#(but would he wear green or stick with simple white?)

[martianbugsbunny]

That's How He Knows He's Yours (A Lokius Fic)

Would you like a little bit of self-indulgent Lokius to heal from the finale? You would?!?! Good!! Because I just so happen to have some! *opens green coat to reveal a fic* All the context you need, which is little to none, is in the fic, so just read on and enjoy and patch up your little broken heart!!!

The TVA was having a party.

That wasn’t really the important thing, but it was interesting anyway. Mobius couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a party—but they needed to keep their spirits up after finding out that their entire lives were, in fact, lies, so a party it was. Every sector was having its own shindig, because the TVA was immense, and all of the employees couldn’t have fit in a single room if they’d been threatened with death to do it.

Well, anyway, the important thing was that Mobius wasn’t going alone. He’d convinced Loki that it would be more fun to go together than to go separately, or not to go at all.

The other important thing was that Mobius had offered to braid Loki’s hair, which had grown considerably longer than it had been the first time they’d met, and that Loki had taken him up on it.

He’d spent hours studying both Jotun and Aesir braiding styles—not just the actual construction, but also the meaning behind them. In the end he’d picked the Jotun style that signaled “I’m taken” because it was beautiful, and because he was pretty sure Loki didn’t know enough about his own culture to know what it meant himself, so Mobius could convince himself it wasn’t that much of a presumption.

“I’m not so sure about this suit,” Loki said, patiently waiting as Mobius brushed his hair before twisting it together. “The gold stripes are a bit much, don’t you think?” “What happened to the guy who used to strut around wearing gold armor and a cape?” Mobius teased, beginning the first braid. Left under the middle, right under the middle, he muttered to himself.

“I’ve been wearing your boring TVA clothes for months,” Loki said. “The drab must’ve rubbed off on me.”

Mobius rolled his eyes. The truth was, he was outside his own comfort zone in a fancy suit. His didn’t have metallic pin-striping on it like Loki’s did (because it was a bit much, although Loki wore it well) but it was black, and a much sharper cut and a much more dashing style than he was used to wearing. He’d been just an analyst in a plain brown suit for centuries, and now here he was all dressed up like he thought he was Prince Charming or something.

He tried to focus more on the different strands of dark hair in his hands than on the way his fingertips brushed against Loki’s temples as he gathered new locks to add to a braid.

He failed.

As he began to pin the completed braids up using glittering golden hair pins, he tried to focus more on not stabbing Loki’s  scalp than on the brush of his hands against the nape of Loki’s neck.

He failed.

Loki was built like a prince, Mobius sometimes caught himself thinking. It didn’t matter if it was princedom of Asgard or of Jotunheim. There was an elegance in the set of his shoulders, in the movements of his hands as he wielded his magic, and a determination in the curve of his back and the way he stepped, that was just plain regal. Gold, like the simple rings he was wearing that night and the hair pins Mobius had found for him and the single slim chain around his neck, seemed to have been built into the cosmos for no reason other than to have Loki wear it.

That was waxing poetic. Mobius didn’t do that often—only for Loki and Jet Skis. What could he say, they were both remarkable singularities in the universe.

He finished setting the last braid into place, nestled among the others like a crown across the top of Loki’s head. “All done, puss,” he said, patting Loki on the shoulder.

Loki’s head turned slightly to the side at the use of the nickname, and Mobius could just see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do I dare look?” he asked.

“I didn’t mess it up that bad,” Mobius said. Loki chuckled and got up from the floor in front of Mobius’s couch to go check his appearance in the mirror on the other side of the room.

Mobius could see the reflected green eyes widening as he caught sight of himself. For some reason Mobius’s heart was in his throat.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do this,” Loki said.

“What, braids?” Mobius managed to speak past his racing pulse. “It’s not that hard.” (It was, actually, quite hard, but learning it for Loki had made it seem easier.)

“No. The Jotun style.” That quick pulse stopped altogether. Mobius sat there, stock still, feeling very much like he was going to throw up if Loki didn’t break the sudden silence.

He turned from the mirror to look Mobius in the eyes properly. He was smiling, his eyes glittering beneath the faint liner he’d applied earlier that evening and a light dusting of shimmery white eyeshadow. “Seems the pussycat has caught himself a guilty little mouse,” he said, his voice sultry and honey-smooth, dripping into Mobius’s soul. “You didn’t realize I knew what these braids meant,” he stated. There wasn’t a hint of doubt on his face.

“You caught me,” Mobius said. He was impressed with himself for being able to get any words out at all, with Loki’s gaze focused on him like that.

“I’m taken, am I?”

Now Mobius found himself entirely unable to speak. What could he say, after all, other than "we’ve been spending a lot of time together and you don’t mind when I call you ‘puss’ and I catch you staring at me sometimes in a way nobody ever has"? It seemed stupid even in his brain. None of that meant he and Loki were…whatever he’d been subconsciously thinking they could be when he’d picked the style.

Loki walked back across the room, a new sway in his hips that Mobius was positive hadn’t been there before, and sat down on the couch to lean directly into Mobius’s personal space. For a long moment, far too long, far too breathless, he simply studied Mobius’s face, as though he could see everything single thought that had ever crossed his mind.

“We’ll see about that when we get back from the party,” he said finally, gaze flicking briefly down to Mobius’s lips. “Maybe you’re the one who’s going to be…taken.”

He crossed into that last bit of personal space and pressed their lips together, his touch surprisingly light, stunningly tender, as one arm came up to drape across Mobius’s shoulders and draw him even closer.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, puss.” Mobius finally found his tongue again after the kiss (although in a few moments, he was sure the cat would have it) and flirted back, laying a hand on Loki’s thigh. “You’re the one with the fancy hairstyle to prove it.”

As Loki laughed, Mobius captured his lips in another kiss, just as soft as before but oh-so-many leagues more passionate, and he thanked his lucky stars he’d been fool enough to pick a Jotun way to call Loki his.

[xoxoluvnicole]

Little Angel

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader (First person POV)

You and Theo both end up at a Slytherin Halloween party, he is drawn in by your costume.

