, but when he nudged her with his elbow and sent an angelic smile (the kind of smile that would make a person drop to their knees), she knew he was only teasing her.

Embarrassment flooded through her as she was caught, once again, not paying attention to the concepts he was trying to teach her and rather drifting off into daydreams about him. The sun was setting, the natural light in the living room slowly dimmed as they shifted from day to night, and she knew that their time together for the night would be coming to an end soon. She should have really been listening to him, taking in each sound of his voice, the way his deep voice wrapped around the consonants and vowels, but she just couldn’t help it. Ugh, she just couldn’t focus.

“I’m sorry,” she answered him genuinely. She was sorry for not listening. He was taking so much of his free time to help her learn and she repaid him by not listening. How could she tell him that the way his eyes locked with hers, sultry and tempting sent her spiraling into daydreams she didn’t want to pick herself out of? How could she tell him that when she watched his tongue flick over his lips, she thought of the way his lips felt against hers and how she wanted to feel that again? She wouldn’t tell him that, so she settled on the next best thing and put her face in her hands to hide from his concerned stare, “I’m just having trouble focusing.”

With caution, he shifted his body and brought himself back onto the couch so that he was sitting next to her once more. Harry had been noticing the way she was in and out of their conversations, sometimes completely immersed and other times floating away so high that he thought he would have to bring her back down with a butterfly net. Usually, he tried not to make her feel too bad about it, he didn’t want her to think that she was upsetting him, because she wasn’t. But, this was the second week of her floating to space as he talked. Sometimes he would catch her right before she slipped into the reveries it was hard to bring her out of, but today she was long gone and he was beginning to feel anxious over her lack of focus.

“I know you are,” he reached over and hooked his fingers on the inside of her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face so that she would look at him. He didn’t want to treat her like a damsel in distress of any sort or like he was some hero trying to save her from her own thoughts— that’s not what was going on at all. He just wanted to understand her better, to figure out where her brain was running off to. “Won’t you tell me why?”

There it was again, that soft voice that makes her admit things she otherwise would have been so unwilling to do. Fingers caressed her cheek lightly; his fingers. Without much thought, she tilted her head into his fingers, begging for his touch without actually saying anything. It was dangerous, he knew it was. The last time he crossed a boundary with her, he told her it couldn’t happen again, and though she occupied most of his thoughts, it had been a month since the kiss, since he pushed her up against the wall of the bar and she licked his finger, and he wasn’t willing to cross that boundary again even though he wanted to. 

“‘Can’t stop thinking about you,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering close as his fingers brushed against her cheek in soft strokes. With so much delicacy, with so much precision, he gave her one last stroke of the cheek before tucking his hands in his lap. Y/N’s eyes which were peacefully shut as she soaked in the brief skin-on-skin contact abruptly opened at the lack of physical touch.

“I see,” his tone shifted to one that was more guarded, one that was less like the cheerful, sweet Harry she had gotten so used to over the past month. “You just really need to understand this stuff.”

Harry was trying to reason with her, he really was and she knew it too. She wanted to cross her arms, turn her lips down into a gruff point, and tell him that she wanted to talk to him outside of all the studying. Maybe it was wrong, but she wanted to get to know him for who he was outside of a college professor. There were so many things in his home that made her think that he was quite possibly the most interesting being to ever walk the planet. Vinyls crammed into a bookshelf that was absolutely not made for vinyl but must have run out of room for his records on the measly shelves you can buy at the record store. The furniture wasn’t your typical ikea branded nightstands and sofas. It was much more intricate like he had spent his days going to vintage furniture stores, trying to find the coziest couch that matched his bubbly spirit. Y/N had never been so interested in the ins and outs of someone’s life, how they formed their taste, or how they decided their career path. The closest thing she could think of was how she hammered Niall with twenty questions when they first met. It was purely platonic, never any mutual attraction between the two. Obviously, Y/N knew he was a little pretty, but she was much more interested in being his friend than anything else. 

“I know,” she huffed out, furrowing her brows in frustration. A feeling of smallness washed over her, realizing that she admitted she thinks about him. A lot. Too much. And he responded by telling her she needed to understand the course contents. Of course, she knew that. “I’m trying.”

His lips twitched and though he knew he shouldn’t indulge her further, he liked to see her bashful gaze and the way she sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth and furrowed her eyebrows, attempting to give him the most thoughtful answer she could possibly think of. Honestly, Y/N was the type of girl that people could say was put through a time machine. She chose her words carefully, she picked her actions cautiously, and she was too mindful for her own good. But when it came to Harry, she felt so out of control of herself. It was massively infuriating. 

Against his own better judgment he asked her the question he knew he shouldn’t have, “What do you think of when you think of me?”

She pondered momentarily, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, furrowing her eyebrows, and searching the crevices of her brain for a way to respond to him. She just spent the better half of the lesson with him, thinking about his lips and how they felt, but she didn’t let her thoughts go further than that. No, she barely tried to think about the way her tongue licked from the base of his finger and then swirled against the tip because she could barely handle where the thoughts might lead to. She didn’t want to admit it, not when he was so firm about the boundary they set in his office a month ago right after the kiss they shared. “I wonder what you’re like outside of school and tutoring. I look around your apartment and see all these intricate things and beautiful paintings, and it makes me wonder how you spend your free time.”

“That’s all?” He looked at her incredulously, wondering why she was so shy about daydreaming about how he spends his free time. Actually, he would have even gone as far as to say that he was disappointed. All she had to do was ask him, and he would cross that boundary with her once more.

“Yes,” she hummed out, slumping her shoulders forward and resting her elbows on her knees, “That’s it.”

“Well,” he responded, closing the textbook but not before dog-earring the book to mark their spot (one of Y/N’s biggest pet peeves was dog-earring a book instead of using a bookmark, but she guesses she doesn’t mind so much when it’s Harry who does it). “Can I make a deal with you?”

“That depends on the deal,” she quirked one of her eyebrows.

“If I tell you that we can spend some time together outside of studying, do you promise to try and pay attention a little more?” He asked, giving her the best deal she could have possibly thought of.

“Of course!” Excitement nearly burst from the pores of her skin, and she didn’t have it in herself to be mortified by the way she responded with such enthusiasm.

“It’s a deal, Darling,” he reached out his hand and grasped hers, shaking gently.

That’s how it began. That is how Y/N and Harry began spending so much time together, going on picnics, seeing movies, getting coffees at the shop on the corner of where his flat was located, visiting flower shops, feeding the ducks bread at the pond (though Y/N googled it and found out that oats are much better for ducks because if you throw the bread in the pond, it can rot and collect algae causing harm to the wildlife in the surrounding area). That is how Harry ended up keeping a 42-ounce container of oats in his car just in case she wanted to feed the ducks.

____

Bright lights shone in the sterile atmosphere, and Y/N knew she should have been paying attention after being called out by Professor Smith just last month, but it was only partner work with Mallory and Mallory didn’t mind that she was dazing off back into that far away land. Actually, Y/N noticed that Mallory was too, except when she peered over at Mallory, her eyes were narrowed, her fingers were gripping the desk tightly, and it was like she could physically see the color drain from her face. 

“Mallory?” Y/N questioned her friend, pulling Mallory from her thoughts. With care, Mallory set the pen on the table, then rubbed her eyes in a couple brisk moments. When she finally looked back at Y/N, she still didn’t have that signature warm look in her eyes. The kind of look that tells people “You’re safe with me.” It was gone, buried under deep gray clouds and Y/N could nearly see that the storm was brewing behind those eyes.

“I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind,” she explained, her eyes still not meeting Y/N’s. The blank gaze was becoming alarming with each passing minute, and usually, Y/N didn’t like to push because she knew how it felt, and it was not a very good feeling, but she decided that she and Mallory had made good enough friends that it was slightly acceptable.

“Do you want to talk about it?” A question that was open, and couldn’t be classified as pushing because it was a close-ended yes or no type of question. If she said no, they would move on immediately and Mallory would never hear another peep out of Y/N regarding the subject. Prying just felt too invasive.

“I think Josh is cheating on me.” It turns out Mallory didn’t need any other pushing, because the words slipped from her lips so easily but with careful caution as she looked around the room, eager to see if anyone was eavesdropping on the pair (no one was, Y/N thinks Mallory just didn’t want the whole class to know her business, which was fair. She didn’t want anyone knowing her business either, but Professor Smith had other plans).

“Why do you think that?” The question Y/N asked was genuine, and filled with care. Y/N couldn’t imagine, what a horrible thing to think and how it must be weighing on Mallory heavily. Y/N thinks if she was kissing Harry all the time, and then found out he had been with other girls, it would feel like a knife right in her chest. But it was much different for Mallory. Mallory was in love with Josh, and from what Y/N gathered, Josh loved Mallory too. So how could he do something like that?

“I found underwear in the backseat of his car when I was looking for one of my earbuds that I dropped…” Mallory began gathering her thoughts, “they were tucked in between the seat and the floor, right next to where my earbud went.”

Y/N nodded in understanding, “I see, and you don’t understand why your underwear would be in the car.” 

“Well, no,” Mallory explained, trying to get Y/N on the same wavelength as her. “It wouldn’t matter if I found my underwear in the car. Sometimes we just need each other so bad. The issue is that it wasn’t my underwear. I have never owned a laced pair of red underwear with pink hearts embroidered. Never.” 

It suddenly clicked in Y/N’s brain. That wouldn’t make a lot of sense for Mallory to find a pair of underwear she has never owned in her life in Josh’s car. Y/N tried to think of ways it could be a misunderstanding, to reassure Mallory that maybe it wasn’t as it seemed. There was no way Y/N could spin it in her head that made Josh look less guilty than he actually was. He seemed very guilty. “Have you said anything to him yet?” 

Mallory shook her head and pressed her cheek against the coolness of the wooden desk, “Tonight I will. I think I just wanna be in my thoughts right now.”

Y/N whispered something small, telling her that she understood and did not fault Mallory for not wanting to talk about it anymore. Maybe Y/N was a little relieved at that because she didn’t know the first thing that would make someone feel better about that. She couldn’t tap into prior experience, she couldn’t pull from when she was cheated on because Y/N was never in a situation like that. Actually, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying that sentence Mallory had said that awakened a realization deep in the pit of her gut, it was fizzling like a volcano was ready to explode. Sometimes we just need each other so bad, was what Mallory had said. Those simple string of words laced together helped Y/N describe the way she had been feeling for Harry; restless, tense, and she felt like she just needed him so badly every time she saw him. It was a realization that what she was experiencing was an attraction like no other, but how was she supposed to tell him?

____

Harry hated it.

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was miscommunication; plain and simple. Or in this case, lack of communication.

He couldn’t even tell you how many nights they sat down, side by side at his kitchen table going over the textbook (at this point he wanted to throw it through the window, he was so sick of it) and ignored the tension that was growing between them. With each longing glance, the tension was nourished. They were watering it, he thought. They were causing it to grow bigger and bigger until one day it couldn’t be confined to the four walls and they were just going to explode.

Sometimes the tension grew when they weren’t studying too. Actually, that’s where it seemed to get worse. When they were out and about, she would do subtle things that would work him up. Make him wanna grip her hips and pin her against the wall again, just like the bar. God, the bar. He pushed the thought down, but a similar thought began to rise.

“No, Harry,” she shook her head and tutted her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around his and encased his hand in hers. She was trying to show him the best way to feed the ducks. “This is how you do it.”

“So now you’re the professor?” He asked her, watching the bashful gaze flutter upon her features as she tucked her cheek against his shoulder. She began shaking his hand, letting the oats fall out from in between his fingers. He did understand it, though, the technique she was teaching him was a lot better than the technique he was using which clumped all the oats together. Now the ducks could pick the oats off the ground with space instead of cramming against one another.

“I think you can learn a few things from me,” She retorted, finally dropping his hand from hers. It was a strange feeling he had. The feeling that he didn’t want her to let go, he didn’t want her touch to fade.

“I think I can too,” he replied, tilting his head to the side, admiring her compassion and thoughtfulness. He thinks that if he weren’t there with her, Y/N would have the ducks eating from the palm of her hand.

But, finally, the lack of communication had reached its breaking point. He couldn’t handle it anymore, he needed to hear her thoughts. He just needed her to talk to him. So, he slammed the textbook shut a little too aggressively, causing her to jump and glare at him with frustration. 

“I was in the middle of reading that!” Y/N’s glare persisted, but now her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were flipped downward in a pout that told him she wasn’t happy with him shutting the book so abruptly and not giving a warning.

“Let’s talk,” he ignored the pout on her lips and the way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. What he didn’t ignore was the way her fingernails nervously scratched at the table. Gently, he took her hands into his and shifted his body so they were facing each other. Her hands, still tucked tightly in his, were placed in his lap. It didn’t take long for him to note the way the pout wiped from her face as soon as she felt his skin against hers as if it was soothing for her hands to be in his.

“But you always scold me for talking when I’m trying to study!” She argued, trying to get to the bottom of why he wanted to talk. Y/N went through a mental checklist in her head of things he might want to talk about, but there was nothing so pressing that he needed to slam her book closed mid-sentence. She was finally passing Professor Smith’s class, she was keeping up with all her TA work in his class, and she wasn’t slipping into daydreams since her conversation with Mallory happened.

It took him a couple moments to respond. Instead, he admired her for just a second. She deserves admiration from time to time. Hell, she deserves admiration all the time. She was so cute he didn’t think it was humanly possible. If someone came knocking down his door and telling him that he was seduced by an alien and needed to report to NASA headquarters immediately, he wouldn’t have second-guessed it. He looked at her like she hung the moon, the sun, the galaxy, and everything in between.

“Will you quit staring,” she grumbled shyly.

“I just want to know how you feel, that’s all.” He was trying to be as straightforward as possible.

____

He wanted to know how she felt? Since her conversation with Mallory, she tried to find the words she would tell him. Y/N knew it wasn’t healthy to keep it bottled up and locked away. In fact, with each passing day, she felt like she was going to burst. Eventually, they were going to have this talk and she knew it was coming. No matter how much she thought about it, she didn’t think she would ever fully prepare for it. Obviously, after she and Harry shared the kiss, they talked about it and how it couldn’t ever happen again, but besides that, they both chose to ignore that it ever happened.

She popped her mouth open ready for the words to come out, but when they didn’t, she closed her mouth once more. Y/N did this a few more times, noting how patient Harry was with her. She thinks she might be the luckiest girl to be able to talk to someone so patient and kind.

“I was talking with Mallory,” Harry stiffened at the sound of Mallory’s name so she quickly revised the thoughts that poured from her brain and straight out the fountain that was her mouth, “Not about us! About her and her boyfriend. She thinks he’s cheating on her, but she hasn’t gotten to talk to him yet…” Y/N’s words faded out as she tried to figure out how to phrase this without sounding needy.

Y/N decided the best way was to start from the beginning, so she continued with her story, “Mallory said she dropped an earbud, so she was looking in the backseat of her boyfriend's car for it and found a pair of underwear that didn’t belong to her. Well, at first I thought it was because why would there be underwear in his car, but then she explained it wouldn’t have been that weird to find her underwear in his car because I guess sometimes they sleep together in the car. She told me they only did that when they felt like they needed each other badly,” she paused momentarily, once again trying to locate the words. “I think that’s how I feel about you. A strong desire.”

A strong desire? What was she thinking? She replayed the words, feeling so stupid for even saying them out loud. Y/N had admitted that she desired him but didn’t think he would return that same desire. How could he? The look on his face was unreadable, and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the room around them. She could feel the lights penetrating through the top layer of skin warming her up, she could hear the sound of the fireplace under his television crackling, and she could see the way his eyes flickered between her mouth and then back to her pupils. She may have messed up something go—

As if he was plucking a delicate flower from the grass, he pulled her body closer to him. She was off the chair and back in his lap in mere seconds, the same way she was back in his office when they shared the first kiss. Completely straddling him on the dining room chair, she was all too aware of how exposed she was in his position. She was reminded of the feel of his thighs between her legs once more. This time the kiss wasn’t gentle and filled with tears, it was more longing and wet. He pinched the sides of her hips with a such delicate precision that her mouth dropped open, just slightly to let him in.

Her prior kisses played on a loop in her mind. They had never felt like this before. This was pure desire, no doubt about it. His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth, and he tasted like the juice he was drinking as they studied. A soft and subtle notion of cranberry filled her mouth, and when she took a deep breath through her nose, she smelled his minty citrus signature scent. 

Tongues colliding, she felt as if she could transcend from her body. And for a second, she thought she may have left her body and watched the two of them go at it from an outside perspective. It was sensual the way they moved together as if the two of them were one and the same. A piece of art carved from the same stone. 

When his tongue retreated back to his own mouth, allowing her to feel the inside of his, she let a small moan escape, the vibration snaking its way up her throat and into his mouth. He could have melted then and there. The sound embarrassed her just a little bit. The moan—or whimper, really— was filled with such desperation and corrupt desire she couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of shame in the pit of her gut.

She pulled away, her face burying into his chest so that she couldn’t see the look on his face. “Sorry.”

He stroked his fingers up and down her sides, slipping beneath her shirt to feel her skin and she let out a small gasp at the feel of his fingers brushing against her sides. “What are you sorry for, baby?”

“You said we couldn’t do it again, remember?” She tacked on the end of her sentence to jog his memory. As if he had forgotten what he told her in his office a month ago about how they needed to place a boundary. Clearly, it wasn’t going to work so why deny them the pleasure of each other’s company even further?