!SMUT! 18+ ONLY

CW: Alcohol, weed, pet names, choking, getting tied up

~~~~

"You look absolutely adorable!" My best friend squeals, looking at me over my shoulder in the mirror hung on the wall in my dorm room.

I smooth down the white mini skirt that adorns the top of my thighs. I decided to dress as an angel, it was an extremely basic costume but I knew it would draw the attention I wanted from boys. It was an all white outfit, a see-through corset was squeezing my organs in ways that made me vaguely worried for my health. My makeup was done all nice, with white accents on the inner corners of my eyes and small jewels dotted randomly on my face. Lastly, the piece that tied it all together was the white angel halo that sat on top of my head thanks to the headband.

We rushed out of my dorm, running through the dark halls of Hogwarts as quietly but as quickly as we could. Walking down the stairs into the dungeon, I could hear the music blasting from yards away. The green LED lights shined beneath the door that led into the Slytherin common room. A scrawny Slytherin first year had the poor job of standing at the door.

I waltzed right by him, catching him staring at the top of my legs. The room had all the furniture pushed against the walls, a makeshift bar was set up next to the door, and there was a lingering smell of different intoxicating substances. I held my best friends hand as we snuck our way through the crowd standing at the door.

I could see all sorts of unique costumes standing around the room. A group of Ravenclaws were dressed as the Scooby Doo mystery gang. I could see a few playboy bunnies followed by their Hugh Hefner boyfriends. Lots of popular tv show characters, a few Ghostface masks and Michael Myers stood in different corners of the room.

I could feel my friend tug at my arm, dragging me over to the bar. Pansy Parkinson was dressed as a sexy pirate, being the main bartender for the party. When she saw me, she smiled.

"Finally decided to join the party?" She yelled over the music.

I smiled at her, looking over my shoulder to scan the party. "Just give me something fruity!"

She quickly mixed something up for me, it was a bright pink color and it tasted similar to a cherry pie. It was dangerous, I knew I'd be drunk within the hour if I drank this as fast as I wanted to. I leaned over the bar, my ass sticking out behind me.

"Don't look behind you.." Pansy warned, looking past me while she continued to mix up a drink. "Nott's been staring at you for the past few minutes.."

I smiled at the name. Theodore Nott. He was a Slytherin seventh year, hot as ever and he had a cunning attitude attached to him. We've talked a bit, being smoking buddies every so often when he came up to the Astronomy tower with his boys while Pansy and I sat up there. Not strangers, but definitely not as close as I wished we could be.

I stood up straight, peering just every so slightly over my shoulder. He was wearing a black suit with a red button up shirt and tie. His face was covered with black and white face paint, depicting a skeleton. A simple costume, but it made me want to drool and trip over myself.

The cold drink in my hand was giving me a bit of confidence, as I took another sip. I whispered a quick goodbye to my friend and turned around on my heels. Theo was stationed next to the fireplace with Mattheo and Lorenzo at his sides. I slowly sauntered through the crowd, saying my hellos to the friends I bumped into along the way.

Theo acted like he didn't see me coming, looking away to the other corner of the room.

"Skeleton? Pretty basic, don't you think, Nott?" I giggled, bringing the drink up to my lips for another sip as I stepped in front of him.

He chuckled, finally meeting my eyes but not before he examined my costume. "Angel?" He took a minute to pause, "Unique.."

I smiled at him. I moved my hand holding the drink between us, silently offering him a sip. He held his hand up, denying it before he brought up his other hand which revealed the blunt he was holding.

"Classic.." I giggled at him.

I opened my mouth to speak again, possibly flirt with him a bit more before some Rihanna song came over the speakers. I gasped, looking up at the strobing lights on the ceiling. My hips began to sway as I took another drink, before setting it down on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Dance with me!" I yelled over the music to Theo, grabbing his upper arm and dragging him behind me.

The area that was the designated dance floor was crowded with people from every house. I managed to snake my way to the middle, stopping and turning to face Theo. The song continued on, as I grabbed Theo's hands to swing them back and forth. He smiles a small smile at me, eyes drawn to my body.

The song continues on and Theo's hands find my waist, turning me in his arms so my back is against his chest. My hips move side to side, his following mine. We stayed on the dance floor for the next few songs. Between me grinding on him or wrapping my arms around his shoulders to sing along with the song.

"Wanna go smoke somewhere?" He leaned down to whisper in my ear, hands still glued to my waist.

I nodded. He grabbed my hand within his, guiding me through the crowd and up a staircase into the boys dorm wing.

"Where are we going?" I giggled, whispering behind him.

"My dorm.. I've got better weed in there." He looked back at me, smirking.

He opened the door, leading me into a plainly decorated room. The only character that stood out was the weed accessories placed all over the room and the big tapestry that hung over his bed with a marijuana plant plastered in the middle of it. It was messy, but not disgusting. It smelled like cologne and old spice.

Theo let go of my hand after he shut the door behind us, walking over to the window to prop it open. He picked up a marbled green and black glass bong, walking over to the sink to fill it with water.

"You know how to pack weed?" He asked.

I shook my head, shyly sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nodded, walking back over to his bed to stand in front of me. He took the weed and began packing it in. He got it all ready, grabbed his lighter and lit the bong. He took a long hit, pulling back and opening his mouth to take a gasp in. Theo held it in for a few seconds, then leaning out the window to blow the smoke into the atmosphere.

"Here, your turn.." He walked back over to me, handing me the bong.

I held it in my hands, putting it up to my mouth as Theo held the lighter against the weed to light it for me. He pulled the plug out after a few seconds to let me take in all the smoke. I tilted my head towards the window and blew out, coughing.

Between coughs I managed to speak out, "Haven't.. done this.. in a while.." I giggled.

Theo smiled at me, taking another quick hit before setting the bong down on his nightstand. He sat down next to me on the bed, leaning back so his back hit the wall. I sighed, glancing around his room.

"Come on, lay back.. Take a load off." Theo suggested, pulling at my arm.

I leaned backwards, laying down next to him. My brain quickly got foggy from the previous alcohol and now the weed. I sighed, looking up at the ceiling as I felt Theo's gaze focus on me. I looked to my side, smiling at him.

"What are you thinking?" Theo asked quietly.

I hummed for a moment before giving my answer, "I dont know, honestly.." I giggled, "Nothing, I guess."

Theo chuckled, looking up at the ceiling. I sat up, shaking myself out of the wings that were on my back. I moved my legs to lay down at the head of the bed. Theo followed suit.

"How long have we known each other now..? Like six years or something like that." Theo asked, his words a bit slurred from the intoxicating smoke he inhaled a few minutes earlier.

"Something like that.." I agree, huffing. My heart was beginning to beat faster and it felt like I had a lack of lungs in my air.

I placed a hand on my heart, making sure my body was still functioning correctly. Theo eyed me, then placed his hand over mine.

His hand over mine was warm, like a spark of fire just lit between our connection. "You okay?" He asked.

I nodded, giving a small 'mhm'. My eyes fluttered closed as I lay there with the hottest guy in all of Hogwarts who had his hand on my chest. Maybe I was just high and hallucinating. Yeah, that's probably it.

I continued on with thinking I was hallucinating until I felt his hand slowly move from on top of mine to on top of my breast. It was a lingering touch, he held his hand for a few seconds before his fingers started to pry back the corset top I was wearing, easing his hand under and on to my boob.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, Theo looked at me with genuine care in his eyes. "Is um.. this okay?"

I nodded, vigorously.

"Use your words.." He coo'd.

"Yes.. Yes, this is good.." I stumbled over my words, watching and feeling his hand slip lower and lower into my top.

I felt his pinky finger brush over my nipple, the sudden sensation caused a chill to vibrate through my body. His thumb and index finger pinched and swirled my nipple between them. I bit my bottom lip, my eyes wandering from the ceiling to his face. He had a stupid smirk on it, watching my body squirm due to his simple touch.

"How easy is this corset to take off?" He questioned, pulling his hand out from under it and nudging me to sit up so he could take a look.

"Not hard, just um-" I paused to think, my intoxicated brain was not working the way it should. "Untie the tie and then pull the strings apart." I guided him.

He did as I told him, and before I knew it my corset was being thrown on the floor and I was left sitting topless on his bed. Theo's eyes wandered up and down my body, and I suddenly could feel every insecurity I've ever had seeping into my brain. I went to wrap my arms around myself but before I could Theo grabbed my wrist, pulling it back to my side.

"Why do you want to cover up such a beautiful body?" He spoke softly.

I shrugged, not having an answer for him. Soon, Theo was leaning forward towards me. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, shocking me in the process.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yes! I'm very good.. Just- high," I giggled, "But this is nice! Keep going.. Please"

Theo smirked an evil smirk at the words that just came out of my mouth, "Good girl, using her manners."

I went to smile but before I could his lips crashed against mine, his one hand moving around my neck to settle on the dip beneath my head. He pushed our faces impossibly closer together. I was blushing, hard, my face was red hot and I felt as if any second I would start to sweat.

Theo's other hand found it's way down to my chest, kneading both boobs in one of his hands. His tongue jammed into my mouth, searching for something that was no where to be found. We stayed like that for a minute, tongues bumping into each other and saliva swapping between us. He pinched my nipples which caused me to pull back and yelp. That just made Theo smile wider.

He used the opportunity of me pulling back from him to kiss down my neck, onto my collarbone and my chest, finally ending up at my boobs. He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked on it. I tried to stifle my moan by biting my tongue.

He backed away from my nipple with a pop, "So pretty.. Can't believe we've never done this before."

My brain short circuited for a moment, "You've thought about this before?"

He laughed quickly, before going back to kneading my boobs with both hands. "How could I not, cara mia? You've sat in front of me in Muggle Studies for the past two years. I see your beautiful body every time you go to stand up or sit down.."

His words made me blush. I giggled at him and his confession. "You're cute, Nott."

He smiled at me for just a second before his eyes turned lust filled. He trailed his one hand from my chest down to beneath my short skirt, coming in contact with the white thong I wore. His fingers circled over the underwear as he looked up at me. Ever so slowly, he moved them over to the side and his fingers were now touching parts of me I only dreamed of him touching.

His index and middle finger made small, quick circles around the bundle of nerves. I laid back on his pillows, watching as he so carefully took control over me.

He looked up at me through his eyelashes, his mouth opening slightly and his eyes widened. Before I could ask if he was okay, I felt those same two fingers jam into me. My body shivered and a moan fell out from my lips.

He licked his lips, eyes flicking between his fingers pumping in and out of me and my face. "So.." He paused his movements, "tight." He jammed them back in, going deeper than I ever thought was possible. My back arched off the bed at his sudden movements. I was at his disposal and he knew it.

"So good, cara mia. So good.." He whispered, leaning his face down closer to my core as he stuck his tongue out and licked it.

I gasped, my hands flying to the edges of the bed to steady myself. He continued to lick up and down, occasionally sucking on the bud. It felt heavenly, this obviously was not the first time he had done this.

"Theo.. fuck me.." I managed to squeak out between moans. This made him smile at me.

"Your wish is my command, darling." He smirked, unbuttoning his suit pants.

I leaned up to help him, unbuttoning his top and loosening the tie as he worked to take his trousers off. Soon, his clothes were discarded on the floor. Except for his tie, he held onto his tie. I looked questioningly at it, my eyebrow raised.

"Put your hands together, behind your back." He demanded.

I did as I was told, and he used the red tie to bind my hands together behind me. He pushed me backwards, my shoulders hitting the soft mattress.

"Are you sure about this?" He leaned down closer to my face, planting soft kisses on my neck.

"Yes, please. Please, Theo." I begged, squirming beneath him.

The lust in his eyes grew as he pulled my panties and skirt down my legs. He shimmied his boxers off, exposing his impressive shaft. He had a reputation at school of having BDE (big dick energy) and I could now confirm that the rumors were true. Very true.

He wrapped his hand around it, pumping it a few times. He was rock hard, just from touching me. It was a bit of an ego boost, I wont lie.

He lined himself up with my core, pushing in painfully slow. I bit my lip, trying to quiet my moans but it was no use. I moaned loudly, causing his face to snap up at me.

"Quiet, cara mia." He warned, wrapping the hand that wasn't gripping my waist around my neck.

It was a light touch, until it wasn't. Theo began pushing himself in and out of me, faster until he was at a brutal pace. His hand around my neck tightened, my brain becoming more foggy than it already was. He continued on, using my core however he wanted to. My hands longed to touch him, but the tie around my wrists made it impossible.

"Flip over.." He said after pulling out, watching as I struggled to move from my back to my stomach.

He pulled my ass into the air, forcing me to arch my back into the bed. He pushed back in, hitting deeper than he was before. He pulled my hair into a ponytail, tugging on it so I was forced to press my back to his chest.

"Pretty angel.." He cooed in my ear, "Getting absolutely destroyed." He smirked.

I looked over my shoulder at him, the skeleton face paint still intact. It made him even hotter than he already was, if that was possible. His tongue was stuck out just slightly, curling around his bottom lip in concentration. His hips continued to buck up into me.

"Im close, Theo.." I whined.

"Good girl, go on. Finish all over me." He whispered, continuing his unrelenting pace.

I came undone on his shaft. My body was shaking and my breathing was staggered as I fell forward onto the pillows.

He moaned out random words of praise, before I heard him say "I'm gonna come too."

He groaned, erratically slamming his hips into mine. He pulled out at the last second, his hand wrapping around to stroke himself to finishing. His thick cum was all up my ass and back. We both moaned out a sigh of relief.

Theo stayed behind me for a second, before he patted his hand on my ass and got off the bed. He returned a few seconds later with a towel he used to wipe me down, being gentle like I truly was an angel in his arms.

"How was that?" He asked, smirking.

"Great.. Amazing.." I said, my chest still heaving for air.

He scooted me over to the inside of the bed, laying down next to me. He pulled me into his arms, leaving the softest kisses on the top of my head.

"Oh, cara mia. You did so well.." He praised me, running a hand through my hair and untying my wrists

We sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the moment. I traced shapes on his chest with my now free hand. I could hear the music from the party playing in the distance. I heard commotion from all sorts of people, drunk and high.

"Do you wanna go back to the party?" Theo asked after a while, moving my chin up to plant a kiss on my lips.

"No.. I don't think I can walk." I giggle.

He smiled down at me, laying back into the mattress.

[whyareyoulookingatmelikethat]

[13]: Twirling Thread

(Longer than my usual stories.)

This took a while, heh. Sorry for the wait in regards of stories, writer's block has arrived at Destination Me.

Not sure if I'll do the rest of the characters, feeling pretty down. Maybe someday.

(Reader is the costume designer for the toons. The names above each paragraph of writing are the names of certain skins in the game.)

Boxten: “Cloudy Dream”

“Almost…almost…there!”

You sat up to lean back and look over your work.The prettiest shade of lavender dripped from a small paintbrush you held, a can of white as well close by.

“Okay, we can let it dry, and then you can take the tarp off. Don’t want your clothes to get paint on them too.”

He reached up gingerly to pat his face down as he normally would, but you grabbed his hand quickly, forcing it away.

“Boxten…”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s a habit…”

Poppy: “Sapphire Dots”

“You’re sure this isn't a bit tacky?”

“I don’t care if it's tacky, what matters is I’m wearing it, and I’m proud!”

“Being proud doesn’t hide a poor sense of fashion.”

“Y/N!!!”

Tisha: “Lavender Maid”

“And to top it all off…”

You brought out the item from behind your back and gave it to her.

“A brand new feather duster!”

She gasped in delight, and gently put it down, then hugged you.

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much! The old one I had was getting so dirty, and I can't really wash stuff like that…”

“Hehe, I’m excited to see you use it! Have fun!”

Finn: “Prismatic Pal”

“MORE SHINE! MORE!!”

“FINN THIS IS GETTING TO BE TOO MUCH-”

“THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH SHINE, I WANT TO LOOK LIKE THE SUN!!!!”

“FINN YOU’RE ALREADY TOO BRIGHT FOR ME TO LOOK AT!!”

Razzle And Dazzle: “Seafoam”

“You’re doing a lot for us, you know. (Are you sure?)”

“Yes I’m sure! Besides, if you guys are going to perform sometime, you’ll need different outfits, right?”

“She’s got a point!” “(Alright then…but at least make it something simple.)”

“Aw, okay then. How does a mix of greens sound?”

“It won't be something like yellow-green, will it? (Yuck…)”

“Nope, more like turquoise.”

“Oooh, I’m excited to see how it looks! (Sounds pretty…)”

Cosmo: “Caramel Drizzle”

“I thought that maybe because you and Sprout are friends, you guys could have matching outfits! Whaddya say?”

“Really? Oh, yes please! That’s very sweet of you to think of us…”

“It’s not much really. Here, can you turn around so I can adjust your apron?”

Cosmo patiently did as you said, waiting as you secured the warm orange bow around his back. He only turned around again under your gentle pulling motions so you could smooth out his apron.

“And…this might be a bit hot, but please bear with me. It’s caramel after all.”

You took the bottle from the stand next to you, making a quick drizzle motion so it lined perfectly on top of his head.

You poured a little sauce on your hand to dab on his cheeks, then wiped your hands off and leaned down to get the perfect angle to place the stars in, sticking your tongue out as you worked.

He didn’t tear up or hiss at how hot it is though, he seemed to let out a sigh and…melt?

…He actually looked pretty content.

“Warm…”

I guess that confirms it.

Flutter: “Vibrant Monarch”

“Be still, I’m almost done.”

Flutter nervously flapped her wings, slapping you in the face every so often and nearly knocking you out of your chair.

“Please Flutter, the paint will be blurry and won’t look good if you keep moving.”

“...!!!”

“I know you don’t like standing, but you need to right now! You can fly all you want when I’m done.”

“...!”

“Thank you.”

She lightly tapped the floor with her foot as if testing the waters, flinching every so often, before she set both feet on the ground and stood stiffly, anxiously waiting for you to finish.

Goob: “Special Spaghetti”

“I want to commit cannibalism on myself.”

“What-”

Goob: “Fun Partygoer”

“Ooooooh, I get a party hat too??”

“Yes you do Goob, let- let me- adjust it please-! Please stOp BOunCIng!“

“Sorry, I’m just so excited to see how I look!”

“I get it I get it, but pleas-!”

The party hat crumpled under a particularly high jump.

“...”

“...”

You sat down, head in your hands and started crying.

“WAIT NONONO Y/N I-!”

Glisten: “Warm Sweater”

(Based off my opinion! I love blue and white, but THE MAKEUP RAAAAA-)

“I still think the eyeshadow is a bit much.”

“Well, I don’t!”

“But you say you look good no matter what you wear, right…?”

“...Yes…”

“So you shouldn’t have a problem with no eyeshadow because it’ll look just as good!”

“But I- you-!”

“End of conversation.”

(Glisten somehow convinced you to give him back his makeup)

Gigi: “Rainy Day”

“But I don’t waaaaaannaaaaa!”

“Gigi, it’s still an oversized sweater. You’re basically just changing the color of it and adding some drawstrings, okay?”

“Noooooooooo…but…b-but…”

“Yeah I know what a butt is, you have one yourself. Now give me that―”

You yanked the sweater out of her hands, cutting yourself off as you stumbled back, “―Thank you!”

Quickly checking for rips and finding nothing, you let out a sigh of relief, then immediately raised your hand in the air to avoid her grabbing ones.

“Nooooooo, gimme it back!”

You sighed again, walking over to the dresser―well, as best you could with a whiny Gigi trying to trip you― and pulled out a yellow sweater with a hood.

Placing her old clothes on a high shelf so she couldn’t reach it, you turned and picked her up, setting her down to sit on the edge of the dresser and pulled the yellow sweater over her head.

Her crying instantly stopped and she snuggled down into it, content. You let out another(she’s a handful to deal with) sigh and sat down next to her, petting her head.

Sprout: “Salted Caramel”

“And you’re sure that you’ll be fine?”

“Yes, Y/n! Now just do it!”

You hesitantly poured the bucket of caramel on him, covering half of his face bit by bit while also making sure not to get the petals wet.

You let out a sigh of relief as the last drop dripped from the container, making a quiet plip sound as it joined the rest of the warm sauce.

The rest of it settled on the tarp below, collecting in a puddle that stained his feet orange. You’d have to clean him later.

He reached up a hand, messing with the caramel on his face before you slapped his hand away.

“No! I’ll have to put a new coating on you if you mess with it.”

He simply chuckled in response, “Not like I’d mind.”

Vee: “Cosmic Signal”

You sighed in relief as you checked over her mic, making sure there weren’t any scratches.

“Okay…finally done. Oof, that took a lot out of me.”

“I can tell. Making 25 different costumes that actually look good isn’t exactly an easy job.”

You perked up upon hearing this.

“So you DO like Scraps' costume!”

“What!? I-”

“I’m joking, I already know.”

She just glared at you and looked to the side.

[seventeenlovesthree]

Yamato Ishida's clothing style - a meta analysis

Since Yamato has won the fashion analysis poll ahead of Sora, Mimi, Takeru and Hikari, he'll be the third to get one after Koushirou and Taichi. Fortunately - and interestingly enough -, he might be one of the easier cases among all the Chosen Children, because he has very consistent themes and motifs going on, so let's get this on step by step:

Adventure (+ Our War Game), age 11/12:

Even though the kids do not change clothes very often throughout the series, we can still find a few of the aforementioned "themes and motifs" for Yamato here: Starting with his signature sleeveless/turtleneck shirt in Adventure, his favourite - and thus associated - colour appears to be green and since he seems to prefer overall dark colours, you will usually (but not exclusively) see him wear darker shades. This can also be observed during OWG, where he wears a dark brown button-down shirt - which will turn out to be a common theme in addition to dark jeans or pants. Plus, unlike most of the other male characters, you will almost NEVER see him wear sneakers, because he's clearly a "boots" kind of guy.

As for his hair, this is where the classic "cool boy haircut" with the spikes and side fringe found its origins (which is also pretty close to how his father wears his hair).

02 (+ Diablomon Strikes Back), age 14/15:

This is where the "rockstar phase" begins and even though green doesn't make an appearance here, he consistently sticks to dark colours - mostly blacks and browns - as well as complementing boots, button-downs or turtlenecks. Despite him being the leader of his own band, his style is something I would personally describe as very neat, almost unagitated and thus more in line with his introverted side - which can be interpreted as him trying to be somewhat lowkey, not intending to attract too much attention. But at the same time, his style (= dark clothes in contrast to his blond hair) naturally creates a sense of "mysterious aloofness" (as it may be described by his fans, such as Jun. While it is also never explicitly stated, we know that he has European/French genes from his mother's side, so this may or may not add to his visual appearance easily attracting attention and popularity).

In terms of his school uniform, he doesn't go all out on being extravagant either, but instead chooses "the middle ground" between Taichi's "loose and casual" and Koushirou's "neat and correct" style by wearing the blazer closed but leaving out the tie. It's still overall very correct, with a hue of "coolness".

Diablomon Strikes Back then adds two more motifs for him, implying him becoming more and more comfortable growing into "his own": From this point on, we will see him wear little accessories like rings and necklaces - which, as we will see later, may even have a link to Gabumon one way or another. He also starts to wear more layers from now on, such as (college or leather) jackets - which will become more prominent later.

The "cool boy haircut" has grown out a little, softening the spikes. Not only could this be seen as him "differentiating" himself a little from his father (which is a common interpretation of the hairstyle change); it also gives him more of a J-pop-star vibe and makes him appear more "chill" in general (whereas I can only assume he was considered more of a "surfer boy" in Western fandoms back in the day).

Tri, age 17:

While he has cut his (still softened) hair a little bit shorter again, he overall maintains an effortlessly "casual but cool" style: Not only have the green tones returned to his wardrobe, the boots are also still there (even if they're not visible on the picture evidence). The ensemble is usually complimented by elements from his aforementioned DSB/"rockstar" phase: We see him wearing necklaces and chains in his everyday outfits, simple (black, green or even white) shirts with or without prints and with or without cardigans or jackets - and we can also tell he has gotten generally more daring (and a little less "tame") by wearing ripped jeans.

His school uniform is still more or less "neat", but even though he has added the tie, he wears everything more loosely than he did in 02. For his Summer school uniform, he also chooses to wear a long-sleeved shirt rolled up - instead of the short-sleeved ones all the other male characters wear.

Kizuna, age 22:

As a young adult, he basically tries to marry the majority of his previously mentioned themes into one consistent style: His signature cool-boy hairstyle - neat, short, spiky - has returned as well as the dark greens and the boots. In general, his colour palette consists of green, black and white - with an interesting case of grey in the middle of the movie. Similarly to Taichi, this may or may not have some special implications: Taichi wears an asymmetrical shirt, black on the left (covering his "heart"), blue (his favourite colour) and white on the right ("light") side, indicating his insecurities in terms of what's the right path. In contrast, Takeru wears all of his associated colours (VERY colourful green shades), as does Koushirou (orange), while also wearing a pristine white shirt - they're both not at risk of losing their partners, they're both on the light side, whereas Yamato and Taichi are completely at a loss. Yamato, who wears a grey button-down shirt, appears to be just as torn about his future and current situation as Taichi is, having abandoned his beloved music and hesitantly contemplating a future in the military. Which is also why he may wear a dog tag - and, as mentioned previously, this may also be a reminder of his bond to Gabumon after all. (And on a lovely little side note, I assume that Takeru starts wearing necklaces at the time of The Beginning to signify his own bond to Yamato.)

In terms of layers, we see him wear leather jackets, blazers and vests, everything being mostly "neat and correct" (again), with the same sense of effortless coolness he always had (but, if you wanna follow Kizuna's course of action, it may also display a sense of insecurity that leads him to choose style cues from the past over trying to move forward. I do like his Kizuna style and there is nothing wrong with returning to what you are familiar with, especially because most of it is definitely and consistently "him" - but that interpretation would also be in line with Kizuna's message, "forcing" oneself to conform and be a responsible adult.) One interesting addition are the red (!) glasses he wears during lectures, which is a colour we haven't seen him consider before. (Since it's "red", a possible interpretation could be that Sora gifted it to him - Kizuna is very persistent with its colours after all.)

Beyond, ???

Now things are getting a little more tricky, because we do not exactly know how old Yamato is supposed to be in these sketches - since this could be Kakudou's interpretation of post 02/DSB!Yamato as well as him being somewhere in his later 20's, also according to Kakudou's vision. I've tried to put my thoughts on this style into words here already, but to summarize it very quickly here: It's interesting that we see the grown-out 02 haircut again, as well as the earring - if we follow my interpretation of 02!Yamato, this only means that he has grown even more comfortable with himself to dress and present himself as less neat and also "less spiky" (= less aggressive in personality).

The epilogue, approximately age 39:

Last but not least, the epilogue shows our astronaut choosing the same colour palette and style cues 02!Yamato had already been famous for: Blacks and browns, glimpses of beige, a turtleneck and a (leather) jacket. His hairstyle is back to being the exact same as his father's - and as for now, there is not a lot to say about that without having the full context of where "Beyond" may eventually lead him in this timeline.

So my final verdict is: As mentioned at the beginning of this post, most of Yamato's style choices have a coherent theme: cool, effortless, mostly unagitated, sophisticated and tame, but with a glimpse of growing "rebellion". You can tell he confidently knows his favourite colours - mostly dark greens, black and brown with softening tints of grey, beige and white. He loves his (short or no-sleeved) shirts (with or without print), button-downs, turtlenecks and boots - and sometimes even dares to put on something like leather jackets or vests over those. What he appears to be a little unsure about is the consistent usage of accessories - and his hairstyle.