“Is this what you want?” He pulled her face from his chest, using one of his fingers to support the underside of her chin. At this moment, he wanted eye contact with her, he wanted to make sure she was telling him what she wanted. He didn’t want to guess or have to read between the lines; he had to know. Did she want him?

“I want this,” she puffed out a breath, sleepily fluttering her eyes. “Really, I want this.”

“I think,” he breathes slowly, bringing his finger to her lips and wiping off the residue of his mouth. He had half a mind to leave it there for him to admire under the dim kitchen light, “I want to do this with you too. We just have to be careful.”

“Right,” her sleepy eyes settled upon his brown curls. “No one can find out.”

“It’s not that,” he shook his head and grasped her hands once more, bringing their hands enclosed together to his chest. She could feel the thump of his heart against her chest, “I want to protect you here.” And she knew he meant her heart.

Stars circled around them, enclosing them in their own bubble against the word. It was at this moment she took the time to look at him, really truly see him for what he was. She had done it once before when she first met him, but she tried not to do it again to keep her heart from fluttering at an alarmingly fast rate. But now she felt like she could appreciate his beauty for what it was; she was comfortable with that. Harry’s jaw was sharp and clean-cut like he was cut from stone. The apples of his cheeks were kissed by angels, pink and rosy. His eyes were a clear green, the type of green that flourished in the forest and faeries hid in. He wasn’t just handsome. No, he was more than that. Truly, he was beautiful. A spark twitched in her chest, an appreciation that he wanted her the same way, too.

“Stop looking at me that way,” amusement flickered in his eyes, but longing swam in his bones as her gaze studied the intricacies of his facial features. 

Confusion appeared on her face, “What do you mean?”

“Stop lookin’ at me like I hung the moon and the stars, and make the earth spin on its axis.” He was only teasing her, and it was something she was still trying to get used to. Sometimes, Y/N was a very literal person, and couldn’t pick up on teasing or sarcasm on the first go. She had to dissect the conversation a little more before she could be certain teasing and sarcasm were at play.

“I think you did,” she hummed and his chest thumped faster against her hands. Y/N liked that she was making him do that.

Rose-colored blush presented on his cheeks, and with a successful feeling stirring inside her, she pressed a kiss to the tops of each cheek.

“Do you think I could tell Mallory?” If there was one person Y/N wanted to tell, it was Mallory. Well, Niall too, but she knew that she didn’t need to ask Harry about that. It’s not like Niall was one of his TAs too.

“Yes, Sweetheart. I think that would be fine,” without hesitation, his lips collided with hers once more, but the words he murmured when he pulled away caused a breath to catch in her throat, “You’re very pretty.”

____

Tomato sandwiches were currently Y/N’s hyper-fixation meal, and as Mallory talked and Y/N listened (no surprise there), she gnawed on the edge of her sandwich. 

The pair had been eating lunch together in the cafeteria. Mallory was fighting a rough breakup, and Josh would not stop texting her. At one point, Mallory handed Y/N her phone and told her to just scroll through. It was a series of apologies, ‘it will never happen again’, and ‘I need you.’ Y/N was proud that Mallory basically told him to swim in the stream of his own tears, then blocked him. After Josh realized Mallory blocked him from texting her, he moved to other forms of communication, but this time he was no longer texting her apologies and they were actually quite alarming messages.

“Do you wanna hear what I think?” Y/N asked before giving unsolicited advice. If Mallory didn’t want to hear what Y/N was thinking, she wouldn’t just spring that information onto her. Through the course of the past couple of weeks, Y/N began collecting her thoughts on the situation. She didn’t want to give advice or put in her two cents prematurely, but as the situation between Mallory and Josh got worse and worse, Y/N was sure her thoughts on him wouldn’t change.

“Of course I do. You’re my friend,” Mallory insisted, waiting for her to give some humbling advice. It wasn’t often Y/N asked Mallory if she could offer her thoughts on the situation. As time went on, Mallory noted that Y/N wasn’t the talkative type. While she always had great things to add to the conversation, if she didn’t want to speak then she wouldn’t. Sometimes Y/N only wanted to listen, and that was okay with Mallory. In truth, Mallory thinks they balanced each other well.

“I think you dodged a bullet,” Y/N said a little loudly over the sound of sports players rushing into the college cafeteria, heavy cleats clicking against the tile sounding louder as they passed by the pair trying to enjoy their lunch in peace. “And you’re my friend, too,” Y/N added at the end there.

“You’re right,” A sorrowful sigh escaped from Mallory’s lips, indicating to Y/N that even though she was right, Mallory was still sad about it. Y/N really, really didn’t want her to be too sad over a guy that was proven to be disgustingly manipulative. Maybe Y/N wasn’t the best judge of character, a little too trusting, but the red flags Josh was displaying toward Mallory were enough for Y/N to know that his intentions were not very good.

“What did you think of my friend Niall?” Y/N asked. After Y/N and Niall got home from their “double date” (she used that term very loosely), Niall wouldn’t stop talking about how funny Mallory was. He kept saying that she was better than the comedian they had all saw before the nightclub came to life, and that next time they should put her on the stage. He also kept saying that she was very pretty, and Y/N noticed the sheepish glances he threw in Mallory’s direction throughout the night.

“He was very fun to be around,” Hesitation was laced in Mallory’s tone, and if Mallory didn’t know any better, she thought Y/N and Niall were finally together. “Are you guys finally together?”

“No! Ugh!” Y/N threw her hands up in exasperation, dropping her tomato sandwich back on the paper napkin she packed in her lunch pale. “I want to set you guys up on a date. I don’t like Niall like that! Actually, I’m seeing someone. He’s not my boyfriend or anything, and he might not even really like me like that, but he likes to kiss me.”

Mallory paused for a moment, scrunching her nose and finally nodding her head in response to Y/N, “I would probably like to go on a date with Niall. If he’s chosen you as a best friend, I know he’s got good taste.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, “Well, then, good. Because I know Niall would like to go on a date with you.”

Mallory backtracked for a moment, the words Y/N spoke finally processing fully in her head, “Who are you seeing? And, I think the term you’re looking for is hooking up. If you guys don’t actually like each other like that and it's purely physical.”

Purely physical? Is that what she wanted? Y/N brought her voice to a whisper, glancing around to see if anyone was trying to listen in on their conversation (they weren’t) before murmuring, “Harry.”

Mallory’s face didn’t drop in shock, her face didn’t contort with disgust, but her eyes sparked with delight. “You might be the luckiest girl alive.”

____

“Now when you read this concept from the book—”

“Would you go out with me, Mallory, and Niall on Friday? We’re going to play putt-putt, and I’m trying to set them up,” Y/N interrupted him, surprisingly for the first time during their one-on-one lesson today. It wasn’t that she wasn’t paying attention, but about ten minutes ago, she realized her attempt to set Niall and Mallory up was going to turn into her being the third wheel. Now, there was nothing wrong with that, but she had a feeling once Niall and Mallory got their hands on each other, they wouldn’t take them off. If Harry agreed to come along at least she could use him to escape during the date, and it would be fun to see how he gets along with her friends. Obviously, Harry and Mallory get along well in a work-type setting, but she wanted to see how they could get along as simply friends.

With delicacy, he shut the book. If there was one thing Harry could pick up on, it was when Y/N’s brain was becoming overloaded with information. She couldn’t retain an information dump the way he could, so he adjusted to the way she learned best because all he wanted was for her to be as comfortable as possible. Sometimes he thought about the way, with teary eyes, told him she didn’t want him to think she was stupid. He never wanted her to feel that way again.

“Could we make another deal, Darling?” Harry’s fingers grazed the underside of her chin, pushing it up just a tad so he could get a full view of her face. Viewing her face in full was a must for him, he was constantly imagining that face when she wasn’t around.

“I am open to making a deal,” the words came out slowly, her head nodded with each syllable, and she tended to like the deals he made with her because there was always some sort of benefit for the both of them.

“If I come with you to see your friends, would you come with me to see mine on Saturday?” He didn’t want to pressure her into coming. In fact, he thought about asking her but decided against it because he didn’t want her to feel obligated. When she brought up the question about him tagging along with her, Mallory, and Niall, he thought maybe he was in the clear to ask her a similar question about meeting his friends, but then her face fell in what he thought was… Hesitation? 

“What’s the occasion?” The pressure was applied to his fingertips as she glanced down at her hands in her lap, and she began picking at the sides of her fingernails. She wanted to meet Harry’s friends, but she was nervous about being around large groups of new people. At least when she hung out in big groups with Niall, she had him around her at all times, and by now, she was so used to Niall’s friends, it wasn’t uncomfortable to strike up a conversation with his pals.

“It’s a wine night. My friend Mitch is hosting this time. It’s basically a small party. We wear nice clothes, drink wine, listen to music, and catch up. It’s proper fun,” Harry was trying to make the environment as calming and fun as possible, realizing the hesitation on her end was just nerves.

“Nice clothes?” She questioned and had to physically stop herself from picking at her nails by grasping at the edge of the table otherwise she would make her skin go raw.

“Not super nice, just not sweatpants and jumpers since it won’t only be our immediate friend group. Sometimes we do that when it’s purely game night, drinks, and a movie,” he explained, and he knew exactly what to say to get her to agree so he added at the end, “I’ll even wear that satin shirt you like. You know, the one that has my tattoos peeking out. The one you drool over.”

Her mouth gawked open at how casually he said it was like it was completely okay for her eyes to be ogling him like he was a piece of meat. Every single time he wore that shirt, she felt guilty for the ways her eyes could have burnt holes through his chest. Now, she was thinking he wore that shirt so often on purpose— to make her squirm. She tucked her face into the neck of her arm to hide from him.

“Stop hiding from me. Want to see your bashful face,” he pulled her face from the neck of her arm and placed his fingers below the underside of her chin once more so she wouldn’t pull away. “Y’know if you were one of the seven dwarfs, you would most definitely be Bashful.”

With an eye roll and a defeated puff from her lips, she finally gave him the answer he was hoping for, “I’ll go with you.”

As much as he wanted to be delighted by her response, he wanted to confirm that she was positive she actually wanted to go. He didn’t want to force her into doing anything she was unsure of, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Y/N stood from the chair and stretched out to rid the aches in her joints from sitting in one position for too long. “Do you think we could watch a movie?”

“Anything for you,” he spoke softly and honestly, the gentle tone ringing in her ear like music. His voice was a symphony made just for her, “You know that.”

____

The words that tumbled from Y/N’s lips in the middle of the movie really caught Harry off guard. It was her delivery, actually, that had him furrowing his eyebrows and asking her to repeat the statement one more time just in case he heard it wrong. It was unprompted, there was no sign indicating that’s how she was feeling (specifically at that exact moment), and the look on her face was of shock like she hadn’t meant to say it; it just kind of slipped out.

“I said,” She cleared her throat and he felt her cheeks heat beneath his fingertips as she spoke. The pair were uniquely sitting on the couch. Harry was sitting with his legs kicked up on the coffee table, and Y/N was sitting with her head in his lap and her legs taking up the rest of the unused couch space. As they were watching the movie, Harry would stroke her cheeks or run his fingers through her hair just to feel her, “I would like to do more than kiss.”

If Harry was trying to keep a composed face, free of shock or confusion, he was almost positive he was failing. His lips and eyes felt too numb to actually realize how he was looking at her. How could he lie and say he didn’t want to do more than kiss either, he just wasn’t sure how to initiate it given their circumstances— and why would he deny her what she wanted?

“What do you want to do, then?” He spoke the words clearly, that lustful tone leaking past his lips and soaking her with it, 

“I’m not,” she began, pausing for thought, “As experienced as you, I think.”

Harry nodded, encouraging Y/N to continue. He could tell there was something on the tip of her tongue, the words she was failing to formulate stuck in the back of her throat, begging to come out. 

“Well, I just think...” she picked her head off the warmth that was his lap, “You’re very good at teaching. Would you teach me? I want to be good for you.”

It turns out that Harry was going to make her work for it, he was going to make her say the words out loud. His ego was slightly inflated by her gentle words, calling him a good teacher and asking him to teach her. Harry didn’t like assuming, but from what he was understanding, she wanted to teach him how to feel good and make other people feel good. Though, Harry didn’t think she would need much teaching as half the time he has to go close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to will his stiff cock away.

“Teach you what, Darling?” His fingers were grazing the inside of her thighs, telling her he knew exactly what she wanted from him. He was just slightly devilish, wanting to hear the filthy words fall from her lips. 

Sighing, she moved her thigh into his touch. Begging, pleading, wanting... “Please don’t make me say it, Harry.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Hm?” Harry continued to work his fingers up her thigh until it rested just above the button of her pants where he was waiting to help her out of her pants. At this point, he was no longer assuming, he knew exactly what she wanted; she wanted to hit that sweet spot, she wanted him to get her there, to ride it out on him and hit that euphoric state right in front of him. 

With a shuddering breath, she responded, “Yes, yes... I’ll be good. Just please.” Her fingers reached for her button, gently touching Harry’s own fingers, and her pants were off in a matter of seconds. She thinks she heard something about him saying she was so good for begging him for it, but the words didn’t register as he gently pulled her across his lap so that each leg was on either side of her thigh. Her wet center was directly on his thighs, and if she knew any better, she could have come right on the spot. 

“Would you look at that?” His fingers strode up her slit covered by the fabric of her white panties, “I can see you straight through your panties, Darling. How long have you been this soaked?”

He prompted her to start rocking against his thigh, so she did as she was told and began moving up and down. The friction was enough to make her let out a noise she had never heard from herself before. As of now, she wasn’t embarrassed, just full of wanting, needing, and lusting. She would be embarrassed by her desire and the sounds she mewled atop his thigh later, but for right now, she just wanted to feel good. 

With one quick motion, he was stimulating her clit, making her feel so many things, so many emotions, she could barely handle it. She continued to rock against his thigh, and if she didn’t know any better, he may have shifted his leg upwards so that she was getting the best possible access to his leg. This was going to be her new obsession; she was going to stare at his thigh at school and wonder what it would feel like for him to take her right into his office, she was going to drool over it while they studied and beg him to let her feel good because she can’t focus until he lets her come. 

“Those are such pretty noises,” he commented when another moan slipped past her lips and her head threw back as he gripped her hips and brought her closer to his crotch. 

She looked down, taking in his cock through his sweatpants. God, he was so pretty. Hard against the fabric of his pants, and the tip was leaking just enough for her to notice through the gray cotton. 

He glanced down at what she was staring out, a smirk playing across his lips. She was simply everything. So good, so sweet, so attentive. “You’re gonna come just by looking at my cock through my pants?”

She didn’t have it in her to feel ashamed when she felt this good. All she could think about is how he would feel inside her, how his lips would feel around her neck. Even... how his hands would feel around her neck, claiming her as his own. In response to him, she just moaned and mumbled something— slightly incoherent, it took him a moment to decipher— “Want to feel your cock inside me.” 

____

Harry was over the moon with the phrase that tumbled off her lips in her pure, unadulterated need for him. As much as he wanted to give her what she asked for. She was such a good girl, she deserved the whole world. He wasn’t sure how well she would be able to take it now. Y/N was already overstimulated by his thigh and his fingers circling her clit when she let out an unrestrained moan, threw her head back, and her thighs tensed around his, he knew she was going to come. But, he wanted her to hold out, just for a little bit.

He couldn’t help it; she looked so pretty like this. She looked like she was made for him, like a puzzle piece that fit on his thigh so well, there was no possible way the pair weren’t made for each other. Longing glances and looks filled with need had been exchanged by Harry and Y/N for quite some time, sometimes in between classes he’d have to give his cock a proper tug, otherwise, he would have been walking around stiff— and aching— for the rest of the day. He wanted her so much, it was unbelievable. But, Harry wanted her to make the first move, he wanted her to be sure this is what she wanted, and when she finally looked at him with that needy gaze, he knew he had to give her what she asked for. 

“You’re not ready for my cock, baby. You’re so needy, hm?” It was slightly condescending, and what did it say about her that tightness in her belly coiled when he called her needy? He was right, she was needy. 

“Can I move against your cock the way I am now? With your pants still on? Need it. Really need it,” Her words were jumbled together, separated by moans filled with desire as she moved in up and down motions against his thigh. He knew if he gave her what she wanted, she would come right then and there, as soon as her core touched the hardness of his cock, and maybe he was a little selfish for it, but he wasn’t ready for her to get there. 

“That’s not how you ask, Angel. You know your manners. Use them.” The slight reprimand made her toes curl, and when he realized that she liked it; liked being reprimanded and it was definitely getting her off, he stopped her rocking motions by digging his fingers into her hips and giving her a pointed look; the same look he gives her when she’s not paying attention while she’s studying. It sent waves through her, and she felt like she was floating on a cloud. 

“How do you ask?” He prompted, encouraging the words he wanted to hear.

“Please, may I?” She tried to rock once more, but his fingers kept her in place. A sensual gaze lingered on her features, looking him up and down like she could swallow him whole, and how could he say no to that? 

“Good girl,” he brought her left leg over his other leg so that her pussy was in full contact with his clothed cock. Before she started rutting against him, moaning, and throwing her head back in pure carnal desire, he decided he would give her a little incentive. “If you hold out for me, give me ten more minutes of seeing you look so pretty as you rut this pussy against my cock,” one of his fingers moved from her hip where he was holding her in place to the slit of her pussy and worked it’s way over, slicking his finger with his wetness and popping it in his mouth to see how good she tasted, “I will let you watch while I run my hand over my cock and make myself feel good, hm?”