While the dog tag may be one of his more prominent features at this point (potentially signifying his bond with Gabumon), the state of his hair may or may not indicate how comfortable he is with his identity. Next to Taichi and Sora - and due to him still dealing with the aftermath of his parents' divorce -, he is the one who struggles the most with where he sees himself in the future. We know he has a high sense of responsibility (especially for those he cares about) and tries to find rational solutions, but may let his emotions get the best of him sometimes, hindering communication, so that may be where the inconsistencies stem from. While his clothing style is mostly tame and neat, indicating his wish for order, it has these little moments of (emotional) "rebellion" in it at times; rings, necklaces, ripped jeans - all things he tried out at some point, but doesn't seem to be 100% sure of, since he doesn't consistently wear them. Whether that's because he feels like he has to conform and fit into society as he grows older, abandoning music because it's not a "feasible career" - or simply feels more comfortable wearing his signature haircut (and "what he already knows") once again. One could also interpret his return to his old hairstyle as a sign that he may have grown closer to his father, thus feeling more comfortable "merging" all these style elements and finding a middle ground, slowly but steadily - but whether or not that is true, I am not able to tell.

[maounteighn]

Overanalising Moral Orel: Clay, Bloberta and the Colour Theory

p.2 Bloberta

p.1

In p.1 we have already established that Bloberta's colour is red and it remained red throughout her whole journey. Her sense of Self was untouched neither by marriage nor by parenthood. When we are taking about relativity of her identity, she doesn't base it around or against anyone in her current family.

Her style barely changes, always containing red and white. However, she gradually loses white in her garments the more she decides to walk on her own. Her younger self up to that wedding in Help wears the most white – visually it softens the boldness of her red skirt. At the reception party she wears mostly red, white is only her belt and headband – red is also more saturated. The same red remains in her post-wedding daily wear. While white is not only in her collar, but also her apron, it is a completely different piece of clothing. Underneath the apron there's still her red dress. White apron dilutes red too, making it look less assertive, but it's only for the time she wears it. It's like a mask of a housewife and a mother, that she willing puts on for a meantime. Underneath it it's still her real, very persistent Self, that she is not particularly trying to hide. She also water down her true Self to appear less threatening to the society – she is a woman who has desires, attitudes and strength she shouldn't demonstrate. So not to apper a deviant, she has to adopt a socially acceptable Persona for herself.

Despite common beliefs that woman's true identity is of a wife and a mother, Bloberta is never changed by acquiring these statuses. Quite opposite, it's Clay who shapes his identity in relation to her (against her). It a simple visual storytelling, he is nothing significant to her, he is an instrument to her goals and desires, a tool. And a useless tool, too.

What has actually influenced Bloberta's sense of Self had done it way before she and Clay met. Take a look at her family.

Her mother Regina wears a mix of brown, red and very dark-green. Everyone else wears a variation of her colours. Modella – red and yellow-green, Lunchbox – green, Raymond – brown. Together they look very homogeneous too. They don't stick out, they don't clash, they don't take attention away from Regina. In comparison, their wardrobes are also similar and very simple, mostly plain l, while hers is quite busy and speckled, ornated. She is the center of attention. Raymond blends with the background, Modella and Lunchbox are like an extension of her perfect aesthetic. And all together they look classy, a very much dark academia family. That to be said, literally no one on the picture is allowed to diverge from the selected route (even their interior is in gren/brown/red) – they HAVE to be inside the borders of The Family Aesthetic or else...

In other words, they are constantly putting up a show, a collective Persona. The are not a perfect family by any standards, but Regina tightly manages their public image. Even at the reception the are like this.

But Who we have across the table? Bloberta. Her bright red skirt and white patterned blouse. She doesn't fit in the family approved hue of red, she wears too much white – she reflects too much light, her red looks even brighter again it. She is just that bright. Her reception dress is also bright red. If she was ever allowed to stand closer to them, they would look dull. So she never is. She is a family outcast. It's also reflective of a talent that she possess so naturally but is never able to utilise bc no one is interested. Despite her constant search of love and acceptance, she adopts this identity of a black – or rather red – sheep of the family that functionally casts her aside. She doesn't change to appeal to her mother's taste, probably bc it's senseless. Regina is not interested in Bloberta or her success, so it wouldn't matter anyways.

See, also, if her father was truly affiliated with her, he would have won a bit of her red maybe. It would've been a nice touch. But we know that he was too reluctant to defend his daughter even if he felt sorry for her. Her siblings are not on her side either. Lunchbox is actually her antipode – completely in green, a contrasting, complementary colour to red from the opposite side of the colour wheel – a son, a youngest child, a talent her mother actually wants. He is everything Bloberta is not. Modella, despite being closer to Bloberta in colour theme, in tone is closer to their mother. She may be not so aggressively opposite, but she is too reluctant to align with her. She has softer colour, she might be on good terms with her personally, but wouldn't risk standing up for her to Regina. Thus, Bloberta is completely alienated from her family.

Also, Bloberta's clashing style can be interpreted as her subconscious attempt to separate herself from her siblings in a desperate attempt to get attention too. Bloberta is a middle child, moreover she is a middle daughter inbetween an older sister and a younger brother. It's socially acceptable to deem her invisible – you already have an excellent daughter and a son™, this one is spare. Red is a very noticeable colour, it attracts attention. In Bloberta's case, it can also be so that she is noticed even if looked at passively. This way, her bright red is imprinted on someone's retina, even if they barely acknowledge her presence. This way, her mother, despite looking past her every day, never forgets that she is there. Thus, red is her only chance to be noticed by somebody, anybody. It's a survival tactics for her. Her depressed, meek attitude at home, and everywhere where she is with her family, doesn't allow her to come to her own character. To avoid being an afterthought, she wears bright red and contrasts it will white.

Now, let's take a look at her friend group. They all seem to have a similar style of colour combination. Pastel tones, dark-light, no more than two colours etc. But you see, no one is so on the nose like Bloberta. Even that one girl, that wears red too – it's not the same. Her red is darker, closer to brown and contrasted with light green, that is also with red plaid. The all are colourful, of course, but tame. It's just Bloberta who is standing out, and not only bc she's the only single friend now.

Also, there's another character, who stands out just like Bloberta, but in an opposite technique. Censodoll and her in this instance actually (and in general) share some similar characters despite such a dramatic difference in colour identity. They are both single, their Self shaped by actions of their mothers, the Self so strong, that they keep it throughout the whole life. However Censodoll approaches her existence with black – colour that absorbs light. She is not susceptible to the influence of her environment, but she is acutely aware of it – subsequently she can exploit it for her own gain. (Censodoll deserves her own separate paragraph).

White is a very reflective colour, it reflects light from its surrounding. Pre-Help Bloberta is very much receptive of what her surrounding thinks and expects of her and she reflects back exactly that. The slow decline of white elements in her clothes can signify gradual maturing, jadedness. Young Bloberta is still sensitive, naïve and youthfully innocent. She's of course already lost most of her expectations, learned to accept that little consideration she's given and not object or ask for more. At the reception she wears mostly red because the earlier encounter with her friend group gave her a motivation – to get engaged asap to be included again. The tone is more saturated, the white belt or headband does very little to counteract it – she drops the act she does without her family around, she is confident in her actions too. Subsequently, this becomes a colour of her victory and her downfall.

I have to say, the only time Bloberta ever abandoned her significant red was during her affair with Stopframe. It's a sportswear, so it's usually white. But on a storytelling side, it tell us about her (and his) motives a lot.

She wears all white with a tiny bit of blue. You see, we already established how white is a reflective colour. Story wise she is trying to be someone different too, just this once. It doesn't necessarily mean that it's unauthentic for her, just that it diverges greatly from her original and by that time setted colour identity. Its probable, that she is also putting a very strong and exaggerated act – she's desperate after all. It's been at least 4 years of her marriage to Clay, that was a horrible mistake from day 1, she knew it instantly, too. So this act here is targeted to secure her a better relationship (or so she thinks). It's actually the same approach she used on Clay in Help + longevity. The one thing she definitely has learnt was that she shouldn't immediately jump to a conclusion. So here, she is expanding her act in time and also putting more effort in her reflection. A tiny bit of blue is her way of associating with Stopframe, blue is one of his signature colours, especially to her. (Notably, he also has a tiny bit of red – he is also putting up an act here, they are quite the same in their tactics. He wears white, just like Bloberta, for the effect of reflection – he is whatever she wants him to be, an affinity to her. But notably, he keep an element of his own colour, while she drops it completely. He is not that dedicated to the initial act, not as much as she is.)

So, Bloberta holds her identity in a death grip and wears red as a trophy. However, she became a product of her own environment first, and locked it on herself second. Red is what she needed to survive among her family and friends, not necessarily what she truly was. Now, of course, it's what she it, the Self she accepted and built up.

Her red is very different from Clay's red too. She has a potential to be whatever she wants actually, she has much more agency than Clay in terms of independent existence. She is versatile and resilient, she is flexible and capable of big achievements if she puts her mind to it. In her case, red = strength, power she actually has, and, in extension, the power of Self that Clay actually desires but lacks.

They are different in their approaches and attitudes, routes the took etc., but in the end they arrived to the same result. They are two parts of the same disaster, one whole broken system.

Orel is next.

[prettyboykatsuki]

OMG OKAY ochako megumi sakura and wyll king 🥹🥹

doing this made me realize how actually insane i am and how much ive thought about this. its something i do in relationships all the time but wow the amount of time i spent curating these is crazy

also once again this is not how i think THEY dress but how i would dress them. like how i pick their clothes out.

my beautiful princess ochako:

i think ochako usually sticks to a more athleisure sort of look and keeps it simple in general. jeans, sneakers, basics etc.

i think she gets a little self conscious wearing cute things on her own lol so in my mind i am mostly encouraging her

i dress her in stuff that's a little frillier and brighter. specifically i try to style her with the himekaji subtype of gyaru in mind which is like dressed down princess attire. stuff that accentuates her waist and hips... i like her stomach pudge...

i normally pick things in pink for her but i think she also suits green + some light brown.

megumi my beloved

i think megumi probably dresses a little closely to what i've picked here. he likes to wear simple stuff and sometimes layers but it's mostly monochrome. black + white

i like to pick out things that are only slightly more experimental and that play with androgyny for him. sometimes a skirt if he's feeling generous ++ a lot of accessories.

i also like giving him a tighter silhouette. think of what i dress him as like a dressed down techwear with some more edgy details.

him and sakura i thnk can't be pushed too far out so i try to keep in the realm of basic with some flair thats not too intimidating

i would love to put him in a mesh shirt sometime.

sakura my sweetheart

tbh... i think i pick out all of sakuras clothes in general KJSDJK.

i keep his tastes in mind and then adjust. i overall like to dress him in the soft boy aesthetic and play around with more patterns since anything above that is beyond him

he rarely wears accessories but i think he gets his ear pierced so sometimes i will choose matching jewelry for him

I COULDNT FIND ANY GOOD PICTURES BUT I DO PUT HIM IN MORE COLOR. pinks, lavenders, light blues etc. ALL OF THE PICTURES WERE UGLY BUT THE SAKURA IN MY MIND IS WEARING MORE COLOR... i stick to monochrome tho too for his sake

i mostly dress him in oversize two layer shirts and hoodies with black jeans. my main agenda is to dress him in sleeves that go past his hands <33

wyll my husband

for wyll in a modern context, i don't think i change how dresses much at all!!

he dresses well and it's what i would want to see him in anyways so i rarely do more than just help him with the outfit

he suits neutrals and browns, and also dark greens which i put him in frequently. i like muted colors on him i think.

the only thing i style for him is jewelry though once again... unlisted... all the pics weren't doing him justice.

but imagine gold rings + a few necklaces and some earrings to top the outfit off.

overall dresses neat and stylish without much help.

[toasttt11]

my au’s facts and favorites

connie bedard

favorites

sushi and anything seafood

lettuce wraps

not a big coffee or tea person

really likes smoothies

she likes lilies

blue is her favorite color

favorite season is winter

facts

she’s always kept her hair really long but the first time she cut it short she never let it grow out long again.

connie is very very superstitious with her hockey stick and absolutely does not like anyone touching it before a game.

connie hates the summer because hockey season isn’t going on and she does not like not playing hockey.

connie is allergic to any type of nuts.

spencer tkachuck

favorites

pasta and chicken

pumpkin bread

seafood boils

favorite season is fall

doesn’t really have a favorite flower

blue is his favorite color

facts

is a pretty amazing cook and has helped quinn, connor, jack and luke all get a lot better at cooking.

spencer never lets any facial hair stay on his face because it irritates him and he doesn’t like the feeling.

he’s always had a big soft spot for animals and if he didn’t play hockey he would of wanted to become a veterinarian.

spencer has a really hard time sleeping and is use to getting very little sleep, the only thing he has every found that helps him sleep is sleeping next to quinn.

oscar bedard

favorites

chicken and steak that jack makes

any type of fruit

orange is his favorite color

any flower that’s orange is his favorite

favorite season is winter

facts

he loves fruits and one of jack’s favorite things is cutting up fruit for oscar.

he does not have any care for fashion and just buys simple things or lets his sister buy his outfits.

oscar is a big dog person and adored growing up with their a family dog.

oscar hates pretzels, he always has but it’s jack’s favorite food.

oscar can quite literally sleepy anywhere no matter where he is and where he is sitting or laying down.

wyatt johnston

favorites

loves anything that has bread

cinnamon! anything cinnamon is her favorite

cinnamon french toast

cinnamon lattes

green and purples are favorite colors

loves tulips

spring is her favorite season

facts

wyatt is a really good juggler and it’s one of her most random talents.

she does not like cooking and is not very good at it, she can make enough things to live alone but doesn’t like it.

she is always cold and most of the time is wearing a long sleeve and a oversized hoodie or jacket.

if she is on the ice she is always chewing on her mouth guard or her gloves.

she has always loved being out by the water and fishing with her dad and grandpa.

greyson hughes

favorites

chocolate he has an extreme sweet tooth

brownies are his favorite cheat meal

mocha lattes

favorite season is winter

likes white daisies

doesn’t really have a favorite color

facts

he’s had a ring since he was young from his parents and has always fiddled with it, eventually he gives it wyatt and wyatt knows it’s very important and takes good care of it.

tends to be very anti social and is alwyss wearing his noise canceling headphones especially when he reads in public.

has always sat alone on flights for road games, he likes being alone and it’s become a routine for him and the stars all know to let him sit alone.

greyson gave his love to reading to quinn too, quinn always ask for new books for greyson and the rare occasion that luke snd jack read that ask greyson too.

remington zegras

favorites

isn’t a big sweets person and likes savory more

gets just a plain cold brew coffee no sweetener

pizza is one of his favorite foods

favorite season is definitely summer

not a big flower fan and usually the one giving the flowers

favorite color is blue

facts

he loves starting his day with a workout or a run and tends to wake up early.

has always been a big water baby and would happily stay in the water all day.

feels very restless when he doesn’t do anything in a day and at least needs to workout.

remington can speak fluent ancient greek, he learned when he was younger having wanted to learn because of his heritage.

he’s always loved anything percy jackson since he was younger and was obsessed with the books and movies growing up and he loves the show now.

[lorna-d-m]

Gingerbread

Word Count: 4,870

Rating: E

Warning: wine drinking, swearing, breast play, some dry humping

Author's Note: happy thanksgiving! Now that it's passed I can officially say: Merry Christmas y'all! Timeline wise, this takes place between chapters six and seven.

Alice missed the days of elementary school when the last day before winter break was reserved for nostalgic movies, hot chocolate, and wearing your pajamas to school. Instead, students completed their end-of-term exams. Instead of relaxing, kicking up her feet and putting on a movie, she graded first periods’ exams during second, and so on and so on. Those who finished before the end of the period could read or study for another exam. 

Stevie approached her desk, and she looked up assuming he had a question about the exam. Instead, he handed her a small envelope and whispered so quietly she could hardly hear him, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Greene”. Stevie turned on his heels and returned to his desk.

Curiosity piqued, Alice examined the envelope. She would recognize Stevie’s handwriting, so she assumed it must be Laszlo who scrawled her name on the front of the envelope. Alice noted the fancy stationery: the thick off-white envelope with a red wax seal. 

It was a simple but elegant Christmas card depicting a winter scene. Before she read it, she looked at the gift card tucked inside. It was for her favorite coffee chain and $15, plenty for two drinks or a drink and a snack. Inside the card, Laszlo wrote a brief thank you, Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays. He signed, as well as Stevie. 

Stevie watched her open the card. Not wanting to distract any students or draw too much attention, Alice mouthed thank you to him. She wondered if any other of Stevie’s teachers received a card. When she checked her phone at lunch, Bits answered her question. 

Nice Christmas gifts from the good doc 🎄🎁 I’m assuming you’ll get more than a card from him? 😏😉

Alice chuckled, knowing all the innuendos Bitsy meant with a simple wink and smirk emoji combination. They made plans for Saturday when Stevie was supposed to be hanging out at a friend’s house.

Oh hush you 🤫A lady doesn’t kiss and tell

She went back to grading, worrying if the gifts she bought him were enough. Saying he was difficult to shop for felt like a lame excuse, but Alice couldn’t think of anything else to get him. Unless… well she supposed it was more of a purchase for her, but he would certainly appreciate it.

Laszlo deliberated for two days about what to cook for dinner. It was not his first time cooking for Alice, but it was his first time in his kitchen amongst all his tools and familiarity. The expectations were higher. He wanted to do something delicious for her, showing her how much he cared for her. Once decided, he went to the markets in the morning. It was his guilty pleasure. Laszlo enjoyed carefully perusing all his options and leisurely strolling around. He could never stick to a list; he always bought things he didn’t need but decided at the moment he wanted. 

He returned, carefully holding a brown paper grocery bag to his chest. Stevie stood over the stove, cooking a late-morning breakfast of eggs and toast. Laszlo had to tease him as he slipped into a winter break sleep schedule. 

“Good morning. Any later and I would tell you good afternoon.” 

“Ha ha,” Stevie laughed dryly. “I’ve never heard that one before.” 

Laszlo unpacked his groceries and handed a party-size bag of chips to Stevie. “For tonight,” Laszlo thought it rude to go to someone’s house emptyhanded. “Do you need a ride or is Jake picking you up?”

“He said he’d pick me up at like four, and then…” Stevie trailed off, but Laszlo waited expectedly. “I was going to ask you how late I could stay.”

Curfew was, Laszlo didn’t like to call it a debate, but a matter of discussion. On school nights Laszlo stuck to 9:30, wanting Stevie home at a reasonable time. On weekends, however, he was more flexible. So long as Stevie was transparent about his plans, telling him where he wanted to go and who he would be with, Laszlo was willing to adjust the time. 

Laszlo trusted Stevie and he had yet to disappoint him, but for emergencies and peace of mind, they had each other’s location shared on their phones. It went both ways, Laszlo could see if Stevie was at school, home, or a friend’s house, and Stevie could see if he was at the university, the Institute, the police station, or the courts. As a show of faith, Laszlo told him he would only check if he had a legitimate concern or cause. He had yet to check, knock on wood. 

And of course, if Laszlo coincidentally had plans with Alice the same night, then perhaps Stevie could stay with his friends a bit longer.

“That depends,” Laszlo huffed a sigh in thought, “Will he be dropping you off, or will I pick you up?” 

Stevie didn’t bother to plate his food or sit at the table. He stood at the counter, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a piece of sourdough toast with his wooden spoon. At least he didn’t create many dishes… Stevie answered with a mouthful, “He can drop me off.” 

Perfect. “How does eleven sound then? Take it as an early Christmas present.” Then Laszlo could enjoy more time with Alice. “And text me when you’re on your way back.” That way they had a reminder when she needed to leave. 

“Thanks!” Stevie was a quick eater, a result of his childhood, and already he finished his breakfast. After cleaning the few dishes he used, he went back to his room.

Alice pressed her lips into a thin line in focus. It was an unconscious habit as she piped details on gingerbread cookies in royal icing: delicate buttons to the little men, twinkling lights on the trees, and fine lines on the snowflakes. Flour and icing smeared her cheek and dusted her clothes, and she was sweating from the residual heat of the oven. 

The timer on her phone startled her, making her smear the line of the snowflake. She cursed and set the cookie aside. Alice didn’t want to give Laszlo an ugly cookie. And, she sighed while brushing away an errant lock of hair, she didn’t want to look like an ugly cookie either. The timer reminded her to step back and start getting ready.

After hearing Laszlo had no Christmas plans, other than little celebrations with Stevie since John and Sara were on a much-needed vacation, Alice wanted to make sure their night was perfect. She debated what to wear, settling on a red low-cut sweater and a tight skirt. Classic, but enticing, and she could show off one of her gifts for Laszlo.

***

Alice parked on the street and waited in her toasty car. It was her first time visiting Laszlo’s house. She pulled out her phone, and rather than text Laszlo that she arrived, she typed a message for Bitsy.

Oh shit. He’s rich rich 💰

Bitsy responded quickly. oh??? 👀👀That’s good because you need to marry rich you’re a teacher

She took a picture of the front of the brownstone house and sent it. That should tell Bitsy all she needed to know. Then, she texted Laszlo that she had arrived. Taking a deep breath in, she left the coziness of her car and braved the cold night air. 

The front door was off street level; it was up a set of stairs. Alice was careful, her hand gliding over the railing as she ascended them. The last thing she wanted was to slip on icy steps: embarrassing herself and ruining her hard work that afternoon or Laszlo’s gifts. Before she could knock on the old brass knocker or ring the decorative doorbell, Laszlo opened the door. 

He radiated warmth, and not just because of the heat escaping the house. Laszlo wore a white apron over his clothes, a lock of hair fell across his forehead, his sleeve was rolled up, and he smelled like the delicious food he cooked. It made Alice’s stomach growl and her heart flutter. 

“Please, come in. You can put your coat there,” he gestured to a coat rack in the corner of the vestibule and took the platter of cookies from her hands, “and I can take these to the kitchen.”

He had a vestibule and a foyer beyond that. Alice knew he had money, but she did not realize how much until she saw his home. She shed her coat, and she caught Laszlo’s eyes appreciating the neckline of her sweater just as she intended. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished, but please, feel free to wait in the parlor and nibble on the cheese board while I return downstairs.”

“Your kitchen is downstairs?” Alice almost asked “you have a parlor?” but that was a less pressing matter.

Laszlo chuckled. “Yes, it’s an old house, so the garage, kitchen, and ironically Stevie’s room are all street level. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Good,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m hungry and I’ll miss you.” 

His cheeks flushed, and he kissed her properly. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.” He disappeared down the stairs, readjusting the apron tied around his waist. Alice admired his ass as he left. 

Alice did as Laszlo suggested and wandered to the parlor. She nibbled on a cracker with brie and thinly sliced apple while she surveyed the room. A heavy, ornate fireplace warmed the room, and she relished its heat. Her sweater and skirt did little to keep her warm. Alice noticed there were no pictures on the mantle, just a television mounted on the wall. It was one of the fancy ones disguised as a landscape painting, complete with a gilded frame. 

Two bookshelves bookended the fireplace, and Alice skimmed through the titles. Some she recognized, like classic novels, whereas the psychological essays and journals were far from her realm of familiarity. Where did he find the time to read, she mused. A record player nestled in the corner, made to look like a vintage gramophone, filled the room with traditional Christmas music. Alice hummed along to the familiar song. Laszlo was a maximalist, filling his home with as much as he could in his eclectic style.

Alice heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so she went to the formal dining room. As she wondered how often Laszlo and Stevie ate there, he answered her silent question.

“We rarely use it, but I wanted tonight to be special.” 

“Please, let me help you,” she offered. Laszlo held a heavy tray laden with plates and bowls with one hand.

“There’s no need,” he insisted, setting it on the table.  “It’s part of why we don’t use the dining room very often.”

“I can imagine, but it looks lovely, Laszlo.” He dressed up the space with formal dinnerware and linens. He lit a candelabra on the table, and pitchers of water and bottles of wine waited to be poured. 

“Thank you.” He blushed again, clearly unused to praise. Alice wanted to make the tinge of pink darker. 

“You’ve put in so much effort, and I appreciate it. You’ve made tonight special and memorable, and we’ve barely begun.” 

Laszlo returned downstairs for the rest of the meal, and Alice stole a glance at what he brought up already. A basket of dinner rolls, small bowls of soup, and salads. This was meant to be the appetizer, and she wondered eagerly what the main course could be. With perfect timing, he brought the entrée: roasted vegetables, seared duck breast with a red wine sauce, and creamy mashed potatoes. 

Once everything was settled on the table, Laszlo could settle himself. He removed his apron revealing a white button-up and a Christmas-themed waistcoat: dark green with white detailing and gold buttons. Laszlo pulled out her seat for her, and then he poured them both a glass of water and a glass of red wine.  

“Please, enjoy. There’s plenty.” He offered her the basket of warm dinner rolls glistening with butter.

Laszlo was an excellent cook, and she was excited to try it. He waited until she tasted it and smiled before he ate anything.  

Over dinner, they reminisced on past Christmases: best presents, worst presents, family drama, vacations. Alice thought long and hard about the best present she ever received and decided it must have been when she got a Barbie dreamhouse. She knew what it was as soon as she saw the gigantic wrapped box by the tree, but her parents made her wait until the end to unwrap it. Laszlo smiled saying he had something similar happen when his parents bought the baby grand piano for the parlor.

“Do you play?” She noticed it, but the keys were covered and the music books were nowhere in sight. If he did, he left no clues. 

“No,” he frowned, “not since I was a young boy.”

Alice didn’t want to upset him, so she did not press it. She found it odd since he was the one who mentioned the piano, to begin with, but this was a happy night. From then on, Laszlo was more inclined to listen to her than share his memories. 

Alice insisted upon helping him clean up after the meal, and Laszlo found it hard to refuse her. He enjoyed simply being near her, and he admitted it was easier with an extra set of hands. Laszlo rinsed the dishes from dinner while Alice unloaded the dishwasher. 

“I wasn’t sure about making Christmas cookies,” Alice confessed.

Laszlo raised an eyebrow in playful alarm. “Why ever not? Your cookies are delectable.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a one trick pony. You’ve had my cookies before at open house and the conferences, so I thought I should show you something new.”

“But they’re delicious, and I presume gingerbread to fit the season. I’ve not tasted those.”

“Which is why I went with it. You can really only do gingerbread this time of year. But I think next time, I’ll make something totally different.”

“I look forward to it.” Since his hands were covered with soapy water, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Speaking of dessert, do you want it now or do you want to wait?”

Alice smirked. “Well, if dessert is a real kiss, I want it now.” 

How could he refuse? Laszlo kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Alice pinned him against the counter, and since her hands were dry she ran them through his hair and rested them at the back of his neck. Laszlo leaned into her touch.

Abruptly, Alice ended their kiss. She stayed close to him, pressed to him. “But if dessert is the cookies, they can wait until we’re watching a movie on the couch.” Laszlo hardly understood what she said. He was too distracted by the way Alice kissed him. She giggled, clearly amused by his love-drunk expression, and smiled. “Come on,” she teased, “let’s finish this up.” Laszlo did not need any more encouragement. 

***

They set out all their gifts on the coffee table along with the platter of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Laszlo insisted on preparing it for them, his recipe using dark chocolate and rich milk to create the most decadent drink. Stevie preferred the instant Swiss Miss powder, no doubt due to his unrefined palette, and Alice surprised Laszlo by asking for a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. Curious, he had to try it for himself.