A jumbled yes came from the back of her throat, and he used his fingers that were against her hips to help her find her rhythm against his cock. He could have come right there at the sight of her, but he was good at holding off, good at edging himself. It was something he wanted to teach her how to do. How to get to that good place, then rip herself away from it. In the end, all of the frustration makes the orgasm worth it. 

She tried to last, she tried to make those ten minutes, but she just couldn’t. With a cry, she warned him, “Harry... I can’t. I can’t wait. Please.” 

“That’s okay, baby,” Harry comforted, letting her know that it was okay. He would teach her how to stave off soon enough, but right now he was more concerned with her feeling good and comfortable. 

That was all it took her to that nice place. As her orgasm filled her body, lingering in her bones and warming her skin, she came against him. Pulling away as her nerves were overstimulated and sensitive, sweat beading at the top of her forehead, and mewling noises coming out of her lips. He thought she looked beautiful.

Quickly, she took herself off of him, not able to handle the overstimulating she was feeling in her core and in her brain. She tried not to look at the wet spot she left on his thigh, and directly on his crotch. 

He could tell by the way her eyes averted, and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear that she was feeling embarrassed, but he didn’t think she should feel so ashamed for feeling good. She should never be ashamed of that. With a gentle finger, he lifted her chin from her downward stare into her lap and whispered softly, “Don’t ever feel embarrassed about that. Do you see how hard you’ve got me?”

Heat flooded her cheeks, warming her skin, and that coil she felt in her lower belly when she first started grinding against the muscles of his thigh stirred in her once more as she eyed his hard cock covered in her wetness. “I don’t get to watch you now because I didn’t wait?”

How could he deny her what she wanted when she was so, so good for him? Listening attentively, asking politely, and being so sweet to him? “I’ll let you watch. We can call it a consolation prize.” 

Heart fluttering, she shifted slightly so she could get a full view of this. His eyes darkened as he slid his sweatpants down just enough to pull his cock out of his boxers. It sprang out, the tip a blissful pink color, and she thinks that her mouth has never watered so badly. He was even bigger than she had been able to realize through his sweatpants, and it all made sense. He was sweet, but calculated and there was a rough edge of confidence laced in the way he speaks. The size of his cock matching the confidence of his personality wasn’t anything that should surprise her.

When Y/N let out a soft, sultry, sweet-coated moan at the sight of his right hand clutching the base of his cock and tugging upwards, Harry realized three things about her that he would dissect later. 

Y/N had an extreme praise kink, thinking back to how she sucked in sharp breaths when he told her what a good girl she was, and how she moaned at the sight of her reward.

Y/N got off on a slight reprimand from him, seeking guidance and his stern words fulfilling something deep in the pit of her gut. 

Y/N might have been crafted just for him, and he, just for her. 

Just the look on her face was enough to make him come on the sight, but she had done so well, he wanted to give her a little bit of a show. With each movement calculated, he lifted his shirt just enough for her to see his abdomen then grabbed the base of himself and stroked upwards, using the precum oozing from the tip as a lubricant for his hand. 

“Would you do me a favor, sweet girl?” He asked her, his eyes remaining fixed on her as he watched how her body reacted to his words and movements.

Eyebrows furrowed, she responded so sweetly and sincerely if his eyes were closed, he would have sworn there were droplets of honey dripping off her lips. “Yes,” she almost begged, “What can I do?”

Harry guided her head with his hand, gripping his fingers around the back of her head and lowering it so she was adjacent to the head of his cock. Eagerly, she thought he was going to let her wrap her lips around his so she moved her head a little closer, and when he realized what she thought he wanted from her. 

“No, baby, not yet. I just want you to spit on it for me, hm? Let me use your spit to work my cock?” He knew the words were filthy, and he knew it sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth, just a little so closely to the tip of his cock that her top lip just swept over it as the wetness from her mouth dripped down him. 

“Fuck, baby,” Harry guided her head back so that she was sitting directly in front of him with a perfect view of how his hand brought him to his own tipping point. 

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixated on hers as her gaze didn’t stutter from his hand. A little bit of drool leaked from her lip, but she quickly caught it, finally breaking her gaze from his hand and looking to see if he saw that. 

“Quite literally drooling over my cock, are you?” It fueled his ego, working his hand harder over himself as he realized what an effect he had on her. 

Finally, he was there, eyes locked on her and reaching his pinnacle. His own sweet spot washed over him, ripping a moan from his throat and filling the living room air. Silky whiteness spurted from the tip of his cock and onto his abdomen, and she had to stop herself from leaning down and tasting him. She just wanted to taste him, but how could she voice that? The combination of wanting to taste him, the way his face contorted with pleasure, and the sound of his deep-provocative moan that gathered in the back of his throat and then filled her ears worked her back into that sweet place with no stimulation from Harry or even herself. As he worked himself down from his own orgasm, guilt washed over her face and he couldn’t help but give her a lazy-half smile. “What?” He asked gently. 

“I think...” She shoved her face in her hands, the bashful person she was shining through what they had just done together, “I reached that spot again when you let that sound out. I just, I just felt so good.”

Eyes fluttering shut, he took in her words. “Baby, I’m so happy you felt so good. When was the last time you felt like that?”

Y/N just shakes her head, the words caught in her throat. “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like that with anyone else— even... even myself.”

He just smiled, glad that he was able to get her there, and then hooked his hand under the backside of her knee, pulling her close for a sweet and simple kiss compared to what they have just done. While his lips were still pressed against his, he spoke, “I think we should get cleaned up.” 

“I think so too,” Y/N smiled into the kiss, and Harry thought he would give up anything to stay like this with her forever. Talking with their lips pressed together, his hands all over her, and her hands all over him. 

“Would you mind taking a shower with me?” It sounded so intimate rolling off his tongue, but that’s what he wanted with her—intimacy.

“I would love that,” his heart leaped at the realization that she wanted the same things as him. 

____

“I’m a bit of a sore loser, baby, so please tell me you’re good at putt-putt,” Harry said as his hand grasped the steering wheel of the car. He was driving them to putt-putt golf with Mallory and Niall. Niall had decided he would take Mallory out to lunch before the other two joined them to get some one-on-one time together.

Y/N noticed a shift in their relationship after he had made her orgasm twice without doing much, and after she watched him tug away at his cock. She was more comfortable with him, more open to asking him questions, and Harry absolutely loved it. Just a few days ago, she asked him (without Harry having to work the question out of her) when she could taste him, and he told her, in the most gentle way possible, that he wanted to go slowly. He just wanted to make it special for her. 

At first, she was nervous to ask him when she could taste him, not quite sure how she could voice the question, but as a few days passed, she realized that there was never any judgment or harshness in Harry’s tone.

“Well, I’m not very good at putt-putt. And maybe I’d like to see you a little pouty,” she reasoned with him. She always felt like she was the pouty one, maybe it would be a nice change of pace to see him pouting for once. 

“Y/N, you know I could never be pouty around you. You make me too happy.” Harry explained, taking one hand off the steering wheel and linking their fingers together, and bringing her hand to his lap.

Y/N decided she was just going to enjoy the drive, and the simplicity that was her, Harry, Niall, and Mallory enjoying their afternoon together.

As it turns out, Y/N was really good at putt-putt, though she had never played before in her life. Niall and Harry got to talking about how they both liked playing real golf and made plans to go out some weekends together. It made Y/N’s heart turn, just a little to see her best friend getting along with Harry so well. They seemed like they were really hitting off (and not to Y/N’s surprise at all, she knew this would happen, Niall and Mallory were very much enjoying the company of one another). By the end of the night, they were sharing drinks and then spent the night tucked into Harry’s chest.

Y/N was happy. Very happy. 

____

Y/N was not happy.

Harry’s friends were not as nice as he had explained them to be. Well, maybe it was just one friend that left a sour taste in her mouth and made her stomach fizzle with anger; possibly even jealousy.

The evening started off great. She wore a simple, yet elegant, midnight green dress, and Harry (as promised) wore that cream-colored satin shirt with midnight green slacks to match her accordingly. He ogled over her the minute she stepped out of his room wearing that green dress, looking as lovely as ever. 

When Harry was done swooning and gawking over her, he led her out to his car and began driving in the direction of his friend’s house. Y/N noted the beautiful scenery on the way to the house, and when Y/N finally commented on the scenic drive, Harry explained that his friend lived in a winery.

“On a winery?” Y/N questioned, making simple conversation as they drove up a windy road with a narrow pathway, barely able to fit two cars. “Is your friend a vintner?”

Harry nodded in response, throwing over the occasional glance as he drove, though it made Y/N nervous for him to take his eyes off the road ahead of them. She trusted him though and didn’t make any comments about how the drive was making her feel. Part of her didn’t want to say anything because she wasn’t sure if the drive was making her feel a little queasy or if it was the fact that she was going to a party latched onto Harry’s arms. She was about to meet his closest friends, and even though he said they were nice, she knew she would be under a degree of scrutiny. She was coming as his date, of course, they were going to look at her with cautious-watchful eyes, so they could reconvene later in the night and ask one another, what do ya think of Harry’s new girl?

Before Y/N even knew it, they were parked in a round-a-bout driveway, and Harry was helping her out of the car. She must have paled on the drive up, because when he took her hand in his, and lead her up the stairs of the beautiful home, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, pressing his lips against the lobe, “Feeling okay?”

A nod came from her in response, and before she could even respond verbally, the person who was lingering on the other side of the door quickly threw it open. A chill ran down Y/N’s spine as she thought of Harry’s lips against her ear. They hadn’t done anything from when they sat on the couch and Y/N came on his clothed cock. She had brought up how she wanted to taste him, but they haven’t had the chance to yet, and Harry had told her that he wanted to take things a little slow. She understood. How could she argue with that?

“Oh, come on in before you two get cold out there,” the man standing on the opposite side of the door said to them as he noted the chill that racked through Y/N’s body. It wasn’t the cold wind, though the wind was colder than it had been these past couple of Spring days. It was the thought of Harry’s lips against her ear, and when she looked over at Harry and saw the way his lips curved upward in a devilish grin, she knew exactly what his plan was. He did that on purpose, he was trying to work her up.

Like Harry told her, the man lived in a winery and before she even had the chance to learn his name (it was Mitch she found out a few minutes later), he was thrusting a glass of red wine in between her fingers. She took a couple sips, mumbling something about how it was sweet, and without hesitation, Harry leaned and whispered something naughty in her ear, causing heat to flood her face and between her legs, “I bet you taste sweet, baby.”

They mingled, and Y/N who normally felt overwhelmed in situations like these was actually doing alright. It might have been the way the wine was starting to flow through her veins, or how genuinely kind Harry’s friends actually were (not that she doubted him very much, but you never know), but she was actually enjoying her time.

Well, she was enjoying her time until Harry ruined it by whispering the filthiest things she’s ever heard into her ears. In fact, she was beginning to feel flustered, because she wasn’t sure her panties could handle another bout of wetness before it started dripping down her leg. Her dress only hit below her knee, so if it began running down her leg, people were bound to notice and she didn’t think she could handle the shame. 

So, she stood there, with her legs crossed, wine glass in her hand, and pouted. He could tell he got her there; to the point of frustration that she would burst at any second. Her responses to him were becoming short and pointed, bratty even. If there was one thing Harry could teach her, it was how not to be a brat. It was how to ask for what you wanted because all she had to do was say the words and he’d take her right into the bathroom and let her have that release.

When they had finally broken free from the conversation they were having with Mitch and… Well, Y/N actually didn’t grab the other person’s name because of the frustration filling her from head to toe, Harry grabbed her upper arm gently and pulled her so close to him that her chest was pressed against his, “Won’t you tell me why you’re acting like a brat?”

Disappointment donned her features. Was she acting like a brat as he said? If so, she really didn’t mean to, she just couldn’t help it. The words fumbled from her mouth quickly as she straightened her back just a little bit so that her body language didn’t look so dejected, “Sorry. I don’t mean to act like a brat.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” he stated and the sternness in his voice made her core ache even more than it already was, “I asked for you to tell me why.”

She gave in to his request, hoping that if she told him why she was acting like a brat, he would tell her what a good girl she was for listening. “I’m so wet, Harry.”

His cock throbbed against his slacks, and he murmured softly against her neck, pressing a soft kiss just under her ear, “So instead of acting like a brat, what should you have done?”

“I should have told you what was bothering me,” she guessed, not quite sure what the actual answer was, but it seemed good enough for him because his response was exactly what she was begging for.

“Good girl,” he pulled away from her, resting his fingers just under her chin, and hummed out, “Now should I take care of you?”

She only nodded.

____

The bathroom of the house was big enough to fit them both in there and when Harry sat her on top of the bathroom counter and hiked her dress out, he grumbled out a “Fuck, Y/N.”

She wasn’t being dramatic when she said she was so wet. If he kept her out there for five more minutes, she would have dripped down her leg, and Harry doesn’t know what it says about him the fact that that turns him on so greatly. For his friends to see just how much of a reaction she has to him. How his words can get her mewling and thrashing and moaning.

Quickly, he tugged her panties off and shoved them into his pocket. She was still up on the counter, watching his movements with lust-filled eyes, and leaking onto his wrist that he had pressed against her center. His hand was gripping the counter, the inside of his wrist pressing against her and when he moved, even slightly, she would let out small, sharp gasps. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” she responded, and that was all he needed before he began working her to that special spot. His fingers, covered in rings, slipped inside her slowly, so slowly it was agonizing. He didn’t need her to lick his fingers, offering that extra lubricant because she was so wet that she was soaking the counter. He flicked his fingers upward, hitting that soft spot inside her, and when he finally found it, her eyes widened, as she had never been stimulated there before. It only took a few motions in and out of her, before her walls began squeezing around his fingers. Right before she was about to come, about to hit the peak of her orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of her.

Eyebrows furrowed, she questioned his actions, “Why did you do that?”

“I’m not ready for you to orgasm just yet,” he said softly, his green eyes glimmering with want and need.

“Please?” She asked, “I-I need it!” 

Normally, she would feel embarrassed by her begging, but right now she didn’t have it in her to feel embarrassed. The only thing she had in her was that she wanted that orgasm to encompass her, sending her body to that place she went when she was rutting against her thigh.

She was so beautiful and so lovely that he couldn’t deny her of that, and he knew it, so he slipped his fingers back into her with careful precision and stimulated that soft spot inside her once more. She let out soft moans filled with nothing but desire, and she squeezed around his fingers once more before letting her orgasm rip through her. He worked her down with his fingers, and when she looked up at him with a sleepy gaze, he knew she was feeling much better; the frustration completely obliterated from his body.

Although, when he brought his fingers, covered in her wetness to his lips, licked it off with his tongue, and said, “I was right. You do taste sweet,” she thinks she could have gone again.

Harry helped her get her panties back on, and hop off the counter of the bathroom, promising that when they got home he was going to help her shower the stickiness from in between her thighs and take good care of her. She knew she was safe with him, and it was possibly one of her favorite feelings in the entire world.

“Why don’t you go back out there, love? I’ll clean up here and be right out.” He bargained with her, and she followed his instructions because it probably wouldn’t look too good if the both of them slipped from the bathroom at the same time.

Harry’s plan was to clean up, but he had to relieve himself somehow too.

____

Y/N’s eyes searched the room, and she found the girl she was chatting with earlier— Colette was her name, she finally remembered and blamed the sexual frustration on her jumbled brain and her post-orgasmic state on her clarity over Colette’s name.

Across the room, Colette sat with a few other girls, and Y/N thought that the best thing to do while Harry was cleaning up in the bathroom was to make her way over there and hop in the conversation, so that is exactly what she did.

She sat directly next to Colette, and jumped into their conversation a few times, adding a few things here and there to keep herself present in the conversation. It wasn’t until Harry finally slipped from the bathroom, signaling that he was going to get them a drink that she felt a sense of relief.

One of the girls next to Colette’s eyes followed Y/N’s to Harry and when she saw what Y/N was looking at she interjected with a, “Don’t even bother with him. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not the relationship type. He only fucks, but nothing else. Trust me, I’ve tried. Also, the rumor is that he brought a girl with him this time around, and good luck to her, because she doesn’t know what she’s in for.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open in pure shock, and Colette’s face whitened as she grasped Y/N’s hand, “Emma!” Colette said in a harsh whisper, “Why would you say that?”

Colette helped Y/N up, and Y/N couldn’t even feel mad at the girl— Emma, she guessed— because it was not like she knew that Y/N was the girl Harry brought along with him tonight. Her stomach dropped, feeling icky and displaced as she walked alongside Colette and toward the kitchen where Harry was striking up a conversation with someone, two cans of some liquid Y/N couldn’t quite pinpoint in the palm of one of his hands— his big, big hands.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s just cross because Harry only wanted to be friends with benefits with her. That is not how he is with every girl, I hope you know that,” Colette whispered, guiding her by the small of her back toward Harry.

Did Y/N know that? She didn’t think she did. 

What if that is what Harry wanted from her? What if he felt nothing for her at all? What if she was merely a conquest for him?

Y/N decided not to say anything about what Emma said to her as Y/N and Colette entered the conversation Harry was currently participating in. 

Harry rested one of the drinks on the counter and popped open the other with his fingers, handing it to her, then pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Was that a good sign?

For the first time since she began studying with Harry, Y/N felt stupid again.