Alice shivered once on the couch, so Laszlo found the red knit blanket he kept in the living room and draped it over her shoulders. She looked comfortable like she belonged there.

“Can I go first?” Alice volunteered, “My gifts for you require a little bit of explanation.”

“Well now you must. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

She handed him one slim box, one wrapped present that could only be a book by its shape and size, and a flat, rectangular box. All were wrapped in delicate blue and white snowflake wrapping paper and finished with silver bows. Laszlo reached for the smallest box first. He tore the paper at the tape and lifted the lid from the box. It was a black and gold fountain pen, weighted in his hand.

“It’s supposed to be smear proof. All the reviews said it was left hand certified.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He reached for the book next, sliding his thumb under the edge of the wrapping paper. It was a well-read, well-loved paperback copy of her favorite book. Laszlo glanced at her before skimming through the pages. 

“We talked about books before, and how a person’s favorite book can tell you a lot about them, so I thought I would give you my favorite filled with all my thoughts and annotations.” It was a deeply personable gift. Laszlo was shocked, and he immediately tried to give it back to her. “I already bought myself another copy, please, keep it.”

The final present was a rich golden-colored cable knit sweater. Laszlo held it up, modeling what it would look like, and he saw her eyes light up. He would have to wear more gold…

“I had to guess your size, so I put the receipt in the box in case you need to return it or exchange it. But I thought the gold would suit you, and I see I was right.”

“Thank you, darling.” He kissed her cheek again. Laszlo enjoyed seeing her cheeks flush whenever he did. “It’s all so thoughtful.”

“Technically,” Alice said with a sly grin, “there’s one more gift, but you’ll have to wait to unwrap it.”

“Oh?” Laszlo checked the coffee table wondering how he missed it. Alice nodded, removed the blanket from her shoulders, and sat up straight, pushing her plentiful chest out. “Oh!”

Intentionally, her sweater slipped off her shoulder exposing a touch of lace. His eyes followed the movement. “It’s more of an investment, I think, but mutually beneficial.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, unconsciously licking his lips. 

“But not yet.” Alice fixed her sweater and re-wrapped the blanket. Laszlo blinked twice, refocusing on the moment. She knew how to tease him, draw him in, and turn his head all around. It was maddening and enthralling. He thought carefully about the order in which to give his gifts to her. Start small.

“The poinsettias on the table are yours to keep, so long as you keep them away from Georgie. I read they’re not good for cats, so put them somewhere high and out of reach for him.”

“They’re gorgeous, Laszlo, and I appreciate the research. All the other flowers you’ve given me have been Georgie safe, so I’ll have to find somewhere special for these.”

Next was a little gift bag filled with imported German chocolates, the best in his opinion, and cat treats for Georgie. Treats for both of them, he explained, with a sheepish smile at the pun. These were all small gifts, trivial really, but they all brought a smile to her face. It was time to step it up. He handed her a slim, unmarked envelope with two tickets to the Nutcracker, on Christmas Eve no less. 

Alice’s eyes glittered. “I thought this had been sold out for months! How did you get these?”

“I have a box, so I get the first pick of any tickets…” he trailed off. He always bought at least two tickets. In years past, he would take John, Stevie, or John and Sara and play the third wheel. This year, Laszlo would have a date. 

“Fuck off,” Alice said indelicately, but still alluringly to him. “You have a box?”

“I do,” he snickered, “It was my family’s before it became mine.”

“That’s incredible.” She still held the tickets in her hand, looking them over and over. His eyes met hers, a silent question. What are you thinking? “Honestly, I’m trying to think if I have an outfit worthy of this.”

“Whatever you wear, I’m sure it will be divine, and I hope you pair it with this.” He slid his final present over to her: a small jewelry box. 

Tentatively, she set the tickets down and picked up the box. It wasn’t wrapped; Laszlo thought the black velvet spoke for itself. Now he feared it was too much too soon. Jewelry set certain expectations. It announced intention. 

“Oh, Laszlo.” Her thumb rubbed along the edge of the box, and she tilted the necklace and earrings toward the light. “It’s- I don’t know what to say other than thank you.” Alice’s wide eyes met his, and he thought he saw the shadow of a tear.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” The troublesome tear slipped down her cheek when he asked, and more threatened to follow. Given the nature of his work, Laszlo was accustomed to tears, but he did not know what to do when Alice cried.

“You’ve done so much and given me such wonderful gifts,” she tried to steady her voice but was unsuccessful, “and I’m worried I didn’t do enough.”

“Don’t say that,” he rushed to assure her. In the unspoken silence, Laszlo sensed her true fear was that she wasn’t enough. He struggled for words, so he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You have given me plenty.”

Alice smiled, tears still in her eyes, and nodded to herself. “Thank you, Laszlo, just-” she paused again, registering her hand in his, “Thank you.”

After Alice dried her tears, embarrassed she cried but comforted by Laszlo’s words, they dimmed the lights and turned on a movie. All playful bickering about what to watch stopped when Alice spotted an old stop-motion classic about the year without Santa Claus. She had not seen it in years, but she vividly remembered the song with heat miser and snow miser. Laszlo chuckled and indulged her, selecting the movie and letting the opening credits play. 

She cuddled up next to Laszlo, his arm across her shoulders, and she shared her blanket with him. Alice leaned her head on his chest, and he rested his chin at the top of her head. She was comforted by his slow and steady breathing. Laszlo was a rock: steady and reliable under her. 

Both their hands wandered, appreciative and lingering touches, until the movie was forgotten and Laszlo encouraged her to sit on his lap. Alice hesitated, biting her tongue at a quip about being more than he could handle, but he was insistent and unflinching. She straddled his lap, her already short skirt rising up even further, teasing him with the tops of her thighs. 

“There you are,” Laszlo crooned. He looked less perfect and more like a person. Toussled hair, pink cheeks, sly smile. Alice adored him like this. His hand circled her waist and pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them. His kiss tasted of their drink, rich chocolate with a touch of spice. Alice melted into his touch. Laszlo panted, whining into her mouth as he felt her chest pressing against him.

His hand slipped under the knit of her red sweater and traced the skin underneath. His fingers danced over the clasp of her new bra, her gift just for him to unwrap, asking her permission before advancing any further. She broke their kiss and nodded, a quiet “I want this” escaping her lips. Laszlo needed no more encouragement, and he deftly undid the clasp. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Her nipples pebbled in the sudden chill, and Laszlo was quick to latch himself to her. 

He took one into his mouth, lavishing it with attention, while he cupped her other breast with his hand. Laszlo did not want it to feel unappreciated as he nipped, licked, and pinched. Alice moaned his name and wriggled her hips against him, craving more in the heady heat of the moment. “I want to see you,” she huffed. 

Laszlo paused and drew back. A trail of saliva connected them, and Alice brushed it away with her thumb. “I’m all yours,” he murmured.

Alice hastily unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt, cursing him for wearing so many layers, but grateful for them too. Laszlo looked good in his layers, coordinated and well-put-together, but she wanted to see underneath his careful clothing choices.  Alice feasted her eyes on a broad chest, dusted with coarse hair and fine freckles, leading down to his soft stomach. Laszlo tipped his head back and groaned when she trailed her hand down his chest.

“Much better.” Pleased, Alice touched Laszlo’s chin and brought his attention back. His eyes were hazy, as if he’d drunk more than a glass of wine, as he studied her form. Laszlo ran an appreciative hand across her body: cupping her breast, holding her waist, and resting on her ass. He kissed her again, his lips wandering from her lips to her jaw, and her collarbone. 

“Laszlo, I-” His phone, forgotten on the coffee table, rang and interrupted her. She turned, glancing at the caller ID, and handed it to him. “It’s Stevie, he’s probably on his way home.”

Laszlo answered and held the phone to his ear. Alice was somewhat relieved he called. She wasn’t sure how much further they were going to go, and she was nervous to broach the topic. This was a natural end to the evening. When she went to move off his lap, he held her there with his right hand. Not firmly, but the surprising and warm touch was enough to keep her there. She slipped her hand over his.

Alice waited until he hung up to speak. “I think it’s time for me to go, Las.” 

“Please, darling, five more minutes.” His hips ground against hers, and his voice was as enticingly sweet as honey. 

“Five minutes, my final Christmas present for you,” she teased.

His lips reattached to hers, and his hand groped her breast. Her hips continued above him, and Laszlo followed every one of her movements. 

Hindered by Laszlo’s request, but hastened by his assistance to redress, Alice left without issue. She promised to text him when she arrived home safe and sound, and he reminded her what time they would leave for the Nutcracker. Laszlo waited for Stevie to return in the kitchen, hoping to ask about his evening before locking the front door and going to bed. 

“Hey,” Stevie entered through the more hidden ground-level door that connected through the garage. He preferred the direct access rather than messing with the front door. It was part of why he chose to live downstairs.

“How was it?” 

“Good,” he shrugged, “Caleb got a new game for us to play, so it took a while to figure out the rules, but it was fun.”

“Did they enjoy the chips?”

“Yeah, yeah, they did.” Stevie glanced at the sink, empty apart from two mugs of hot chocolate. “How was your evening?” 

One mug was still smeared with lipstick, and panic shot through Laszlo. Did he have any of her lipstick on his face? He wished he checked a mirror instead of presuming he looked okay. Laszlo flustered, thinking on the spot.

“Fine. Some people from the psychology department came over for dinner, part of a new tradition they’re trying to start.”

Stevie poured himself a glass of water and stood in front of the fridge. “That’s cool. Any leftovers? ”

“What? They didn’t feed you over there?” Laszlo chuckled, relieved by the change in subject.

“They did, but I’m still hungry. Growing boy and all.” Stevie ate a dinner roll without bothering to microwave it. 

Laszlo rolled his eyes. Ah, the youth. “Goodnight, and don’t forget to lock up.”

“Already did.”

Laszlo meant it when he said, “Good kid.”

***

Two days later, Laszlo picked Alice up from her apartment with a bouquet of pale pink roses. She wore a simple, elegant black dress and shawl. Underneath her silver shawl, Laszlo spotted the simple necklace he gave her and more than one purple hickey. He felt a sense of satisfaction seeing his work.

They arrived early to the theater and worked slowly through the crowds. People acknowledged him — former clients or students — and he stopped for a moment to chat with some of them. His chest puffed up with pride, talking to them with a woman as wonderful as Alice on his arm. She shimmered under the chandeliers.

Finally, Laszlo brought her to his box on the upper level. Alice whispered in his ear she always wondered what the view from the boxes was like rather than general admission. Laszlo promised to take her to more shows in the coming year. They enjoyed the show, her hand clasped in his, and her shawl slipping off her shoulders.

Laszlo asked if she was hungry, too, when they left the theater. Sheepishly, Alice confessed she was. He swung by a fast-food joint, one of the only things open at the late hour on Christmas Eve, and ordered fries and milkshakes. After their midnight snack, they made out like teenagers in the front seat. It was a complete contrast to the formality of their evening, but it was the perfect way to end the night.

taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker

[wynn-ing]

hey hey i LOVE your OCs from What Remains, i doodle eti all of the time in my class notes. i was wondering if you had any more detailed descriptions for any of the characters like Violet and Kyra and Ghost that you haven't drawn any references for!! i want to doodle them all!!!!

!!! Thank you so much!! I'd love to see your doodles sometime if you want to show them, that makes me so happy! I do want to draw Ghost and Kyra at some point but I can absolutely give you some descriptions!! I'll pop them under a readmore so the post doesn't get too long <3

Violet:

Violet is a short woman with a streak of colour in her otherwise dark brown hair. Her skin is slightly tan, with a soft nose and thin brows. She gets freckles in summer, but not all of the time. She straightens her hair, which reaches just below her shoulderblades, although it's naturally more wavy, and her fringe is long and messy, even though she tries to keep it neat. The dyed streak used to be red but it's currently purple. She plans to go green next time. She has warm hazel eyes that are slightly more green than brown, but since her hair often falls in front of her eyes it can be a little hard to see.

When she wants to focus, she'll pull her hair up into a ponytail, and pin back her fringe, but she generally doesn't do that in front of other people because she's a little embarrassed about having a big forehead. (She does not have a particularly big forehead, she's just insecure).

She likes to wear simple, understated clothes. She doesn't like to stand out too much, but she still wants to look good, so she sticks to classics that look good on anyone. She wears skirts and trousers in equal measure, but generally has to wear mid-length skirts if she does go for those, because it reduces the risk of comedic wardrobe malfunctions. She's a comfort over all else kinda gal, so while she does like to dress up sometimes, usually she'll be showing up with a biiig comfortable jumper, whatever trousers are most weather appropriate, and sensible trainers.

She's a little bit pear shaped, with a soft, fairly round face and a sweet smile. She doesn't wear makeup usually, but sometimes will if she's going out with friends.

Ghost:

Ghost is a concerningly pale young man with a willowy body shape and a slightly greyish complexion. His face is thin and his eyes are a little downturned, giving him a permanently slightly sad look. His hair is stark white, and falls to just below his shoulders in a loose cut that's reminiscent of a page boy. He's gangly, but somehow elegant.

He has fairly long lashes, and his neutral expression looks very faraway, as if he's stuck in a permanent daydream that isn't particularly pleasant. I haven't decided an exact height for him, but he's on the slightly taller side, although not so much that it's noteworthy. His eyes are grey, completely devoid of colour. Even when he blushes, somehow it barely brings even a hint of red to his cheeks. His lips are thin and his nose is fairly straight. His skin is completely unscarred, except from the small slash Pasha gave him on his arm, and a slim medical scar just below one pectoral (not top surgery scars I'm sorry this is smth else)

He wears slim black trousers. Before coming to the Order, he wore a stark white corporate shirt and black, shiny office worker shoes that hurt his feet. Since coming to the Order, he's been given a warm green top with a lower neckline that doesn't suffocate him, and solid leather boots that he can wear all day without worry. He still wears the same trousers, though, because he doesn't like baggier trousers and tailoring new trousers would take time.

Kyra:

Kyra is a tall, muscular woman with exhausted but sharp eyes, long, silky but thick black hair tied in a neat ponytail, and a serious case of resting bitch face. Her skin is a fairly light brown, and her eyes are dark. Her nose is straight and her brows are thick but carefully sculpted. She doesn't wear makeup, but she does take very precise care of her hair, brows etc. she has a mole on her left cheek and a smaller beauty mark right next to it.

Her body is top-heavy, with wide shoulders and a fairly large chest, although it's mostly muscle if I'm entirely honest. She also wears well-fitting black trousers, but unlike Ghost she doesn't pair them with a baggy shirt, instead wearing athletic clothes under her protective vest and black jacket. She wears heavy, steel-toed boots and knee-high socks with garters, with a spare knife slipped into the strap of each one. She openly carries her weapons, but if she has to pretend she has none, she'll use a cello case or similar to disguise them.

She has a fair few scars, the newest being the scratch across her face that Leonore left. If she's up against a more dangerous enemy, she'll often tie her hair into a bun instead of a ponytail, so it's harder to grab, but she hates doing that, because growing out her hair took FOREVER and it's all the way down to her butt. When fighting Leonore, she doesn't bother. Not because she doesn't think Leonore will grab it, but because she knows that if she lets her get close enough to do that, she's in trouble whether her hair is tied up or not. She'll have bigger fish to fry.

(Also fun fact; when she was dating Mal, her hair was only halfway down her back, and she desperately wanted it to be longer. Mal wants to tell her she's proud of her for getting her hair so long like she wanted it to be, but the timing hasn't come up)

Hope that helps!! Lmk if you have any specific questions! <3 and thank you so much, I'm so glad you like my lil guys!!

[hot-glue-burns-hurt]

Icebreaker headcanons pt 12

(what type of clothes they tend to wear)

Jaysen is a skinny jean defender for life it's his staple in every single damn outfit he wears. Also wears a bunch of jewelry that he's carefully curated over the years from thrift shops. Has dreams making crust pants one day or a battle Jacket he isn't sure yet. Only wears black unless it's to sleep

Barbies fits are very solid, very simple. Usually like a graphic tee with some nice jeans and a hoodie. Nova likes to choose his outfits for fun she makes sure they match even when they aren't in the same place! Most of his clothes are greys, and green, except for his jeans he chooses those very carefully

Dorian is a mix of Jaysen and barbie. He doesn't wear skinny jeans but he does usually wear all black. Though every once and a while he'll wear a different color, and it's red. He's got a sick collection of shoes though. Also lots of cool bracelets.

Mickey wears loose clothing, he honestly dresses like a skater. Goes more for the texture of clothing than the look. Usually just sticks with his graphic tees that he steals from Jaysen, and his pants may or may not need a belt. Nova used to make him match outfits with her so every once and a while he would look very different. He can wear tight pants every once and a while he just doesn't really like to

Delilah wears a lot of loose and flowy clothes like dresses, and those pants that you would see in Mamma Mia, she likes for the colors to match her hair. Every once and a while though she wears all black for fun. She really likes hairpins and cool charm bracelets.

Jade is amazing at clothes, she likes bell bottom jeans, and beautiful flowy tops. She likes to make Jewelry like necklaces. she's also got amazing earrings. She tends to go for themes on her outfits and is able to execute them very well! She doesn't really have a preference for colors just what she thinks is good at the time!

Bailey's style is always changing, sometimes she dresses like Mickey other days she looks like Delilah. She loves funky earrings. She's also got a lot of those t-shirts with just funny sayings like the "I pee in public pools ones.". She usually wears casual clothing but every once and a while does just switches it up for fun!

Nova low-key dresses like a basic white girl but she ramps it up and adds to it with a lot of her own inspirations and always looks good. She loves rings. Loves to layer her clothes and just experiment! Also like jade the color really just depends on what she's feeling that day!

[painsandconfusion]

Back To Your Roots

With You - Part Fourteen

(tw: chemical burns, noncon haircut, yandere, domestic abuse, kidnapping) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Robin’s hair was red.

At least, it was right now. Ida assumed, anyway. She changed it a lot. Never quiet. Never simple. Never the same for more than a week at least in style, or a month in color. And she’d only had Red for two weeks now.

It was only a couple weeks ago that Robin finally convinced Ida to dye their hair. 

“A little something special - to showcase who you are and how you want the world to see you. Not just how you were born,” she’d explained to them.

Ida had been wanting to for a long time. They’d stared at the midnight blue dyes on endless hours of scrolling in bed, and brushed off when Robin asked if they wanted to dye it. 

“Nah,” they’d hummed, tucking their phone onto the nightstand. “It would stain my hair.”

“So?” Robin just curled up closer. “Then you can bleach it or dye it again. It’s your hair. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“..it’s too much upkeep. I’ll stick with what I have.” They’d pressed a kiss to Robin’s hand, and that was the end of that conversation.

On the other hand, Oren always loved their hair. Loved it long and straight and white as fallen snow. “That’s what makes you special,” he’d said. “It’s something unique about you - so few people look like you, why would you ever want to change that?” He’d kissed their lips, and that was the end of that conversation. 

His words must have still haunted them, even years after they’d left his house, running off into the night and leaving him with a knife in his gut within crawling distance of his cellphone.

It had taken almost five whole years until Robin eased Ida into the idea of making their hair their own again. Not a trophy or a reminder of how they were so different from everyone else. Just…theirs. Nothing special. Theirs. 

The hairdresser was so gentle and sweet. She’d massaged shampoo into their hair and chattered endlessly with Robin as she worked. She’d tried to pull Ida into conversation, but Ida shrugged off most of it, more than content to listen to Robin chatter about their cat and her books and the newest cardigan she’d found at the thrift store. Neon green, this time. A ‘perfect match’ for her navy skirt and royal purple scarf.

Ida so often wished they could be like her. Wished they would dare to wear bright, crazy colors and outfits made up of seven different styles. Bold enough to change their color weekly and chatter with hairdressers. 

But..Ida was changing. They’d put a little color into their life now. 

They’d let someone else touch their hair now. 

They were outside and talking to other humans, and even getting a small strip over their left ear shaved away so they could pull the midnight blue and silver streaked mass off to one side. 

It was so recent that it barely felt like a memory. It felt as it were still happening. That Oren’s fingers in their hair were the hairdresser’s. That his humming chatter was local gossip. That the aches that puckered across their flesh was just their imagination. 

Oren’s voice made quick work of that breach to reality. 

“You know, I’m not sure why you did this. I just really don’t understand,” he muttered, fingers tracing over their part where silvery white had started to grow underneath the midnight blue, pushing it up and out of the way. 

“It’s not you at all. Were you trying to look like someone else??” 

Ida stared at the kitchen wall, numb and hollow and silent. 

His hands slid down their jaw and gripped it gently, tilting their head back until their eyes met his. “..that wasn’t a rhetorical question, dove.”

Ida’s stomach twisted as their eyes searched his. Trying to gauge how much danger was behind those words. 

“..I wasn’t trying to look like anyone else.”

Oren frowned, thumbs brushing down their cheeks. Resting at the top, then sliding down again. Again and again and again. Petting them like a cat.

“Then why did you do it?”

Ida’s face pinched slightly. Of course he wasn’t going to go long without mentioning their hair. Why did they think they’d be able to get away with that? As if he just wouldn’t notice that their hair was blue now. 

“..I…I don’t know.”

Oren sighed, leaning down over the back of the chair to press a lingering kiss to their forehead. “Precious thing,” he murmured. Nuzzling a little. “You don’t know anything when I’m not around, do you?”

Ida’s stomach was starting to churn now. Eyes squeezing gratefully shut. They’d take his lips over his eyes. Gladly.

Fingers curled in, almost bruising at the underside of their jaw as Oren’s breath warmed against their forehead. Ida strained, back aching at the angle as they squirmed away from bruising fingertips.

They hadn’t answered. Right-

“..no-”

Evidently that was good enough. His fingers unwrapped slightly, smoothing up and through their hair again. “We’re going to fix this.” With one more kiss to their forehead, he pulled back, taking their hand to guide them to standing.

Ida chewed on their lip, but followed as he wanted. Anywhere he wanted. 

Evidently that was out of the room. The floorboards seemed to creak a little louder than usually as they crossed the foyer and moved up the steps. Into the bathroom.

..that wasn’t figurative, was it. He was going to get rid of the blue. Get rid of what tiny piece of Robin they had here. 

Ida’s eyes burned as he dragged a chair to the sink, turning it around. He guided them to it. 

Ida didn’t fight it. 

How could they? 

There wasn’t any stopping this, so why bother. 

They just sat, hands curled around each other in their lap. Stomach in knots.

Oren turned on the tap, fingers pressed to their forehead to tilt their head back over the sink. Ida was good. They followed the push and slumped down in the seat so their head rested on the edge of the porcelain, hair ready to shift into the stream. 

Oren pressed a quick kiss to their lips as he tugged their hair out into the bowl and started thoroughly wetting it. “This will be good. You’ll start feeling so much more like yourself again. Maybe you’ll start singing, hm?” He took a moment to dip and nuzzle their nose with his. 

So, he wanted them singing more.

Ida took a note of that, letting their eyes close against the water and the proximity and the light in their eyes. “..maybe,” they breathed. Staying quiet. 

They tried to think back to that little barber shop. 

Tried to feel Robin’s hand holding theirs. 

They let the world slip away, and let themself believe, if only for this moment, that the hands in their hair were that hairdressers - Ida couldn’t stop kicking themself for forgetting her name-

They imagined the radio playing crackling, distant music - a song they’d heard a million times but never remembered the words to. Country. Warm and upbeat and nostalgic. 

Robin’s voice. Janet Finch plots debated, and local gossip. Not Oren’s soft humming. Not his hands. Not the smell of bleach too strong for this to be the hairdresser’s. 

Tin foil. That was familiar. 

Oren tore it with his teeth, wrapping lumps of hair up in the stuff before tilting them up in the chair. A washcloth dabbed at the drips that moved down their neck.

This was it. There wasn’t any stopping it now. Even if they ran and screamed and rinsed it away, the bleach had plenty of time already to damage the midnight blue that Robin had to painstakingly supported / pestered them into getting. 

Ida could see her face in the darkness when their eyes were closed. Her little hands poking and prodding and fretting with how the fresh lockes laid. 

Gentle. 

Simple and kinda, yet bubbling with excitement and compliment.

But that was then. And this was now.

Ida’s face pinched, eyes finally opening again to look up at Oren. As the world pressed back to the scent of pine and bleach and citrus, Ida’s scalp started to tinge. Started to scratch and burn as if hair was being ripped out at the root. 

Their hands lifted, distress on their face as they reached for the foil - only to be caught in Oren’s.

“Don’t touch it, it needs to sit.”

Ida felt a whine press from their throat, hands pulling against Oren’s. “..O-..Oren, it…it burns-”

He shushed them, leaning in to press a kiss to their nose. “It won’t take long. I don’t want you half green now just because it’s uncomfortable.”

Tears brimmed at Ida’s eyes as they started pulling against him in ernest. “N-no it- it’s -ssomethign’s wrong this isn’t right-”

Oren’s jaw set. Fingers tightened around their wrists until bones shifted under his grip. A pressure that promised blooming bruises by tomorrow. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. It’s already going to be ruined with how much I’ve done with it now. It’s not like you can save it.”

The tears slid hot down their face as they shriveled under his grip. “Ore, please-I-Im nnot lying - it- it hurts Oren please-”

Oren’s lips just pinched into a thin line. “It’s only going to take a few more minutes. Just relax.”

Ida’s head shook, pulling against him again. “O-ren please-”

Oren groaned, letting go of one of their hands to reach up to the foil. “Just chill, it’s n-” He stopped, frowning. Touching the foil. Again. “..why’s it so hot-?”

Ida just dissolved into sobs, free hand now clutching at his shirt. Some unknown ghost was ripping their hair off by scalpy bits, shoving flame at the tears to cauterize it. It flickered and tingled and screamed at them in a cacophony of sensation and warnings. “Ore- pl-lease-”

Oren finally let go of their other hand, shoving the foil off. 

It splat into the sink easily. What should have freed them left nothing dangling down to touch their neck - even at this angle. 

“..fuck,” he muttered, faucet turning on again. “Head back again, love - I’m gonna rinse this out.”

That command, they had no problem following. They shoved themself toward the water, begging it to put out the fire - even if Oren’s fingers on their scalp burned, the water soothed it and helped shove away the worst of the pain. 

“..didn’t even take out half the fuckin’ color,” he grumbled, scrubbing at their scalp until Ida was crying fresh again. 

They caught a glimpse of the foil as it dropped into the trash can, long strands of blue and white flickering through the air before falling out of view. 

..how much was gone???

Their hands pressed over their face, shielding their eyes and stifling their sobs into muffled shadows of what they could be. 

They held still. 

They were good.

They didn’t move besides shifting as per his instruction as he shoved out the last of the chemical, dried their hair, and fretted with it, trying to coax what was left to frame their face. 

Ida couldn’t look at him - they certainly couldn’t look in the mirror. 

There was a long silence as he stared at them. 

“..I’m just gonna shave it. You didn’t need it, anyway. It’ll grow back fresh and white and perfect.”

..what were they supposed to say to that. 

Nothing.

They were supposed to say nothing. 

They just trembled a nod, face still tucked safely into their hands. A kiss pressed to their knuckles, and he started moving. 

They held still. Listening to him opening the drawer. To the chord unwinding. To the plug clicking into place. To the soft electric hum. 

They whimpered, but didn’t move as the teeth of the razor scraped across furious scalp, rippling burning pain down their spine. They pulled their legs up, arms wrapping around them. 

They held still. 

They were quiet.

They were good.

They didn’t move or breathe more than necessary as piece after piece fell down around them and to the ground. 

They’d probably be the one to clean them up later. 

It barely took a minute. Then it was gone. 

Everything was gone.

“Go on, dove. You can look now.” A hand slid over their hair, roaming over the half inch strands and ghosting over burns they didn’t have to see to know they were there. 

Ida looked. They looked if only to appease him.

A stranger stared back at them through the glass. Eyes red and white from crying. Hair hacked down to a patchy remnant of what remained. The white strands were so thin, they barely seemed there at all. 

Oren’s shirt. 

Oren’s home. 