____

Harry was completely oblivious to the internal turmoil Y/N was facing, but how could he have known when she slipped on a mask so well? 

After he had finished up in the bathroom, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Y/N was the only thing that occupied his mind. He filled her thoughts, her scent infiltrated his apartment, and her smile when she walked into his class was the thing that kept him going on days when he was more tired than he should have been.

He thought he made it so obvious how much he cared for her. There was no way she didn’t know how special she was to him.

Y/N, he thinks, was perfect for him. And he was perfect for her.

TAG LIST: @skysladylazarus @sunshinemoonsposts @shamelessfangirl-3 @lovelyharry @tenaciousperfectionunknown @winterrays @kiwilikesmeow @cherieshine @harryssky1 @allannahdaisy @cthwildflwr @grapejuicebluesrry @ppleasingg @ronanthesimp @awwshucks13 @libbyhermione @matildasatellite

(If you wanted to be added or taken off please let me know)

[starry-hughes]

gingerbread house (mat barzal)

day 3 of star’s ficmas event!

mat barzal x teacher!gf

“What is this all for?” Mat questioned, shoving a piece of gingerbread into his mouth. “Mathew!” you scolded your boyfriend. “What?” he asked as crumbs fell from his mouth. “I’m building a gingerbread house for my classroom, stop eating my roof!” 

He grinned, grabbing the frosting bag and squeezing some onto his finger. “Are the kids decorating their own gingerbread houses?” he questioned. “I didn’t have it in my budget to buy some for the whole class, and I wanted to get some other things for my students who don’t want to decorate gingerbread houses or don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

Mat frowned, “You know I would happily get all the stuff for you guys.” Mat truly cared for your students, he knew all their names and had done a lot for the kids in your class. You shrugged, continuing to place gumdrops onto your gingerbread house. “You really don’t have to Mat, they have plenty to do for the holiday party.” 

Mat pulled up a chair next to you and attempted to help you with decorating the gingerbread house. Soon after, you ended up sitting in his lap, Mat’s hands on your waist as you giggled whenever he would give you a squeeze, just to distract you a little. 

It was a pretty gingerbread house at the end, despite Mat eating a gumdrop off the pathway portion. “I gotta go shower and grade some spelling tests,” you kissed Mat softly. He nodded, “‘m gonna run down to the gym, pick up some dinner for us too.” 

Mat didn’t go to the gym though, he raided the shelves of the nearby store, buying any gingerbread houses he could find, extra sprinkles, frosting, food dye, anything to make sure he could include all your students. Mat didn’t bat at eye at the price of his slightly over-the-board shopping trip. 

By the time he got home, he hid the shopping bags in his extra hockey bag, somewhere you’d never look. You were grading tests at the dinner table. “How was the gym?” you smiled as he placed down some take out food on the table. “It was productive.” 

The next morning, you were dressed festively, it was your class holiday party and you were extra excited. “Mat honey, I’m going to school early, have a good practice,” you kissed his cheek as you got up to leave. “Love you,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Love you too.” 

You carefully got your gingerbread house to school and began setting up the winter wonderland in your classroom. Mat timed it just right, he knew every morning you would leave fifteen minutes before the first bell to stop by the library to greet the librarian and then pick up your students from morning care. 

He walked into the office, flashing a smile at the secretary. “Oh, Mat, (Y/N) didn’t let us know you were coming, let me call her,” the school secretary said. “Oh no! It’s a surprise, just some extra goodies for her class party.” 

He got into your classroom swiftly and began unloading all the things he bought on your reading center table. He worked quickly and couldn’t stop smiling as he felt like Santa in the moment. Mat heard you outside your classroom, instructing the students to hang their coats up and gentle reminders about behavior for the holiday party and festivities. 

“Mat!” you jumped, a little surprised. “Hi Mr. Mat,” your students greeted as they entered and went to their desks. Your eyes landed on the table and all the new items there, the gingerbread house kits, enough for everyone. “Mat,” you cooed, you felt yourself falling in love all over again with Mat. 

“Just thought you needed some extra things.” 

The students had a blast, Mat stayed the whole day, decorating gingerbread houses with your students and talking about your own gingerbread house the two of you decorated last night. You let one of your students turn on the light for another menorah candle. At the end of the short halfday for your students, you sent them all home with goodie bags and well wishes for the winter break. 

Mat helped you clean up, and by clean up, he was eating the leftover sweets and snacks. “Mathew,” you said gently as he tied up another trash bag. “Yeah?” 

“Thank you, you really made the holidays special for them.”

[inexplicifics]

Hi im a fashion designer/fabric artist (in training) and I have Many Ideas about witcher fashion via monsters!

Some background — as witcher lands become bigger, and trade becomes bigger, and witchers travel in packs — well monster parts become easier to carry, right? It starts with the ichor black dyeing — the laundresses start to wear the clothes and they occasionally travel, and they have extra fabrics so it sells on occasion too, but because 1) rarity and 2) Witcher, it becomes a status thing to own ichor black clothing and a way to try and be in favor of the witchers (“see? We wear your clothing we Totally Support You” whether thats true or not is up to the court the clothing is in). And then the dyeing laundresses start to do different fabrics too (like silk), to sell for even more money. This gives them the thought to ask for monster skin to be turned to leather. Or griffin feathers/skin. Or just their Outsides in general to see what can be sold, dyed, or both.

And Triss is a bit of a perfectionist, and she’s a researcher, so sometimes the boys will bring her back parts she wants to make sure they cant be used or cant be used in a better way — and well beetle wings and feathers are good in fashion so I wouldnt be surprised if Milena saw the monster leather, feathers, etc, and saw Triss discarding various bones and claws and something clicked.

So my list of fashion choices in Kaer Morhen that eventually travels out comes down to two big items seen in almost every culture on earth:

• dyed cloth (ichor black in this case)

• and (monster) remains such as hide for leathers, furs, feathers, scales, and bones for adornments or accessories

Any monster you look at can be categorized in this, for the most part. Some monsters have special items, like vampire fangs, and I could see warg feet being like rabbits feet, a sign of good fortune or ward against evil.

Cultures like what they cant have and is seen as rare, so Ciri walking into court on Progress having a diadem or tiara made of vampire teeth, her ichor black dress studded with silver and bone, embroidered with wyvern scales, griffin feathers in her hair and the ends of her dress, and warg fur around her collar and ends of her sleeves (or any combination thereof) — she’d be a picture of Rich and Powerful.

And with how sharp Milena is (pun intended) i could see her very quickly realizing how Witcher court would have a very specific style (the same way people say something is very French or “that outfit is very Redanian Noble”) because thats the power of world building!!! Different places have different resources and that reflects in fashion!!

Thank you for listening to me ramble I love fashion, historical fashion, and fantasy fashion so this really tickled me!

This is marvelous; it adds so much depth and knowledge to the world-building! Thank you!

[pluto-supremacy]

Vi Headcanons: dating f!reader at Stillwater

➼ Yes I am breaking my rule of no f!reader because I wanted to write for Vi so bad. So I'm gonna set a new precedent now: I'll write f!reader IF it is a wlw fic/headcanons/whatever. Though this is more of just a lil treat since the brainrot is rotting

➼ Might end up turning this into a full fic, if you want that let me know! (It did! Here's part two)

➼ No beta we die like Sky

➼ Warnings: None!

GIF does not belong to me! All credits to the owner

Whenever there is free time, Vi is at your side. You two usually find some corner away from the others to try and get away, pretend you two can have a moment to yourselves

She's always giving you her food, you don't even need to ask. She'll happily let you pick at her plate if you're still hungry or you haven't eaten in a while due to lockdown

You're lucky enough to only be two cells away from each other, you two often get in trouble for talking during lights out

If you're ever in trouble, Vi takes the beatings for you. She can and has thrown herself between you and a guard and is not afraid to do it again

Same obviously goes for inmates

"If you want to keep your tongue in your mouth, I suggest you leave her alone"

Though not many inmates mess with you considering your personal body guard of a girlfriend

If you're ever thrown into solitary, Vi goes crazy. Getting into more fights than usual, refusing food, even trying to break into solitary to be with you

If you want, she gives you both matching tattoos there with whatever device she can get her hands on. She lets you pick out the design and the placement

Anytime she gets clean clothes, bandages, and hygiene supplies (all of which are of course a rarity there), she uses them/gives them to you first. Bandages up any new cuts of yours or changes your dirty ones, gives you her new toothbrush and toothpaste, and so on. You'll have to fight her on at least sharing some of the items, like the new tube of toothpaste. She just wants to make sure you're taken care of

"Just scored a new hairbrush. Go ahead and take it, bun. Need to keep your hair brushed so I can play with it, yeah?"

Vi cuts your hair for you there and takes it super seriously. She's not gonna let you walk around with a shitty haircut

Though she did fuck it up once (or a few times, but they were smaller mistakes that were easy to hide)

To make up for that godawful haircut she gave herself a bad one too. It's just hair, after all, it grows back

She'll stand guard while you're showering. Make sure no one's gaze is lingering around on you. Also lets you shower first so if there is any hot water you'll get it

Vi is a portable bed for you. Whenever you're together and you want to rest, she'll try to find a quieter place and let you rest your head on her shoulder/in her lap. She plays with your hair while you're sleeping and checks your pulse every now and then. Just to make sure you're still there with her

Whenever you get sick there, she will make the biggest fuss to get you to medical. If that isn't an option Vi does her best to take care of you with the limited resources you both have

"Snuck a bit of that honey from breakfast. Try and cover your throat in that and don't worry about talking, okay Y/N?"

During bunk inspections, if you have any contraband, Vi takes it and hides it in her cell. She rarely ever gets caught with it, but she'd rather take the punches than have you on the receiving end of them

On the flipside Vi trades a lot of her own contraband to get things for you. Things like snacks, jewelry, hair dye, better clothes, anything other inmates have that you might want

Though if trading for those doesn't work, she will straight up steal them for you

When Caitlyn comes to release her for help with tracking down the stolen gemstone, she throws in a condition. An obvious one

"You're getting Y/N out too. That or you can try to find Silco on your own. Undercity is going to eat you alive without me"

And that's how you and your lover finally escape Stillwater

[evenmoreofadisaster]

Click here for the link to the chapter :)

Edit: I’d hold off on reading this chapter until the issue with ao3 is resolved (´∀｀)

Edit 2: I've posted a copy of the fic under the cut, for those who still want to read it :)

The Fast and the Furriest

Running errands with Splinter was definitely not what One had planned for the day. Yet, somehow, the rat had managed to abduct One to a dirty place called ‘Walmart’ across the city, which had to be the farthest possible route to a grocery store EVER. As if the surprise journey wasn’t horrifying enough, One was practically forced to witness Splinter squeeze into skin-tight jeans and an ugly tie-dye shirt too snug for the fat around his tummy. The only way One could avoid the displeasing sight was to turn around and put on a disguise of his own. 

Unlike Splinter’s bold choice of wardrobe, the rat had brought a loose hoodie for One to wear, blue and way too bright to be an effective disguise. 

The long and unpleasant trip took half of the day, at least. One was stealthy enough to smuggle every item on Splinter’s prolonged list without getting caught by security, but the rodent didn’t seem to care. If One didn’t know any better, he’d think the unwarranted detour was Splinter’s annoying way of genuinely trying to spend time with him. But the slider is far too clever to be fooled by the rat’s fake pleasantries. 

By the time One returns to the lair, both of his arms are burdened from wrist to shoulder with the majority of his and Splinter’s “purchases”. The rat himself carries a single bag into the kitchen. 

“Boys!” the rodent calls as he places the items carefully onto the counter. One follows Splinter into the room and drops the remaining plastic bags next to the essentials. 

“What’s this?” Two’s voice pierces through the near-silent air. When he looks up, One catches his brother’s scrutinizing eye from the entryway, where the living room blends into the kitchen. One matches his twin’s glare with a steady look that reflects the slider’s incredible tolerance for his brother’s temper. 

The stare-off is promptly disrupted when the orange one walks in between them on his way to the counter. “Oh, sweet!” The younger turtle exclaims as he begins taking the grocery items out of the ripped bags. “You got stuff for dinner.” 

Splinter helps with putting the items in their proper place. “Yes, Blue is a natural at… acquiring our necessities.”

One breaks eye contact with Two and forces a prideful smirk towards the rat and his “son”, ignoring the small portion of his ego that triumphs over the compliment. “Yeah, did you know you can get onions for free if you just take them without paying?”

“Aw, that’s great,” Orange coos. 

Two scoffs from the other end of the kitchen as he trots inside. “Spirits, I wonder why that could be,” he declares, then grabs One tightly by the arm, “— and sidebar,” the softshell mutters and pulls One aside.  

“Hey— what?” One protests. 

“What are you doing?” Two hisses. “We have a mission.”

“Hey, Raph. Catch!” Mikey shouts. One looks up, watching the orange-clad turtle toss a jar towards his older brother as Red joins him in the kitchen. 

“Woah!” The snapping turtle just barely catches the jar as it’s thrown. Just past him, the rat faces away from the boys to put some cereal away, one ear swiveled in One and Two’s direction.

One’s brows pull together tightly as he looks back at his brother, yanking his arm free to snatch Two roughly by the collar and drag him further out of earshot. If this conversation is going where One thinks it’s going, it would be much better to talk about it in the tunnels. 

“Yeah, I know,” One retorts. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Two squirms. “Frankly? Slacking,” he bites back. One drops his brother when he feels they’re far enough to not be overheard. 

Two whirls around. “Aren't you supposed to be a leader?”

“We’ve been over this,” One groans in mild annoyance. “I'm just buttering them up,” he explains. Honestly, it feels like he’s done so a hundred times. “Everything's under control.”

“It’s been weeks,” Two argues, “and we have made no discernible progress.”

“Trust me, it's all part of the plan.”

One notices the way Two’s jaw tightens in response to his excuse. One knows his brother well enough to know when he’s about to blow. “What plan?” Two snarls. “There is no plan, I don't see a plan!” Two throws his arm out, voice rising with his large gesture. “What is that over there I wonder?! NOT A PLAN!”

“Keep your voice down,” One hisses. 

“I’m not going back empty handed.”

One pauses and regards his brother for a moment, noticing his clenched fists, bared teeth, and the sharp glint in his eye. The slider counters Two’s posture, leaning back and crossing his arms coolly.

“Why are you upset?” he asks flatly. 

Two bites his cheek. “I’m not upset,” he counters. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Not taking this seriously?” One scoffs, rolling his eyes.  “Okay, you’re not in charge. I am.”

“I am simply thinking about the mission,” Two argues. “To be successful, we need–”

One cuts him off. “That’s not your job. Your job is to follow orders,” he reminds his brother blatantly, flicking him in the forehead. Two flinches back with a hiss, but One doesn’t quit there. He steps forward and jabs a finger into Two’s plastron. “When you question me, you question Dad,” he continues without missing a beat, locking his brother in a firm gaze to make sure that he receives the final part of the message, loud and clear. 

“Remember your place.”

Two’s shoulders stiffen, eyes flashing furiously but he doesn't argue. 

One backs off with a stiff sigh. Really, what does Two have to worry about? All his brother needs to do is relax and let him do his thing! But One could see that Two is having a hard time accepting that. Again. His brother is smart, but sometimes he thinks too much. 

The slider plants a hand on his hip and leans his weight on the same foot as he looks out of the tunnel, watching the Hamato family with disdain. If he could move this along faster, he would. But he needs to be careful. ‘Cause one wrong move could blow his cover and then what would he do? Start over? The likelihood of ever getting close to the Hamatos again is second to none. Especially since two of them are already suspicious of him. 

He needs to change that.

One’s keen eye zeroes in on the rat, who is the more obvious threat to his plan. These past few days, the slider has noticed Splinter’s “subtle” ways of diverting One’s attention whenever he’s about to make a move. Which makes it almost impossible for him to do anything without getting caught— which is frustrating. And the lingering mass of questions surrounding the rat is just one more reason why he needs to be dealt with. And quickly. Before he ruins everything. 

“We’ll get them,” One tells his brother, though his eyes don’t drift from Splinter. “Just play along until then.”

He can’t see Two’s face from where he’s standing, focused on the rat, but One can practically feel the tension emanating from his twin’s scales. He’s not as reassured as One would like him to be, but he knows that his brother won’t step too far out of line. And that’s good enough for now. 

The rest of the evening was smooth-sailing. In other words, boring. One had taken his difficult brother back to the group, where they were preparing for dinner. As One observed them, he decided that the best time to take care of the rat is when everyone is asleep. But first, he’d need to know what he’s getting into— or rather who he’s trying to take down. Always know your enemy.

The slider winds skillfully through the dark tunnels as he hunts for the rat’s dwelling several hours later. He had made sure to note everyone’s whereabouts beforehand so he could snoop around. He discovered Raph and Mikey to be asleep in their rooms. Splinter was on the sofa. 

It takes longer than expected, but One finally makes it to the two sliding doors. The shadows peek through a narrow slit between the doors, inviting the slider into the cryptic rat’s bedroom. 

A sour expression twists One’s face when his enhanced lenses adjust to the darkness. The slider looks around the absolute mess of a room in exasperation. 

How the hell am I supposed to find anything with all this junk?!

One’s claws twitch impatiently at his side as he debates moving forward. But with a lot of mental effort, he proceeds.

 “Eugh,” One groans in disgust when stepping by a rotting pizza box. 

As he explores the dump, One finds a modest cabinet flush against the wall to his left. There’s a sign, sloppily made, taped to one of the shelves, reading: DO NOT TOUCH. Which can only mean there’s something in there that Splinter doesn’t want anybody to see. In other words, I am going to touch everything on that shelf.  

One leaps silently over to the cabinet and rustles through the shelves, looking for something— anything that will give him a sliver of information about who Splinter could be. But after digging through the collection of items… he finds nothing. 

A terse growl erupts from the back of One’s throat. There’s nothing. Nothing. Just more junk. 

One’s hands jump to the next shelf just when something clatters to the floor, snapping his attention to the ground. He tilts his head in interest as his lenses focus on the artifact. One bends down and picks up the round object, too big to be a coin. A medal, maybe? One’s thumb brushes the surface of the object before turning it over. 

Engraved in the center of the stone is the Hidden City’s symbol. One raises an eyebrow. This is a gateway into the city. A key, they call it. The people who carry these are typically active or retired criminals. Usually thieves and smugglers, who like to pass freely in and between the Yokai and Human realms. People who have challenged the law before and aren’t afraid to risk crossing the line again. Or, even worse, the people who are paid to do it— like bounty hunters or agents of the council, who like to zap in wherever they like and snatch their victims. The slider’s brows pull together tight. If there’s one thing One detests, it's the thick-skulled thugs the government throws money at to get its self-righteous shady shit done. 

So why would the rat have a key?

One’s fist tightens around the stone. This isn’t enough. This isn’t an answer, this is just another question. He’s just going around in circles that keep spiraling deeper and darker. Who is this rat? Who does he work for? What does he want? What does he want with them? One’s claws cut into his gloves and through his skin, drawing a thin layer of blood. I don’t need more questions, I need answers. 

A dull scrape cuts One’s ears and he’s blinded by light suddenly pouring into his peripheral vision. One jumps and knocks his elbow into the shelf, then spins around quickly. The contacts quickly adjust to the brightened lighting but his nictitating membrane stays closed protectively over his eyes. The curtains open, revealing a stout shadow in the doorway. 

 “Blue.”

Splinter stands where the light bleeds into the dark of the room. One’s eyes narrow in the rat’s direction as he silently puts the key back on the shelf. 

There’s a pause. “Come with me,” Splinter says. The muscles in One’s shoulders tighten. He releases his claws from their curled fists, eyeing the rat cautiously, searching for tells. But regardless of whether or not the rat has caught onto his snooping, One steps forward and lets the old man take him wherever he wants to go.

They both stay silent as they walk. One eyes the rat, mind lingering on the key. The very same kind he saw frequently as a child, when he and his family were on the run.

There are too many unknown variables. No innocent bystander would have a key like that. But at this rate, digging up the doubtless piles of dirt on the rat will take longer than One can afford. He needs to get rid of the rat before he stops his friendly charade and becomes a threat. Besides, they can’t have any loose ends scurrying around the sewers when One finally puts this game to an end. 

One follows Splinter willingly into the garage, and checks over his shoulder to make sure that the door closes behind them. The slider keeps about three paces behind his target, watching his every move and waiting for the right moment to strike. The garage is isolated and sound proof. Two had transformed the neglected but generous space into the perfect place to work without grating One’s eardrums or burning his scales while he slept. It’s also the perfect place to exterminate a victim. He should thank his brother for his convenient engineering later.

One watches Splinter whip out Two’s keys to the tank. One remembers his brother telling him how he had just finished working on it, but needed a chance to test it out before they could use it. Personally, the whole tank idea seemed pretty useless, since One can just open up mystic portals to go wherever whenever he feels like it. Well, almost. Frustratingly enough, his weapon’s magic can only carry him so far before his heart either falters or gives out.

Before One can close in on his target, Splinter jumps up on the vehicle, using the side mirror as a foothold to reach the roof of the tank. The corner of One’s lip twitches upward in annoyance. He needs to be quicker. 

One joins Splinter on the roof of the car just as the rat finishes opening the top hatch. Splinter drops inside by the time One has the opportunity to make another move. The slider huffs, but jumps in after him. 

Okay, there’s literally nowhere to run, One thinks as he rises to his full height in the tank’s central control bay. The slider doesn’t waste another second after he stands before he leaps forward and swipes his sharp claws at the back of Splinter’s head. 

But Splinter jumps into the driver's seat impossibly quick, dodging One’s attack effortlessly. The hard-hitting miss makes One stumble forward. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, but quickly regains his footing and swipes at Splinter again, who ducks just in time to put the keys in the ignition. 

One misses— again— but he catches himself against the wall of the tank. His jaw is tight as he glares down at Splinter, who’s preoccupied with starting the vehicle. As the rat sits up, One leans off the wall and waits impatiently for Splinter to settle before going in for another attack. 

As he moves, Splinter punches him in the stomach with his tail and sends One crashing into the passenger's seat. “Ugh!” One grunts, then stubbornly climbs out of the seat as Splinter slams his foot on the gas pedal and speeds out of the garage. One flies into the rounded and sealed back hatch. 

Now in a heap on the floor, the slider gruffly and unhelpfully recalls the lecture he gave Two about how they absolutely don’t need a tank, but Two was still riding the high of his looting expedition and insisted it would come in handy. One’s current ordeal would be a great counterpoint to his brother’s outlandish claim. 

As if this assassination couldn’t have gone worse, the rat decides to butcher One’s eardrums by blaring ‘80s music on max volume. While the rodent speeds the two of them onto the streets of New York City, One scrambles to the front of the tank, but slides and crashes into the wall when Splinter makes a sharp turn. 

“What the hell?!” One cries over the ear-grating music. 

“Buckle up!” Splinter shouts, though One has a hard time hearing his orders. 

“What?!” he yells. 

The tank comes to a quick stop at a red light and Splinter grabs him roughly by the belt and forces him into a seat, buckling him up tightly in one fluid motion. As the stoplight flashes green and the traffic clears, One watches in horror as the old rat flips neon orange, ‘80’s style shades over his beady eyes and floors it. One swallows a scream as the sudden acceleration crushes him into the seat.

“Woohoo! Isn’t this fun?!” Splinter exclaims, then sends the tank flying into a 360° spin on the surprisingly open road.  

One grips the edge of his seat tight, claws tearing through the leather as if it were paper. When they continue on a straight path, the slider quickly unbuckles himself and slams his fist into the radio. The music cuts off sharply with a dying warble and soon the only thing filling the tense silence is One’s heavy breathing. 

“What is wrong with you?” One snarls. 

“Wh— rude. Didn't your alchemist teach you a good music taste?” Splinter retorts, making One pause and stare at the rat. 

“What?”

One doesn’t recall ever mentioning Draxum in the rat’s presence. He’s made every conscious effort not to, in case Splinter turned out to be one of those bounty hunters or some shit, always after his dad’s ass. Which One thinks he could be, despite his unassuming… everything.  

“Sit down!” Splinter orders before hitting the curb. 

The tank bounces, knocking One back into his seat, though the slider doesn’t take his prying eyes off the rat. “How do you know about Draxum?”

Splinter’s ear twitches, muscles going stiff. “Uh—! Who doesn't know about Draxum, really.”

In any other circumstance, One might’ve brushed right past Splinter’s awkward defense. Because, really, it’s true. Draxum’s wanted posters used to be plastered all across the Hidden City. He and Two even gifted their father a framed copy for his birthday after they noticed their dwindling numbers. But literally everything else about that statement— the way Splinter said it, the way he avoids glancing in One’s general direction— makes One call bullshit. He’s hiding something. 

One leans over the armchair, and narrows his eyes. “Who are you?”

Tell me, you old rat. I need to know. I need to know if you’re a threat to my mission. I need to know that my brother is safe.  

From where he’s sitting, One thinks he can see sweat glistening under the rodent’s fur, but Splinter doesn’t give him a good chance to wonder if that’s because he’s nervous or because of his reckless driving. 

“I am about to take a right,” is One’s only warning before Splinter suddenly swerves in that direction. 

One is thrown to the left, but catches himself on the other armrest with a grunt.

Splinter erupts into a fit of laughter and One feels his jaw tighten. “Oh, Blue! You are a riot, aren’t you?” 

The slider whips his head around and snaps fiercely, totally unamused. “Okay, what’s the point of this?! Just tell me what I want to know!”

Splinter doesn’t seem to have noticed his little outburst as his laughter still echoes obnoxiously   off of the tank’s walls. “Oh, uh. Yes. What do you want to know?” 

“Who are you?” One presses again. “What do you want with us?”

“Want with you?”

“You have two genetically mutated experiments living in that dump you call a home and you have a key to the hidden city. Why?” He demands. 

“Oh, that old thing?” Splinter pauses as he breaks at another stoplight. “Uh… I think it’s broken. What do you want with that?”

One scoffs, but he forces his voice to relax into an even tone. “Broken?” he asks flatly. Yeah, right. 

The light turns green and Splinter continues down the road in a more calm manner. 

“Yes. I am not surprised,” Splinter smiles to himself. “I learnt very quickly that my boys are very rambunctious. I had my hands full with just the two of them.” He falters, “Although… sometimes I wonder if it may have been easier if I had all of you.”

One could never guess, for the life of him, why Splinter would think that. The very thought of growing up in the sewers with this weird family makes One sick to the stomach, so he doesn’t dwell on it too much. “Probably not.”

“You remind me of Orange,” Splinter says, catching One off-guard and making him cringe. The rat’s tired eyes soften on the road. “He would ask so many questions when he was much smaller. Still does.”

The accusation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but as much as One hates being compared to someone so small and inferior, he brushes off the jab for the sake of his mission. “Yeah? I guess it runs in the family.”

“Yes,” Splinter agrees after a moment. “I am glad you are back with our family.”

One falters. Our family. One’s stomach twists. Our family. Really, he should be thrilled that his plan is working so well, but the heavy sincerity in Splinter’s voice makes him worry that his plan is working a little too well. 

One scoffs and eyes the rat awkwardly. “Really?”

“Yes,” Splinter says simply. “You asked me before who I am. I am a father and you are my son. Even if you do not trust me, what I truly want is for you and your brother to know that you have a home with us. You are safe here.”

And One is so glad that the rat’s old eyes are fixed on the road, because he is having a very difficult time processing Splinter’s response. 

You have a home. You’re safe. 

There’s a very clear and obvious difference in the rat’s voice. There’s no more deflecting, no awkward shuffling around the truth. He’s being genuine. The thought churns the slider’s stomach.

Still, One’s suspicions aren’t so easily discarded. 

One watches Splinter for a long time before he asks, “Why am I here?”

“Oof…” Splinter winces and rubs the back of his neck. “That is… a loaded question.”

“I mean in the truck. Why did you bring me out here?” Why, if he poses no threat, did Splinter decide to drag him away from his temporary “home”, from his brother? If he’s supposed to feel safe, why isolate him?

Splinter raises an eyebrow. “Oh, can I not have a pleasant casual outing with my son?”

Oh. Well, that’s stupid. 

“That’s it?” One says flatly. He thinks back to the grocery trip earlier that day. “You wanted to ‘spend time’ with me?”

Just behind the shades, the rat’s expression turns depressing after the question, which makes One very uncomfortable for some reason. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Before One can answer, the tank comes to an abrupt stop, sending both One and Splinter forwards. 

“What? What happened?!” Splinter cries in distress, shifting the clutch around. 

One groans and pushes himself upright. “I have a pretty good idea,” he mumbles. Right as he says it, a robotic voice filters in through the speakers. 

“Shopping cart protocol activated,” the voice says. 

“Ugh, I don’t suppose you know how to fix this thing?” Splinter asks.

As One leans back, he watches Splinter rifle through the glove compartment. “No,” he replies blatantly. “Not really my domain.” 

Splinter pulls out a wrench. “Ah, then we will figure it out together.”

One doesn’t respond, but watches Splinter as he leaves the vehicle and walks around to the front, opening the hood to mess around with the engine underneath it. 

The slider thinks about his next move carefully. After some very clever detective work, One’s concluded that whatever sob story motivated the rat to adopt a couple stray turtles really doesn’t pose any kind of threat to his plan. In fact, a devoted father could become useful. 

It takes Splinter about ten seconds to realize One is still in the tank. “What are you still doing in there!?”

As lame as it may be, Splinter’s expecting him to help. Though he’d rather get his head shoved through a beehive, the slider decides to hop out and join the rat. For the sake of the mission. 

When he makes it to the front of the vehicle, One finds Splinter sticking his nose right into the engine. The slider raises a brow and peers into the interior of the hood, where Splinter is working and bashing the wrench into the tank’s engine. 

“I thought you were trying to fix this thing, not break it more,” One chimes in after a moment. 

“Yes,” Splinter says, smacking the engine again and rearing his hand back for another strike. “That is what I am doing!” 

One watches unhelpfully as Splinter continues to beat the tank’s engine into complacency. With unsurprisingly no luck, the tank remains immobile. 

“Well, well, well!” a low voice rumbles behind them. One spins around, eyes shooting up to greet their ugly guest. 

“Yeesh, that face isn’t hard to forget,” One mumbles as he immediately recognizes Experiment 00E1-Alpha 9, or as One remembers Raph referring to the sweaty pig as ‘Meat Sweats’, which he hates to admit is a much better name. 

“Oh, good! Could we catch a ride with you?” Splinter asks the large mutant. “This baby's done all she can for us,” he says mournfully as he pats the closed hood. 

Meat Sweats’s mouth twists into a smile. “But of course. I was just whipping up a meal, too. Perhaps you could join me.”

Splinter looks past him, at the food truck. “Oh, good! I was getting hungry,” he chuckles and willingly walks over to the food truck. One figures he’s probably unaware of the pig’s cannibalistic habits and the slider has no intention of warning him. 

His straying blue eyes drift up to Meat Sweats, whose crooked smile gives One goosebumps. One considers bailing… but a distant… familiar… angry voice rings down the street. Everyone looks up. 

“HEY!” 

One whips his head around, instantly spotting Two perched on the roof of a nearby building. He leaps down with Raph and Mikey beside him and advances with a burning gaze directed right at One.

One winces. Screw that. 

His brother’s wrath is a force to be reckoned with, and One has just spent much more energy than he was willing to expend handling the rat. Number Two is the very last thing he wants to deal with right now, and his brother’s furious march right towards him makes hopping into Meat Sweats’ murder van seem a lot more bearable. 

Apparently, Splinter has the same idea. “Uh-oh. That is our cue to get out of here!” he says quickly before jumping into the food truck. One turns without a word and follows Splinter inside, where he is already leaping into the front seat. 

“Blue, take the wheel!”

“Wait, what?!” Meat Sweats cries in protest after joining the pair inside. 

At the same time, One’s head swivels around. “What?”

“Go!” Splinter shouts, crouching to the floor and hitting the gas pedal with his front paws. Meat Sweats is thrown backwards as the truck launches forward. 

One grabs the back of the driver’s seat for balance, but as Splinter speeds up, the vehicle starts to swerve uncontrollably. One catches the wheel as he falls into the seat. The second he has a grip on the truck, and its direction in his firm control, his eyes light up like a kid with a new toy. He realizes now that he’s never driven a car before and it is thrilling. 

And, he’s pretty good at it. His turns are rough, but considering the speed they’re going and the fact that they haven’t crashed yet, One is pretty confident that he’s uncovered a hidden talent.

That is, until something rams into the truck's rear. 

One grunts as his upper body jerks forward. He steals a glance at the rearview mirror, and sees that his brother and his tank are right on his tail. Through the windshield, One catches Raphael yelling something to Two, who ignores him and slams another button on his console. A second after, three loud clangs reverberate in Meat Sweats’s truck, and One whips around to see three round dents hammered into the truck’s hull.

“Ohoho, so that’s how you wanna play it?” He taunts his brother in spirit right before he yanks the emergency brake and stops the truck completely. The two vehicles collide instantly, with the tank rear-ending the food truck. One faintly hears more shouting from the tank, which swerves but doesn’t stop. Though they’ve crashed, the tank’s strength and speed keeps both vehicles racing across Brooklyn Bridge. 

“My truck!” Meat Sweats wails.

“What are you doing?!” Splinter shouts over the sound of screeching rubber as One jumps out of his seat. 

The slider unsheathes his ōdachi weapon and draws a wide circle in the air, making a portal that he can step into and onto the roof of the truck so that Two can see him. 

“Is that the best you can do?!” One goads his brother, flashing his sharp canines in a toothy grin, which earns a muffled shriek of outrage from his brother.

“You pretentious, self-obsessed, WRITHING LITTLE MAGGOT!” Two barks loudly enough for One to hear. His brother’s next course of action is to pull a lever, which releases metal appendages that reach up and shoot at One.  

The slider veers out of the way and cuts effortlessly through the appendages. When the path is clear for him to cross, One leaps onto the hood of the tank and flourishes his ōdachi. He gives Two an obnoxious grin before stabbing his weapon through the metal, killing the engine. He tugs the sword free and swings it back in an arc to rest on his shoulder. As soon as he does, the portal he cut into the back of the truck blinks to life. 

As the tank sputters and dies, One steps back coolly into the portal that takes him into the truck so he can rejoin Splinter at the front. The slider smirks as he leans against the emergency break to unlock it. “Floor it,” he commands. 

Splinter cackles and pushes into the gas pedal. The food truck surges forwards as it regains its own speed. 

“Wait— argh!” Meat Sweats cries as he flies back through One’s portal and out on the road. Oops.

One and Splinter only get a few leagues further down the bridge before something suddenly thuds against the truck and pulls, sending it into a spin back towards the tank. 

“Hey!” Splinter shouts and One grunts, holding on tight.

When the truck finally stops, One has a clear view of the scene at the tank through the truck’s windshield.

Two stands on the smoking hood with a massive cannon aiming over his shoulder and into Meat Sweat’s face. The tank’s final appendage holds the larger mutant tightly in place as he cowers from the giant weapon. 

“Bring them to me.”

Meat Sweats raises his hands and One barely has the time to make an escape before two tentacles shoot at the truck and punch through its sides. They snatch up One and Splinter and pull them out, dropping them unceremoniously just outside of the tank. 

“Ow!” One hisses.

“Take the rotten lot,” the mutant sneers, although One catches beads of sweat rolling down his jaw. “I’ve had it with them.”

“Two!” Mikey cries behind the softshell. He flicks his kusari-fundo and One follows the trail of its cord behind him as the end unlatches from around the truck. He narrows his eyes.  

As he faces forwards, One sees his brother hold his position a moment longer before his shoulder twitches and he powers down his weapon.

“Get out of my sight,” he hisses and Meat Sweats scrambles back. He glares at Two then the rest of the group.

“Blasted turtles.” The mutant chef snorts and turns, retreating to his vehicle. “I’ll just get takeaway!”

They all listen to the sound of his tires screeching off into the city. After a brief pause, Two turns around.

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Two huffs. 

“Oh, really?” Mikey replies, unconvinced. 

“It was set to stun.” Two grumbles. “It would be idiotic to murder my own experiment.” 

“What?” Raph says. 

Two ignores the last statement and swivels his head around. His brother’s sharpened gaze falls on One and the fire in his eyes blazes. He snarls and steps down from the tank.

“YOU.”

One sighs and stands, but doesn’t have long before Two reaches him. 

“You’re DEAD!” Two lunges at his brother. One grunts as his shell hits the asphalt roughly. He fights Two off with a hiss, swatting at him and kicking. Two fights back with just as much fire, managing to grab One’s right arm and press his knee into his plastron. 

For the most part, One lets his brother push him down, generously allowing the softshell to beat him up a bit, since he’s down an arm. One waits patiently for the moment when Two’s grip lets up. As soon as that opportunity presents itself, One takes advantage and flips them around, swinging Two towards him and shifting out of the way just in time to shove him into the asphalt with a knee pressed into his back, careful to steer clear of the sharp spikes raised along the spine of Two’s shell. Two grunts.

One holds his brother down with one arm as he squirms. “Okay, you need to relax!”  

Two yelps and flails his arm. “You took my tech!” He barks. “It’s still in beta and you ruined it! How could you do that!?”

“It’s fine! It’ll survive a scratch or two.”

“It’ll take weeks to find a replacement!”

“You’ll find it.”

Two throws his elbow back and One has to dodge the sharp point of its armor. “What if you got your stupid arm blown off, idiot!” Two seethes.

One pushes back and Two gets a gentle face full of dirt. “Oho, you’re lecturing me about losing a limb?”

Two growls. “Don’t start–”

“Which one of us is the one who nearly died in that accident? Oh right, it was you.” One pokes at the folded fabric covering Two’s stub. “So don’t you dare scold me about my lack of self-preservation.”

Two shoves against One with a warning hiss. One hisses back. 

While the boys are busy with their squabble, Splinter walks by and takes a good look at the tank, which has stopped smoking. “Excellent job, Purple. This is a sweet ride.”

Both boys freeze. For a second One and Two stare incredulously at Splinter. When he looks at his brother, One sees Two’s eyes blown open wide, completely speechless. It’s an expression One hasn’t seen since Draxum last applauded Two’s skillset forever ago. One’s eyes jump back to Splinter, who is gazing approvingly at the tank.

What? That thing?  

One scoffs, muttering, “It’s not that great…” as he pushes off his brother, who’s still too stunned to comment.

“What was that? Is everyone okay?” Raph asks, joining them on the bridge.

Splinter faces his son. “Yes, we are okay,” he assures. 

Red glances uneasily at One before he looks at Splinter. “Okay… good.”

Mikey jumps up next to him, crouched low enough to rub his cheek on Splinter’s. “I’m glad you're okay, Dad,” he churs. Splinter smiles softly and pats his head. “Now, let’s go home!”

As everyone piles into the tank, One falls behind to watch what Splinter considers to be their family. He watches stiffly as Two opens the hood and excitedly shows Splinter what appears to be a backup engine. Something cold and greedy writhes restlessly under his scales. 

His thoughts are interrupted before he can dwell on them too much.

“One!” Raph calls. One shifts his gaze to the snapping turtle as he finishes ushering Mikey into the tank. “You comin’ brother?”

One adjusts his sword and climbs into the tank.

[gabessquishytum]

So I think I will turn that 70s music AU into it's own thing, but never fear! I will not leave anyone Goth Dreamless.

So two ideas about Goth Dream. The first one is that he's the local weirdo dad to Orpheus, a bright and friendly student. He's always wearing black on black with nail polish and hair so weird it'd put Robert Smith to shame. But he's known for being one of the kinder, more caring parents. He hand makes special treats for Orpheus's youth league football team. He organizes expansive birthday parties for his son's whole class and don't even get started on their Halloween party. He has the biggest house on the block and turns it into a veritable Halloween amusement park with giant skeletons and an elaborate haunted house. Doesn't help that he has real taxidermied bats hanging from his ceiling. All in all, while he's weird, he's a good father.

Robyn goes to the same school on scholarship and Hob works multiple jobs to keep Robyn in this posh private school. Him and Orpheus became fast friends when Orpheus invited him over while they waited for Hob to get off his second job. Unfortunately they forgot to mention that to Robyn's dad. Which led to Hob frantically calling his son, then showing up to Dream's house furious that Robyn forgot to mention his little excursion to a stranger's house. Fortunately Dream, in his black silk pyjama pants and well-worn and holey Bauhaus shirt, sufficiently charmed Hob enough to invite the two over for dinner. Then when the boys tired themselves out running around the property and fell asleep in Orpheus's room, Hob got to tire himself out on Dream's prick.

The second idea I had when browsing some memes and saw a Goth Girl Simp starter pack which is totally Hob. Not that he simps over Goth guys and gals specifically, just that he has a crush.

Dream is everything he isn't. He's tall, thin, and so fair it's almost like he's a fairy. He's effortlessly cool and mysterious, never deigning to speak more than a few words with most people. He's a regular at Hob's pub but doesn't do more than drink merlot alone in a corner booth. Occasionally he brings a date, but he's seen those relationships come and go. The last girl, Thessaly, got so mad at his lack of attention that she splashed her drink in his face and stormed out. Hob comped her drinks and Dream left shortly after paying for his wine.

Joanna laughs at the whole situation. In her experience, lots of people want a goth partner, but the magic fades when they take off their make-up and walk around and their pillows are stained with black hair dye. Hob is not deterred! He wants that stranger carnally. But how is he going to relate to him? The hardest album he has in his whole flat is a copy of Diva classics covered by some punk band. He didn't spend much time with the punks or metalheads in school and couldn't tell a Christan Death song from Sisters of Mercy. Jo laughs at him the entire way through as she helps him spike his hair and paint his nails.

Then comes show time. Dream comes in every day around 7:30-8. He comes around dressed to the Gothic nines with two glasses of red wine. He had Jo put some Stone Roses on the jukebox. He casually sits in the booth and tells him drinks are free if he cares to give a little of his time. Dream bursts out laughing. That horrid, donkey bray of a laugh deflates Hob's ego terribly. He gets up to leave, but Dream grabs his hand. He's never had someone try so hard to cater to his fashion sense. It's not needed as Dream had a crush on Hob, and well, a full night full of fucking wine drinking wasn't on anyone's to do list before tonight, but Hob can't complain!

🎸

I dearly, dearly love the idea of Hob simping for goth Dream in literally any scenario. It just brings me so much joy. Like, the image of Hob laying on the bed watching as Dream goes through the process of making himself up: litres of white foundation, powder, yards of black eyeliner in complex patterns, shining black lipstick, dozens of items of carefully selected silver jewellery, half a can of hairspray. Hob is obsessed with the entire process. And of course Dream is a lucky bastard who doesn't need to dye his hair, but can you imagine the day he finds his first greys? He's locking himself in the bathroom patching up every single spot of hair that isn't absolutely pitch black. Hob diligently helps and doesn't even complain about the fact that they'll never get the stains off the sink. He assures Dream that no, he won't have to shave it all off like Andrew Eldritch. It's fine, no one will even see which bits are dyed.

And Hob is just as much as a simp on the days where Dream’s hair is sticking out at all angles completely unstyled, and he's still in his pyjamas at 2pm. Hob still takes his job as Goth Boyfriend Appreciator very seriously, thanks very much. Arguably Dream is at his MOST goth when he's wearing Hob’s tracksuit down to the local tesco and having a silent battle with someone's grandmother over the last Danish pastry.

Also!! Goth dad Dream has captured my heart because!!!! Goth baby/child Orpheus!!!! In his little black outfits and spikey hair listening to Siouxsie and the banshees on Dream’s ancient ipod!!!! I am weak for it. And of course he's besties with Robyn, who has inherited his dad's love of Clannad and Fairport Convention. A match made in musical heaven, bless them <3

[crimeronan]

Would love so so much for you to elaborate on the happiest looks for the oc quartet and what took you by surprise about them and what you think each of them conveys/implies. Sol I'm seeing longer hair and more comfortable less exposing clothing, etc, but can you talk a little about what each of their happiest option looks means and how it took you by surprise and how it contrasts with the reality and why it would be them at their best? thank you!! if you do

oh this is so sweet 🥺 thank u for permission to infodump about my guys.....

reference images here!

i often joke that devin and i have the same gender feelings in opposite directions, which basically boil down to, "i know i'd be a lot happier with my body on prescription hormones, but i am Way too sick right now to give a fuck."

so like. a happier devin is one who's been on E for years and grown her hair out for just as long. i was taken by surprise by Just How Femme she was (...similar to me having some weird masc revelations doing the same exercise for my idealized self).

also was mildly surprised that her clothing remained exactly the same as in the main verse. i played around with all the other clothing options, but a black tank top + ratty pants + bare feet are all Quintessential Devin Items.

the very visible scarring is bc she's never cared if people see that her body is fucked up & i want that to be true in the happy timeline too.

ruby's surprised me in that i didn't have to change much at all to get her Idealized External Self. she's already pretty true to what brings her joy. in professional environments, her clothes are much more muted, but everything she's wearing could come out of her non-work wardrobe.

her hair is worn fluffy instead of in box braids because she would Love to dye her natural hair like this. however she does Not love the need to carve out time and motivation to maintain it every damn day for the rest of fucking eternity, so. box braids it is!

also important is that ruby isn't wearing anything practical. those sandals aren't safe for difficult hikes/on-your-feet labor. that skirt is a massive mound of fabric. that jewelry gets in the way, that shirt has no armoring or support, she hasn't prioritized pockets or a practical bag or hidden defense weapons or anything. this ruby is free of basically all of the responsibility and weight dragging her main timeline self down

sol's long hair surprised me -- she had long hair when she was much younger & she has not wanted to grow it out again for trauma reasons. but she likes it better long. so a long-haired sol is one who's overcome at least some of her trauma. her hair has been silver since birth but the white streaks signify that she's aging gracefully & older than she ever expected to become

as for her clothes, it's comfy athletic wear that she's wearing for the sake of mobility and comfort. (with the red-and-black shoes to sneak in a little of her murder aesthetic.) in the main timeline, she'd SAY that she dresses for herself, but the amount of sharp & tailored & restrictive clothing she wears is.... Definitely for other people. or at least, it's for preserving her own image toward other people.

and then transmasc butch nova. LMAO. GOD.

main timeline nova puts an insane amount of effort into "i'm a pretty barbie girl <333" and has sunk So Much of her self-worth into being blonde and blue-eyed and glowing and gorgeous. she also has watercolor sleeve tattoos, but when i did her full-body picrew tats, black ink felt..... more correct. like. what would your tats look like if you weren't a Rainbow Goddess of Light

and then the rest of it is also very. what would you be if you weren't a Rainbow Goddess of Light. if you take away all the Rainbow Goddess of Light features, nova is.... desperately unhappy. and desperately compensating for something. and i think having top surgery and working as a butch car mechanic somewhere would fix her.

as for the pink shoes and hot topic jewelry, that's just bc i think nova would find it fun to do gnc nonsense. nova-without-divinity isn't A Man or fully married to doing Man Things... i feel like it would be wrong for her to just go as gung-ho for performative masculinity as her main timeline self does for performative femininity. nova-without-divinity is wearing whatever she wants and looking however she wants and being hilarious and delightful while she does it <3 god bless.

[kirain]

What's your least favorite thing about bg3? Mine's the inventory system. 😒

Okay, side rant before I answer! 😆

I actually really like the inventory system, but I've heard a lot of people say they hate it because it's too open with very little direction, and I know that can be a nightmare for a lot of people. In fact, a good friend of mine nearly lost his mind over it, so I showed him how I organise things and he said it helped. Maybe my method can help other players, too.

When I start up a game, I take a companion's alchemy pouch and camp supply pack (usually Shadowheart's, because I use her the least) and add it to my Travellers Chest. If you don't want your companion to be without those items, don't worry. They'll either pick up new ones on their own or you'll find some extra ones you can give them later. Plus, they don't really need them. I never let my companions pick up food or ingredients, or really much of anything without sending it straight to me. Otherwise I know I'll forget they have it. I also add two additional backpacks to my Tav's inventory.

Then, every three or four times I visit camp, I empty my alchemy pouch and camp supply pack into the ones I stored in the chest. Make sure you extract all of your ingredients before doing this (unless you're getting mushrooms of Omeluum, in which case make sure you give those to him before extracting any ingredients or they'll be destroyed, possibly locking you out of the quest). The moving process can be sped up by opening a pack and clicking "take all", then sorting your inventory by "latest". With the items now in your personal inventory, all you have to do is open the packs in the chest, hit "multiselect", and click each item one by one until you can store everything you desire. This sounds monotonous, I know, but it's honestly really fast, and you'll get into a habit if you do it enough times.

Now, in addition to the alchemy pouch and camp supply pack, I also add two different style backpacks, a crude chest, a gilded chest, and a heavy chest to the traveller's chest. Since I bought the deluxe version of the game, I also have the peculiar clothing chest, but if you don't have one, I would suggest grabbing another gilded chest with a different design. Most of these things you can find on your way to or in the Grove, except the crude chest, which you can find in the goblin camp or in Auntie Ethel's teahouse. But you don't have to be insane like me, you can just use another heavy chest or whatever. I organise them like so: backpack 1—dyes, backpack 2—potions, crude chest—weapons, gilded chest—quest items, heavy chest—miscellaneous shit I can't bring my hoarder self to part with, peculiar clothing chest—clothing/kits.

The two backpacks I carry are used for scrolls and explosives/important items I can use to pass checks or teleport, etc. Arrows I usually split between Lae'zel, Karlach, and Astarion, since they have no magic abilities. Though when I played as a fighter, I also kept those with the explosives. That said, since I'm already giving advice, I highly, highly suggest you give most of your arrows to Karlach, as her blows don't seem to be quite as powerful as Lae'zel's, and Astarion can pull off some pretty hard-hitting ranged sneak attacks. I'd also suggest giving Astarion the Shadow of Menzoberranzan, a helmet you can find in the treasure room in the Myconid Colony. It's invisibility is a great boon to any of his rogue builds.

Other than that, the only items that go directly into my traveller's chest are the big boy explosives (barrels, Wulbren's bomb, etc.) since they're too heavy and I usually send them straight there from the wild. I also put Dribbles' body parts in there, because they're annoying and I hate them, but they don't stay for very long.

As for my least favourite aspect of BG3, I'd say it's the companion management, but it looks like they fixed it with the latest patch! I loathed having to manually dismiss everyone just to swap them out with someone else, then run to that person's tent to add them to my party. I also hated having to add a companion to my party just so I could give them a ring or piece of armour. I'm so glad they fixed it. Thank you, Larian! ❤

[sapphicteaparty]

i've NEVER seen a single good faith discussions about pleather on this website and i want ppl to think critically for one second about the way businesses talk about their products. "vegan leather" is purely a marketing term and nothing else. it was invented by the fashion industry and it has nothing to do with vegans or veganism.

"vegan leather" is basically made of polyester (a type of plastic), but crucially a lot of clothes nowadays are made of polyester either fully or partially because it's cheaper to produce. so of course clothing companies are going to be producing and marketing things that make them more money.

these products are not even targeting vegans, they're making an average customer feel better about their purchases, same way they are now putting "eco" labels on some of their organic cotton clothing. it's just greenwashing. NOTHING in fast fashion is eco friendly in any way - this whole industry is extremely wasteful an exploitative on every level. when are ppl going to realize that these companies just say anything they can to make it seem like they care about anything other than their profit margins. because they don't.

my wish is that ppl that talk about how bad pleather is and how vegans are apparently responsible for all of the microplastic pollution in the world also talked or cared even a little bit about the absolutely horrific abuse and exploitation that happens in the clothing and fast fashion industry. talk about how this industry consistently fails (or outright refuses) to pay its workers a living wage or how they don't provide them humane working conditions - and how that led to thousands of garment workers dying and getting injured when a garment factory collapsed in Bangladesh (and that's not the only tragedy this industry is directly responsible for).

also microplastics are only the tip of the iceberg if you want to talk about the pollution that the clothing industry is responsible for (toxic chemicals and pesticides used in cotton production, garment dyes, the disposal of textile waste etc) - all of which has direct human costs tied to it.

but if your only concern ever was microplastics that clothes can shed then great! avoid all polyester and plastic clothing. but did you know textiles aren't even the primary microplastic contaminants? it's plastic bags, bottles and fishing nets by far. most ppl can't always avoid these plastic items in daily life. but do you eat fish? vegans don't.

i'm just so tired of the pleather discussion focusing on the wrong thing (vegans) when there are so many more aspects about the clothing industry and plastic pollution that never get addressed when they should. and the amount of misinformation on these topics is just laughable at this point. ppl sure enjoy reblogging posts that confirm their biases and free them from having to critically engage with complicated issues because it's so easy to just blame a group of ppl for it.

anyway if you're concerned about ethical clothing (i hope you are) then basically these are your best options:

wear what you already have and don't buy new clothes unless necessary

get second hand clothes

get upcycled clothes

this may seem a bit extreme but these are the only options that don't result in new clothes and textiles being produced because there is an overproduction issue in the clothing industry which is why over 80% of clothes end up in landfills. obviously these options aren't viable for everyone all the time but if the goal is sustainability then that's just the reality of things for now.

you can also do things like mend your clothes so they last longer, learn to sew to make your own clothes etc all of that is better than buying new clothes. donating clothes to a thrift store is also not ideal since they get so many donations that a lot of it ends up in a landfill anyway and recycling clothes is also not straightforward or even possible in a lot of cases. so not buying new/more clothes is the most environmentally friendly option. and before you go no ethical consumption under capitalism blah blah yeah we know. doesn't mean you are powerless and have no choices in anything ever.

please learn more about microplastics, the clothing/textile industry and veganism before you uncritically reblog another misinformed post about "vegan leather" or microplastics. also please don't uncritically believe what i wrote here either. if you're seriously interested in these topics then your source for this information shouldn't be some tumblr post in the first place. there are lot of studies, documentaries and articles about all the things i mentioned. i'm not a researcher or a scientist, so don't ask me. i'm just tired.

[soft-hard-peaches]

Reaction: You Changing Your Hair Style

Note: long time no see everyone! i've really miss making fic so i'm posting things i've had drafted forever ago lol. i'm a bit rusty but wrting again was fun.

+fluff+ +crack+

Kim Hongjoong

>”can’t”

>...

“whyyy” 

>”Busy thats why but i should be done by 7”

>”Busy? You have no life thooo”

You ignore his last message. You weren’t going to dignify that with a response. You put down your phone and look at yourself in the mirror. Hair fully saturated with drugstore box dye, forehead stained messily, and adorning an old no longer white tee shirt that you never gave back to your ex. Usually you ask your bestfriend Hongjoong for color recommendations but you have a sudden burst of energy and now youre here I guess lol. You laughed at your appearance thinking would a person with no life clear up their busy schedule to dye their own hair because paying a professional sounds ridiculous and expensive. Once the laughter dies down you start to have second thoughts on your logic and skill set but you are already twenty minutes into the process so you must see it through. 

*VRRRR* The vibration grains your attention downwards. You unlock your phone to see the full message for Hongjoong.

>”I’m bringing your favorite for dinner as an early apology because I might be late since my boss wants me to head back to the studio for a bit.”

“Thank god!’’, you exclaimed. This means you have more time to talk yourself into thinking this was a good idea again and hop in the shower to finish this possible disaster. As you stain your porcelain white tub with colorful dye you think of Joong’s possible reaction. In all the years of your friendship, you’ve really admired his sense of fashion and eye for art. You don’t put him on a pudistal but you look up to his opinion. Maybe you were too confident thinking you could both choose a color and dye your whole head by yourself but you hopped out and headed to the mirror to see the finished product.

You gasped at your reflection, covering your mouth as you muffled yourself. “It’s actually cute”, you say, uncovering your mouth. You needed some more convincing so you grabbed your hair products to style it into something presentable for the hour or so. After styling your hair, you change into something not discolored and cover up the clumsy stains on your forehead just in time to hear your doorbell. It’s time to show off your totally perfectly planned dye job to Joongie. 

You practically swung the door open giving a little pose for a startled Hongjoong. "So this was why you were so busy today!” He laughed holding the hot food, shimmying into the apartment. You grabbed the bags to place on the table so he stopped to marvel at your work. “Y/N, you really should pick my next color.” 

His words were an ego boost.

Park Seonghwa

Every now and again you’d visit your boyfriend in the practice room to keep him company during his long practice hours. You would bring him something to eat or drink to keep his energy up and tell him about your day. He enjoyed this time together as much as you do. With both of your schedules usually clashing, this is one of the few moments of the week that you can enjoy one another.

He sat down in front of you admiring the vibrancy in your hair.

"…what?", you sheepishly ask.

He doesn't respond yet, still gazing at your beauty. Wide eyed and enamored.

"What??", you slap your hand on the dance floor between you two trying to gain his attention.

In attempts to play it off cool, he shoots you a smirk, "N-nothing. You just look really good in this color." You both cringe slightly at his corny behavior as he lets out a breathy laugh, looking away finally. You smile knowing his compliment was genuine.

Jeong Yunho

“Babe, looks like we’re twins!” You messaged him a picture of your new look fresh out of the salon. You wanted to try a new look so what better than having your hair colored like your boyfriend’s. Yunho loves when you two match whether it’s clothing, accessories or miscellaneous items. He’s 100% the type of boyfriend who would buy matching sets of things just to show off. You’re his first love so he wants the whole world to know your love for one another.

Today while you had a free day you wanted to surprise him with this eccentric display of partnership by getting your hair dyed to match his oreo styled white and black hair. You were pretty proud of the results and thought your puppy dog boyfriend would be obsessed but when he finally messaged back you were confused to say the least. 

> 🥲🥲🥲🥲

>”what do you not like it??

You were worried if maybe you took the matching too far. I mean matching hoodies and bracelets are one thing but you fully dyed your hair for him. While wondering what his message could have meant you get a face call from him and immediately picked it up. As his image pops up you immediately gasp at the sight of his black hair… not oreo but black. He tries to explain with a straight face that the company had planned to dye his hair black earlier that morning unbeknownst to both of you. As you hear laughter from his bandmates in the background you couldn’t do anything but giggle at the ridiculous situation with them. 

“The look suits you better anyways baby.” he finally compliments between chuckles.

Kang Yeosang

Though this isn’t your first acting gig, it is the first where you had to dye your actual hair. You’ve never even gotten highlights before but they want you to dye the whole head. You’re pacing his room thinking out loud as he watches, eating potato chips. Yeosang is more than used to having his hair changed every other comeback or so but he understands how you feel. He gets up to hand you the bag of chips and sits you down on his bed in his place. “So what color do they want for you?” he asked, now standing. You respond, now stuffing your face with chips,” Light brown. Like a milk tea color.” He claps in encouragement, “That’s not that bad Y/N. I’ll probably look really good in it.”

Yeosang tends to be optimistic most of the time but you take his words as honesty. “Really?”, you ask, wiping your mouth. He walks towards you planting a few kisses on your lips, “Of course, nothing can stop your beauty.

Choi San

You’ve always been hesitant to try out new things whether it’s a new restaurant or a new look, to the point that it took you this long to pierce your ears. You are a creature of comfort and disrupting your routine doesn’t sound pleasant to you but deep down you want to branch out even if in a small way. Your bestie San has always been the first person to hold your hand and encourage you so when you told him that you made an appointment with a salon to change your look. You reassured him, or more like yourself, that it’s not going to be a huge change but he’s excited either way that you're ready to get out of your comfort zone.

He drops you off at the salon for a few hours while he runs some errands. When you text him that you're done he gets back to you excitedly. Ready to see your new choice of look.

“San!!”, you waved at him cheerfully, “Do you like it?”. You seem so happy with the outcome that San didn’t want to pop your bubble. Honestly he’s happy youre happy and trying new things.

"... Wow...Y/n it’s great." Practically it’s the same color but you’re so cute when you’re giddy that he’s excited for you.

Song Mingi

Getting tired of the same old same old, you wanted to spice up your look somehow before your boyfriend came back from touring. Mingi would have loved you if you were a worm but you wanted to wow him nonetheless. You messaged him about your thoughts and he suggested you to maybe get your hair trimmed or try lightening the color. He’s so gentle with your feelings, he didn’t want to over suggest and seem like he wanted you to make a big change. He adored you and wanted you to be happy with yourself more than worrying about what he wants. So with those few options you took them and ran. A handful of days later and it was time to meet your boyfriend from his long travels.

He knew that you did something to your hair but not to what extent since you kept it a surprise. You eagerly headed to his dorms, excited to greet him and show him your new look. Once his manager opened the door, he greeted you with a compliment and a welcoming gesture into the house. Luckily the boys weren’t around to see you before he did. Once you called out his name he came jogging down singing yours offkey but the sight of you caught his eye and his heart. “Wow you’re like a new person babe! So beautiful.” He walked up to marvel at your newly colored short shaggy hair. Smiling ear to ear, you're happy with the new look and more than happy that your boyfriend loves it maybe more than you do.

"We should go out today so everyone can see how hot my girlfriend is." He says leaning down for a kiss.

Jung Wooyoung

"Bestie! Open the door bestie! My arms hurt!!" He proceeds to bang on the door impatiently, "Y/N?" he shouts almost completely without energy. You finally open the front door causing him to step back.

"Stop it, youre gonna wake up my neighb-"

"WHEN'D YOU BLEACH YOUR HAIR?!?!?"

You grabbed the food and tried to close him outside for yelling so much but he fought his way in. You both laugh from the bit of rough housing then Wooyoung closes and locks the door behind him, following you to the kitchen to help you set up the breakfast. The way the sunlight from the window shines on your now golden locks distracts him causing him to fumble with the cups.

You catch him staring with his lips parted a bit making you chuckle, "So how do you like it?" It takes him a moment to respond, "you know Y/n I've never really noticed how wavy your hair is. You blonde brings it out nicely."

That comment causes your face to flush suddenly. You hardly ever get complimented on your curl pattern. Honestly you're more used to backhanded compliments. Wooyoung senses your awkwardness and reassures you. "Your hair is really pretty."

Choi Jongho

You like company whenever you have to run errands around town but usually Jongho is busy working so you’d have to either go alone or ask other friends so when he had a day off you took that opportunity to drag him around from place to place. Usually he wouldn’t mind because quality time is his love language but when you told him you needed to get your hair touched up he tried to get out (unsuccessfully). He begged, pleaded, even started pouting since it always works on his hyungs, nothing worked.

Being a seasoned idol, he’s all too familiar with how long and grueling salon trips can be (even though he hardly gets his hair dyed lol). But you told him you need to get your hair done for work and once you gave him your puppy dog eyes he stopped protesting almost instantly.

He sat patiently, making small talk every now and then with the stylist and patrons there during the few hours of wait with his only time of freedom being when he left to get you a snack. To be completely honest, Jongho enjoys any bit of time with you just as much as you with him. He’s enjoyed your time so much that he’s started developing feelings for you, even if he hasn’t realized yet.

Once you’re finally done paying for your hair you walk up to him ushering to leave but the sight of you with lighter hair makes him lose his sense. Already at the door, you look back at him still sitting. “Come on, this is just one place i need to go today”, you say smiling down at him.

He gulps as he regain’s himself to get on his feet. Realizing the budding feelings.

[olivyh]

YOUR WRITING IS SERIOUSLY CRAZY GOOD!!! i love it so much..!!! makes me tear up a little../pos

was wondering if you could make something similar to your ruggie x reader 'Tired' fic...^_^ but with jamil!!! Completely okay if not!! make sure to have a good day, and again! LOVE UR WRITING SO SO MUCHH!!! <3

A/N: TYSM!!! <<<<333333333333333!! I'm so glad you enjoy my work! I hope I did this one justice (I have to learn how to write Jamil a little better;;;)

TW: Poisoning, injury

Braiding his own hair had always been therapeutic. 

His hair had been the envy of many and was the sole item that gained him the most attention. Jamil was often identified by his long locks that cascaded down his back, tied up in a loose ponytail with delicate braids weaved within. The small bells that clicked softly with his footsteps grounded him when he needed it the most- the often cool metal bringing him back to the present so he could do what he needed. 

When he was young, his hair was identical to Kalim's. It was cut short, the choppy bangs making way for his narrowed steel-grey eyes. Jamil never thought much about it- he'd even enjoyed looking like his friend, even if only for a few months until it would be cut short again. His frustration would be taken out through dancing- when he realized far too young that he would have to be limited and could never be the best at something. 

The day he'd realized that his fate was predetermined, that he would be doomed to live in someone else's shadow for the entirety of his life, he began to despise his hair. He pulled at it in the darkness of his bedroom, gasping through sobs as he writhed on the mattress and his breath hitched with every pained wail as he tugged at his sore scalp, wanting nothing more than to change, to be different. He didn't want to be a copy of someone else, he wanted a chance to be better than what he was. 

Jamil had seen the toll it had taken on his parents- their weary gazes as they sadly told their children to keep their heads low, the way their lips quivered when both Jamil and Najma were forced to enroll in self-defense classes to protect the Al-Asims, their hushed reassurances when both children would come back from the aforementioned classes, bruised and bleeding, shaking as they gazed up at their parents with wide, confused eyes. 

The Viper couple had always had an air about them- an air of hopelessness, of despair, almost. 

Jamil had wanted nothing more than to save them from that, to see his parents smile the way they had in their wedding photos. He would sometimes sit in his hallway and stare at those photos, trying to piece together what had gone wrong and why his parents never looked at one another like that anymore. Was it work? Was the constant pressure of being responsible for the Al-Asim's wellbeing getting to both of them? Jamil had sometimes thought about what it had been like for the both of them- born to servants, falling in love with servants and having children for the sole purpose of being servants. 

Jamil had known that they didn't have him and his sister for the purpose of being a servant. It was just... a coincidence. His existence was merely coincidence. 

A coincidence that had brought tears to his eyes when he first realized it, and one that he hopes his sister will never find out (he knows that she figured it out already, and he tried to ignore the way her muffled cries drifted into his room that night).

He had started growing out his hair in near-defiance. A way to prove his own freedom, to make his own decisions. He could do what he wanted to his hair- he could dye it, cut it, braid it. His hair was his freedom, and he had spent hours trying to find the right oils and shampoos to use, experimenting with different temperatures and seeing how the air around him affected it. He had tried hairstyles so late in the night that his arms ached from the effort well into the next morning. 

His hair by middle school was well past his shoulders and was already the object of his sister's whining and jealousy. His parents asked him why he didn't cut it, and he had fought them on it for weeks. 

Running his hands through his hair was his therapy, styling it was his own form of meditation when his heart felt as though it was going to burst from the pressure and the workload gave him migraines that pounded his skull until he took a well-deserved nap (which he rarely had the time for). 

He used to have a singular form of therapy, he used to dance and dance and dance until his feet burned and sweat poured down his face and soaked his clothes- sweat that hid the tears that would often spring to his eyes and stream down his face during these moments when he realized that he only truly felt free within the confines of his bedroom. He used to dance until the music caused his ears to ring well into the night, spinning and twisting to a rhythm that pounded in time with his heartbeat and his palms hitting the floor with a frustration that could only be matched by the quick tempo. 

The overwhelming throb in his heart sometimes only increased with the movements, the deep ache that could not be quelled by his quick turns and spins as he threw himself to the ground, gasping and panting as he lay on his back, the cold wood of his floor seeping through his sweaty tanktop as his lip quivered and he sobbed quietly, the music now a dull hum in the deafening silence of his room. 

When he had been poisoned, he had lost his ability to dance for weeks. He remembered the day vividly, waking up in the hospital, his head feeling as though it were full of stuffing and the world spinning until he was trying to swallow down the nausea that rose as his stomach clenched so painfully it made tears spring to his eyes as he whimpered for his mother just as he had when he was a child, begging for her to take the pain that was consuming his body away. 

It took him a week to be able to stand again, and another to stand without feeling that same nausea that would render him immobile for hours. He couldn't dance for a year, the spins suddenly becoming too much for his body to handle and the quick movements, once fluid, now being jittery and shaky. He no longer would feel the rush of adrenaline after a good routine, the satisfaction of perfect choreography as he became one with the music. He would stumble, and his head would spin until he had to rest against the floor to catch his breath that seemed to be running faster and faster with every passing second. 

Jamil lay in bed that night and stared, trying to will his shaking hands to still at his sides. He wanted to cry, to scream and to kick and to wail until he didn't have to be terrified day in and day out, until he could be freed from this agony that was a lifetime of servitude and danger. 

He had taken his time to begin caring for his hair more, to consume hours upon hours creating spells and figuring out how to flick his wrist properly to braid and twist his hair. 

He was normally so protective over it, smacking away anyone who would try to run their hands through the fine silk or who would come near him with scissors to trim the ends. His hair was his individuality, and the thought of someone else having control over it hurt his heart and made his stomach twist and burn as he recoiled from the thought alone. 

So Jamil didn't understand why he felt so...safe. Safe with his head in the prefect's lap, face buried in their thighs as his hand rested on their knee, rubbing it comfortingly with his thumb. Their soft humming brought him a comfort that he hadn't known since he was a child and filled him with warmth. The care they treated him with as their hands ran through his hair gingerly, treating each strand as though it were made of solid gold. Their nails were gentle against his scalp, gingerly twisting and braiding the thick black hair that cascaded down their thighs and splayed against the mattress like vines ready to flower against the soft silk of his sheets.

He felt protected with them, as though his worries were all melting away with the sun that sank below the horizon, casting the entire dorm in the shades of a warm fire that sent embers floating into the open sky- free to venture until they burnt out and became one with the stars. For the longest time, Jamil had longed to become one with those stars, to shine as brightly as they had, unbound by fates and surrounded by possibilities. 

For the first time in his life, Jamil had options. He no longer had to battle alone, no longer would be forced to swallow the poison that bound him to a lifetime of servitude. The shackles would remain until he and Kalim would come to an end, but their weight was lifted. The prefect took those iron bars and lifted them in their own hands, no matter how much he pleaded for them to allow him to carry this heavy burden on his own, that the weight he could carry was no issue to him despite the burn in his arms and neck as the years progressed. They lifted the chains, and he suddenly felt as though he could breathe again. 

As if on cue, his shoulders rose and fell in a sharp sigh as he felt tears well in his eyes, his hands pausing on his lover's knee as their ministrations on his hair stopped, making him frown. 

"What's wrong?" They asked quietly, voice barely a whisper above the winds of the desert and the soft chatter of the other Scarabia residents. 

"Nothing," Jamil said. "Everything." He finally admitted, feeling the weight lift off his heart ever so slightly. 

"Wanna talk about it?" 

"Not now," He would rather never talk about it, to protect them from the life that he had been forced to live and to keep them safe from the possibility of becoming a servant themselves- perhaps even the possibility of their own children becoming servants, then grandchildren, then great-grandchildren. "Spiraling."

He could feel their smile despite having not turned onto his back to face them as their hands continued to thread through his hair gently. The two have learned, through many small fights and trial-and-error, to speak to one another tersely. Jamil found that it was best that they know a little of what is happening in his mind rather than keeping it in the dark- even if his explanations were one or two words. 

"I'm sorry," They mumble, bending over to press a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. He hoped they didn't feel the shiver that ran up his spine nor the way that his heart trembled from the action. 

"Why are you sorry?" he choked out, breath caught in his throat. 

"I'm sorry you're in pain," he felt as though his heart was going to burst from the adoration he felt for the student, pure love spilling from the holes in the walls around his guarded heart and seeping into his veins. Finally, he rolls onto his back and gently raises his arm, raking his nails softly up their neck and winding around to the back of their head before pulling them into a soft kiss. It was far from their first, and Jamil could only hope that they never share a last, but it still made his stomach turn. 

"Please don't worry," He smiles gently, parting from the kiss and feeling a burst of pride from their dazed expression. Jamil lowers his hand from their scalp to their cheek, cupping it gently and running his thumb beneath their eye, brushing over their cheekbone and reveling in the way they lean into his touch and hold their hand over his own. I'm safe as long as you're here, he wants to say. Jamil wants nothing more than to hold them dear and to soak in all the affection they're willing to dish out to him. 

But he knows there's a time.

He feels that it's soon. Soon he could spill his heart out to them, soon he could cup their face and press their foreheads together and hold them so close to himself that it's nearly desperate and whisper sweet nothings against their lips and plead for them to stay greedily as he peppers their face in kisses and feels the way their chest presses against his with every breath. He wanted to hold them in those cold nights, the warmth of the both of them as they lay cuddled beneath the sheets peacefully as he tells them every single thought he's ever had about them, every single one of his wishes as though they could grant them as easily as any genie. 

He would trade in every last wish if it meant he had the courage to speak his mind at this moment, to watch their expression soften, or the way their eyes would widen when he would say what they wanted to hear. 

But there would be another time for that, he decides as he interlaces their fingers, still pressed against the prefect's warm cheek. 

"I love you."

[gotrashh]

I realize posting the fic as a reblog was maybe not the best way for it to be seen. So! Here it is on its own post!

it’s fairly short so… riley/bonesaw shortfic!

Riley sat on a small chair in an empty apartment on Earth Gimel. It was set to be given to some family, one that was still out there in the hoard of people in tents, the grief tainting the air. 

It had been a few weeks since she had left Bonesaw behind. She still wasn't trusted by the others. It didn't bother her very much. 

What did bother Riley, though, was herself. She had expected some big psychological changes after she left her old life. Some great feeling of happiness that she had never felt before, like in the movies, when the music swelled, tears were cried, and the villain was good again. It wasn't that black and white. 

She felt disappointed. Not that she had left it behind, though it was really the only family she had ever known. That she had been in the Slaughterhouse Nine to begin with. That she let all of this happen. Her modifications. Her stupid “art”. Her blind loyalty to Jack as he ripped Riley's past to shreds, as he changed her. Into someone. Something else. Bonesaw. 

It plagued her. How had she kept it up? Her cheery facade. Her love for her gruesome art. How had she seen it as fine? As normal? How had she enjoyed it? All the things she did. Hell. Half of the capes on Gimel despised her. For what she did to them, their families, their friends. Even their cities, some of them. 

Riley stood up and grabbed the opaque white plastic bag from the wooden table next to her, pushing it as she stood. She pushed the chair back into place, to make it seem as if she had never been there. The people who were going to live here didn't need her tainting their space. 

She stepped into the apartment’s bathroom and pulled the contents from the bag, placing each one on the sink’s countertop. As she pulled each one out of the bag, she murmured their names, a habit. 

“Comb, brush, dye, towel, shampoo, conditioner, gloves, bowl.” She placed each one in a specific place on the counter, in an order only she understood. She had been told to stock up the empty apartments, put toiletries and essentials in them for the people who didn’t bring any supplies from Bet. 

After placing all of her items on the counter, she put toilet paper under the sink, extra hair products in the shower, and dental hygiene supplies in the cupboard behind the mirror. As she shut the mirror, she looked at herself. So much of Bonesaw was still left. Her eyes were still two-toned from the time she lost one in Brockton Bay. She hadn’t thought about changing them after. Maybe she would start wearing contacts, or replace the eye entirely. It wasn’t beyond her power. 

Riley’s hair was still blonde. She no longer wore it in ringlets, but it still had a faint wave from all of the years she had. Her dark brown roots were growing out. Why had she never done hair follicle implants? Was it some part of her that wanted to keep the brown? Or was it the want of the routine, dying her hair every Saturday, Jack helping her cover her roots? Riley had told herself that she wanted to dye it, but it was Jack who had said, “Wouldn’t blonde look so good on you? It would really tie your ‘doll’ look together, wouldn’t it?” 

Riley had excitedly complied, responding with an enthusiastic, “What a wonderful idea!” Before taking some dye from a dilapidated convenience store a week later. The first time she had dyed it, she exclaimed, “I look like Goldilocks!” with a wide grin. Jack had smiled, languid and easy in the mirror, before patting her small head and walking away. “He’s Papa Bear, I'm Goldilocks,” She had thought. 

Riley shook away the memory and frowned, unpackaging the hair dye and its components. She had done it a million times, at least, it felt like she had done it a million times. She put the dye into the bowl and mixed it with the small brush that came in the package. 

She combed her hair and separated a small chunk of it. Riley painted the dye into her hair, starting at the roots and pulling the brush down. The darker colour contrasted her blonde hair. After she had coloured the entire chunk of hair, she folded it in the tin foil and separated a new chunk. 

She repeated this process for an hour and a half exactly, and at the end, her head was covered with little tinfoil coffins full of hair. She sat, the dye making her scalp tingle.

 If she had done this right, this would be the last time Riley would dye her hair. Her roots would grow out and the dyed segments would be eventually removed. It was like grafting branches to a tree, to some extent. 

After sitting for eight minutes, she took out each one of the tinfoil squares and placed them into the small trash can next to the counter. 

Riley turned the glass knob on the tub, making sure the temperature was turned to a lukewarm, so the dye would stay, but washing wouldn't be uncomfortable. She lowered her head into the running water, careful not to get her ratty t-shirt wet. The water soothed her scalp, rinsing away the excess dye, the water running brown as she rinsed. 

After rinsing a while, Riley reached for the shampoo and massaged it into her scalp, her short nails scratching the sensitive skin. The soapy water drained off of her hair in streams, still running with dye. 

She kept washing. She was washing it all away. That's what it felt like. Riley was only Riley. Not Bonesaw. She was turning back into what she never was. Giving herself a second chance. 

As soon as the water ran clear, she switched off the faucet and wrapped her hair in a towel to let it dry. She sat on the closed toilet. 

This was it. She was erasing her past. She was changing. A metamorphosis. Erasing the mark of the Nine upon her. Wasn't this what she wanted? Wouldn't it make people like her more? She didn't want to think about the questions she had. She was afraid that she wouldn't like the answers. But this was a step away from the monster she used to be.  —————————————————-

Probably not canon compliant, also not my greatest writing, so just. Be nice 👍

[mayakern]

Hi Maya! I tried looking in your FAQs but am not able to find this information. The past few years I've only been thrifting as I grow more aware of how the clothing industry is. Fast fashion going in mountains of landfills aside, the treatment of workers is absolutely horrendous 99% of the time. Your Meyoco skirt is my first piece of clothing I didn't get from thrifting the past year, and I'm absolutely in LOVE. I believe it's more than fair to pay $60 for a skirt as long as every designer, worker involved is compensated fairly. I don't believe that someone as empathetic as you would ever partake in a business model that takes advantage of the others, but for the peace of my own mind I just wanted to outright ask and make sure that the skirts are produced in an environment/manufacturer/business where the workers are compensated fairly after you've received your fair share of profit margins. 😅I adore your designs so much, and am already budgeting how to make it a staple of my non-essential purchases, I just would like to know that I'm supporting a business that align certain values that's important to me! Thank you very much for reading!

this is a great question! sorry if i'm kind of scattered answering it, im still dealing with neck pain (just got a cortisone shot which should help in a couple days but for now i'm relying on rest, pain meds and muscle relaxers so i'm a bit out of it)

first off, we've always done our best to search for manus that have good working conditions. we don't have the budget to personally visit factories outside the US, but we get footage from the manufacturers that show the working environment (specifically while making our items) so we can ensure the spaces look up to snuff (good lighting, ventilation, enough space, cleanly kept, etc). we also always look out for any red flags like a PPU (price per unit) being too low to afford fare wages to the workers.

without being able to hire someone to do a full blown investigation it's hard to 100% know what's going on in a factory, and unfortunately we do not have the budget for that, but we do our due diligance.

and i'm really happy to report that our new primary factory, which we found with the help of a supply chain manager, is GOT certified, which is a HUGE leap for us. basically, GOT certification requires a factory to meet certain thresholds for ethical labor and environmental practices. for our factory specifically, this includes a biometric clocking system that makes sure the hours worked are consistent with GOT requirements, as well as regular medical check ins and a dr on site. they also run internal social audits (sedex, ICS, inditex). they provide food and transportation for the workers and have multiple regulated breaks.

GOT certification also covers things like making sure the dyes and materials are ethically sourced. unfortunately because our skirts are synthetic fiber, we cannot brand the skirts specifically as being GOT certified because GOT certification only covers natural fiber, BUT all the other materials and the labor practices surrounding the skirts are certified. they are also certified for their ethical recycling for reuse of scrap material specifically regarding their synthetic fibers.

in addition to this, we do not function the way fast fashion does. fast fashion relies on constantly pushing the trend cycle faster and faster so that garment workers are pushing out new garments in weeks or days rather than the more traditional 3-4 month cycle (which is where we fall). this traditional cycle is why we used to have fashion "seasons," which honestly we don't believe in either. our goal is that when you buy a skirt, it is loved and worn and kept for years and years. we don't follow trends or seasons: we just make things we like.

also, we strive to never order more garments than we think we can sell. traditional fashion/retail typically strives to order 20% more product than will sell so that they can make maximum sales because nothing will ever sell out. that extra 20% is baked into cost/loss and usually is what ends up in places like ross or in landfills. so although we know it's frustrating that we continually sell out of our designs, we do this for a reason: as much as we're able, we want to not contribute excess waste to this world. this is also why we don't include specialty boxes or packaging with our orders, even tho literally every piece of small business advice recommends doing this for improving brand recognition/customer retention. for us, even tho it might generate more sales, it's not worth it to generate more waste. it's a very small thing, but over thousands and thousands of orders over the years it builds up.

[veronasunmademods]

Occult Children

There's... not really a lot for children in the Sims 4, occult or not. But nothing has bothered me more than the fact that even if you make an occult child, you won't see any effects of it until that child is a teenager. From my experience, anyway. So, a bit of an idea to how one might change that.

Spellcasters

Accidental magic. I'll say it again and again, Spellcaster children, toddlers, and infants should have accidental magic. Especially when they're experiencing big moods.

It could be any mood other than "fine" for a toddler and/or infant; turns objects into flowers when happy, bubbles when playful, makes an earthquake when angry, makes it rain when sad, etc. Not every time or that would impede gameplay and be annoying.

Children instead would do it only during the extreme emotions. Hysterical, mortified, enraged, scared. Sadness as well, but that one doesn't have an "extreme" version. They'd have pretty much the same as the toddlers and infants as what would happen.

Potions stations would level up the potion making skill. That, or they have their own mini cauldron. Or both. One of the potions would be turning the giant stuffed animal toy into a proper Sim if the friendship level is high enough.

A few simple spells available to them, with Mischief the most accessible seeing as kids as mischievous.

Bring back the hair dye prank, but make the child have to craft it at with their potions skill.

In tandem with a boarding school mod, a magical boarding school just for Spellcaster children. Maybe two. One so they can learn to hone their powers, and one to hide them.

Spellcaster parents gain the option to inform their partners they are a Spellcaster if the other parent is not. Or not reveal. It's not mandatory.

Also an option to automatically hide heritage or reveal heritage to children, in case all children are normal Sims. Can later reveal Spellcaster heritage as desired.

Sims raising Spellcaster children and not knowing about it because they were not told can have different reactions when they find out. Anger, fear, excitement.

Spellcasters or normie parents could send child Spellcasters to the boarding school to free them of their abilities if they're trying to hide it or simply can't stand the magic. (Inspired by a throwaway line in the Children of the Lamp series where djinn children were sometimes put through such rigorous education it basically killed their magic)

Child sized broom that's closer to a rocking horse because it can't be used for travel. It just goes in a circle and can do loop-de-loops and other small trick shots if the motor skill is high enough.

Candies like those ones from HP that make you sound like different animals.

Mermaids

Obviously, let them be mermaids.

For toddlers/infants make them stay in whatever form the birther had when going in labor. If starts giving birth while mermaid, toddler/infant is full mermaid and has to learn to take human form. If human, has to learn to take mermaid form.

If in mermaid form, there could be special items made for an underwater nursery for them. If a mod can't do it on its own, it would probably require cheats.

Like, think a large lilypad floating in the water for a newborn, giant shells for infants and toddlers.

Mostly just everything found here, The Expanded Mermaids from SpinningPlumbobs. I like it, it fits what I want but can't have because I can't use the computer. 😭

Just wanted to add my own two cents about younger than children.

Vampires

Full vampire children should age slow, just like their parents. Half vampire children can stay the same when it comes to aging.

A breastfeeding parent to a vampire baby should occasionally get bit and get moodlets about uncomfortable bleeding.

On that same note, while I hate Twilight, I think the pregnancy and vampire children thing would work well with the Sims. Weakness during pregnancy (Sims can't die while pregnant, but a general higher need for sleep, apathy, a dazed mood, puking, etc), craving for more raw meals, normie sims able to digest plasma without getting sick.

Child vampires can eat both regular food and plasma but start finding regular food unappealing.

Toddlers and infants can eat both as well, but tend towards regular food. But if they get a craving for plasma and they don't get it, they'll go bite anyone and everything, including family and pets.

If a child vampire has a high enough relationship with a normie child, the vampire can offer to turn the normie.

This turned vampire child does not age. Is stuck in the child state. Insatiable hunger, all the time.

Born child and under vampires don't die in the sun, but they'll get a nasty sunburn. Perhaps some rashes, like they're allergic to it. Turned children will die from sun exposure.

Turned children can only eat plasma.

Child sized coffins decorated with stickers, with colorful fabric and pretty wood designs. Open casket that's styled like a princess bed with a canopy.

Teething toys for infants that will occasionally burst and get them messy.

Plasma bags made to look like cute juice boxes.

A randomly chosen trait for how the vampire child comes across. Unsettling, enchanting, strange, etc.

Werewolves

Wolf form, wolf form, wolf form

Toddlers and infants can sleep in pet beds

Another situation where toddlers/infants/newborns are whatever the birther was at the time of birth. If in wolf form, they're born like a puppy. Switches uncontrollably human sometimes, but default is dog. Same for the reverse where the birther was in human form; human default, uncontrollable wolf.

Kids can dig holes with their hands in the backyard.

Can play with dog toys like dog.

Chase cats

Dogpile older Sims

Ability to chew on toys when not in wolf form

Excitement, playful, and embarrassment will turn children into their wolf forms

Can learn to control the wolf, but only that perk

Can "pack bond" with friends. Good things like raising skills, better moods, etc will be easier when packmates are around, but will feel distressed when they're not around for a while.

All of them could probably have the ability to "reveal or hide heritage" honestly.