Oren’s dove.

They turned, pressing their face into him. Escaping their own reflection. 

Oren cooed soft laments as he scooped them up, keeping their face tucked into him as he carried them out of the bathroom. “It’s all done now. It’s all done and you did so good for me, dove.”

They clung to him even after he set them down on the bed, muffled sobs curling into his shirt even further than their fingers - their entire self buried in him. Wishing he could make the rest of the world go away. At least for a moment. 

Oren was good. He obeyed them as they did him. He moved easily and smoothly, pulling them both onto the bed and moving blankets up and over Ida so they wouldn’t have to let go of him or even look up. He cradled them close, rocking back and forth a little as he pressed kisses to the edges of the burns. “It’s all done. All done now.”

This time, Ida couldn’t bring themself to pretend it was Robin’s arms holding them.

He’d never be her.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @kesskirata @wormwriting @batfacedliar-yetagain @paranoiaxagent @siren-of-agony @lwkshrav @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions  @pinkieglitterheart  @whumpasaurus101  @shameless-dumbass @darlingwhump @whumpy-catfish)

As always, just lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

If anyone knows where heathen-whump wibbly-wobbly-whump hold-back-on-the-comfort and mable-donut went please tell :(

.

This is the color Ida has(d), by the way-

It's shorter and thinner, but that exact same color and fade.

[oogieswife67]

You are Hunting the Seven Seas...

Oops another drabble that hit me super late into the night involving Fellow Honest again. Yes, I will try to do more God Fellow, but I wanna write this down.

WANTED:

THE DREADFUL FOX WHALE

DEAD OR ALIVE

They were asking for so much money for this catch. The beast was known for taking down ships indiscriminately. No one knew how he was doing it, but he was to be stopped after he was said to take down a cargo ship that held valuable spices and fabrics, and the rich man who owned that ship added money to the bounty, almost triple of what it was asking!

You're not going to pass this up, even as you will have to share with the crew you're a part of.

The seas you were sailing through were calm. Strangely calm. The sky was blue with very little clouds. It was usually never a good sign. A storm may have been coming soon, so you and your ship mates were getting the boat and your supplies (and haul) ready for the worst.

The captain was keeping an eye out, keeping his monocular on one eye while his second in command switched between keeping an eye out as well and how you and the crew were doing your jobs.

One of your crewmates was in the crow's nest, also keeping an eye out, especially when there was some rocks sticking out of the seas. He was about to dismiss it, as the sailing master also saw the rocks and was going to turn away, but then heard the crewmate shouting "There's someone there! On the rocks!" they said.

The captain aimed his monocular at the rocks, and sure enough- there seemed to be a young lad! It was hard to see all the details, but it didn't matter. "Go for the rocks!" the captain called out.

The sailing master agreed and headed for the rocks. Once close enough, you take the emergency boat and go right to the rocks. You finally get to see the lad in question- And realize he has cat ears and tail! You've seen beastmen like him before, and most usually don't go out to these waters. You would have to wonder what he was doing out here later, as he was soaking wet and looked like he had been stranded for some time.

You bring the cat beastman back to the ship. The crew wrap him up in a blanket as he was shivering quite a bit, as well as slowly gaining his senses back. His clothes were torn and old. You learn quickly he's unable to talk, so you stick to simple yes and no questions.

"Have you been on those rocks for long?"

Nods

"Are you hungry?"

Vigorous nodding

You go to grab some dried meat that the crew still had plenty of, when the ship suddenly started to shake, as if something hit it! The entire crew panics. You turn to see what was going on-

WHACK!

You get knocked out by the beastman you just saved! The last thing you see is something rising from the seas as the crew screams and grab their weapons...

You'd come back around. Your head hurts. You don't see anyone at first... But you could hear-

GULP!

You get startled and look to where you heard that noise-

There he was...

The fox whale.

The bright over should length orange-haired, fair skinned fox man greeted you with a sly look on his face, staring at you with his bright orange eyes, and his green eyeshadow shining in the sunlight. You found it strange that he was wearing a green vest and long, white sleeves and gloves... Then you realized the "sleeves and gloves" were actually patterns on his skin, then saw a patch of blue on his left shoulder, like he was wearing a cape, while there was a patch of skin that matched his face on his right pinky finger that made the "glove" look torn.

The size of the beast was nothing to joke about. He was much, much bigger than you thought he was. You could swear he ate some whales himself to get to the size he's at. In fact, you realized... The ship wasn't in water.

The ship was balancing on the beast's bloated, fat belly.

You look at the beast in fear for a while, but then change focus when the cat beastman you saved was now on deck, finishing up some dry meat he had in his mouth. The fox whale noticed the beastman, and started to reach for him.

"You get away from him-!" you shouted, but then see that the cat beastman went into the beast's open hand with some dry meat he still had in hand...

And he was transformed into a merman! He still had his top on, but his legs was now a beautiful, shiny purple fish tail with patches of yellow on it. The cat fish gave you a sly smirk as he would be brought to the fox whale's shoulder. "Another excellent catch, Gidel!" Fellow said happily and eats the dried meat Gidel tosses into his mouth.

As the pair seemed distracted, you couldn't help but look over the ship to get a better look at the mass the ship was balancing on-

!!!!!

The green coloring that covered the beast's belly revealed to you what happened to the captain and the rest of the crew, when you could see small divots and movements! You could barely hear them screaming for their lives!

"What? A basic ship?" Fellow asked Gidel, who just nodded. "Just food and weapons, and all the food is gone. Well..."

The pair looked down at you, as you stumbled back in fear. You could see how hungry the fox whale still was... The look reflecting on your eyes... The last thing you'd see...

"Except for this one."

[hoetolegist]

Hate you

• Summary: how could hating someone feel so good?

• Warnings: mentions of sexual activities, language

• Authors note: okay, so this was a number option from my pinned (23). It's long enough to be a short story though so I made it just that! It's just something short because I got carried away, per usual. Hope you enjoy!

If you could describe your life right now it'd be something like a TV show. One of those cliches where you graduated school, landed a good job, made amazing friends and you even have a house that some would describe as the American dream but somehow your worst enemy seems to be your number one priority

Now you personally wouldn't exactly say that your enemy is your number one priority but he's definitely up there next to friends, family and those sugar cookies that you love so much

Sometimes you often wonder how your enemy quickly went from someone who annoys you to death at work to someone that you desire so badly? Someone that you need to feel next to you, on you or even in you to feel sane

It's quite simple actually. The way he looks at you. His lust filled eyes looking at you so intensely when you're doing even the simplest of tasks. Always looking you over and watching you as if he'd ruin you if he had the chance

And maybe you'd give it to him. One day

♧

You walked off of the elevator on the 4th floor, scrolling through your phone and humming a small tune. It was just something that you'd heard for the first time in a cafe but damn was it catchy enough to stick with you

It was quiet in the building. You assumed everyone else must have been in their office but it was still kind of weird how silent it was

One thing you loved about your job was that you got your own office. You got to work at your own pace and do it all in a great peace of mind. Of course having your own office meant everyone else had their own offices too so it wasn't special but it was definitely beneficial

You lifted your head up just to quick check that you were about to walk into your office before burying your face back in your phone

The presence of another was felt before you even fully opened the door. You knew that presence, smelt that dizzying cologne one too many times, seen those clean dress shoes more often than you'd like to admit. You dragged your eyes up the body of the person who stood in your office and of course it was none other than-

“Stefan” you breathed, closing the door behind you. It was meant to come out firm, as if you were demanding him to explain his presence but it came out weaker than you wanted

"Y/n, late to work again", you held back a shiver at the deep timbre of that familiar voice. You noticed the smirk on his face and all you wanted to do was kiss it away, make his lips red and puffy with your bites and kisses

"Morning to you too Salvatore" you greeted with an eye roll. "Waiting for me?" You chuckled smugly

He shrugged and looked you over, eyes scanning every inch of skin he could see. Which was a great amount today since you chose to wear a dark gray thigh length skirt accompanied by a long-sleeved white dress shirt, tucked in but three buttons popped at the top just so the right amount of cleavage could show. Your heart shaped locket sat prettily on your exposed collarbone which was the perfect touch to such a basic outfit

"Waiting because of you, not for you. We have to discuss the upcoming collaboration with our pretty little neighbors next door, did you forget? Were you not anticipating my arrival?" he faked a frown while amusement shone in his pretty green eyes

You must admit that you forgot about the project but you weren't going to say it out loud. You narrowed your eyes at him and scoffed, “I have things to do. Must I give you all of my time?”

"Some would be nice” he replied with a smirk, “what takes you so long? Got that many pets to feed before leaving the house?"

You bit back a sneer at him, almost forgetting how easy it was to hate him and his smart remarks. "If you'd get down on your knees for me like a good boy it wouldn't take too long to feed you"

The smirk was wiped off of his face instantly as he stared at you, eyes clouding up darkly. "Tread lightly babygirl", he walked closer to you, stopping just before he presses his chest against yours, "I've been wanting to tear those clothes off of you since the moment you walked through that door" he admitted shamelessly. You loved that feeling of his warm breath hitting your lips as he whispered this secret between the two of you

You didn't know if you wanted to indulge or hold back on him, tease some more and see if he'll break for real. But then he brought his right hand up to cup your face, making you look him in the eye as he ran a hand down your waist to your thigh. It was just a ghost of a touch, barely there but so fucking impactful

You had to give in

Shuddering at his touch, you continued to look up at him and allowed your lashes to flutter at the way he looked back at you. "Why don't you do it then?" You asked, feigning innocence as if you weren't about to be surrounded by many other coworkers in just a few minutes

The halls were going to be filled with talking and laughter as if they were a bunch of highschoolers leaving for summer break yet you were willing to risk it to get your brains fucked out

"Think you can stay quiet if I fuck you right here?"

You held back a whine, trying to give yourself just a bit of control in this situation. "Yes" you said all too eagerly

Before the word even fully left your lips he was kissing you. His hands were tightly gripping your waist and he kissed you with so much passion, proving that it's been building up inside of him for days, maybe even weeks

It's not uncommon for men to want you in a sexual or romantic manner, it's actually so common to the point where you've learned that you don't even have to reciprocate for them to still drool over you, they chase you no matter what. But there's something about Stefan having wanted you for weeks but instead of acting on it he played this hating game, letting this bubble of annoyance and hatred blow up around you guys so when he finally popped it, all that could be left in its place was arousal

His lips felt so good against yours. They were so plush and soft, he tasted so much like mint and coffee, you had to will your legs not to fold and land you on your knees. A whimper escaped you, traveling it's way into his mouth and the deep moan you received back made you feel less embarrassed about it

You both finally pulled away for some much needed air after nipping and sucking at each other's lips for what felt like an eternity

"Fuck, I need you" he panted, eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes, not knowing which ones he should be focused on

Need

Need

You liked that word. He needed you. It was much more than a want, it was a craving and you deserved to be craved

"I know" you replied in a playful whisper, fiddling with the collar of his dress shirt. You suddenly pinched your eyebrows together in thought because although this is mutual, you still have a reputation to uphold at work and that includes hating Stefan. "You can have me. Just-"

"Don't tell anyone"

"No one can ever find out about this"

You both said your statements at the same time and a bit of relief washed through you now that you know he's on the same page

This was messy and it might cause so many fucked up problems down the road but this is now and right now your body has tuned out your rationality, shut off your brain and created a mind of it's own

You sat down on the big oakwood desk and spread your legs, skirt riding up and showing your black lace panties

"Come fuck me then”

[simplysedusa]

How I imagine the Rowdyruff Boys would dress

(credit to Pinterest for all the pictures)

(tw: drug symbolism)

Brick Keane

Brick's style is usually minimalistic and layered, with a bit of a 90's inspired vibe as seen in his love for flannels, denim jackets, and those Hawaiian shirts he seems to make look cool. Between the girls and his brothers, he sticks to his respective color the most, there's almost always a hint of red on him somewhere. Any kind of designs on his clothes are either very simple and small, or rather unique and/or retro. He doesn't do clothes with brand labels plastered on the front, Brick believes he's too cool to wear popular brands that everyone else likes. He likes his clothes loosely fitted, not too tight or too baggy. Any kind of devil imagery is a huge plus for him, as to remind the citizens/peers/classmates who his creator is. I'd like to think that When Brick was middle school aged, he had started collecting a bunch of Boston Red Sox hats in a variety of colors such as black, red, white, beige, or some combo of the aforementioned, completely unaware that they were affiliated with a sports team. Once he found out, he went with the lie that he was a fan and now he watches their games reluctantly so he doesn't look like a poser. He still rocks with his original plain red cap proudly though.

Boomer Keane

Boomer wouldn't admit it, and he probably doesn't know it, but a part of his style is a bit inspired by Brick's. Layered and simple at times, the key distinction between the two is coloring: lighter denim and brighter colors. Even the Hawaiian shirts are brighter in terms of theme and color as well. But usually, his style is rather athletic and preppy, like one of those boys in a fraternity, the ones who "had to do it to 'em". Unless it's snowing, there's a good chance you'll see Boomer in shorts (yes he's one of those). Boomer also has some rather random pieces of clothing such as an American flag hoodie (he thought it looked good on him, and tbh, what doesn't?), overalls, or pink baggy acid wash jeans (that Blossom, Bubbles, and surprisingly Buttercup all LOVE). I'd also like to think that subconsciously Boomer picks up clothes that have red, blue, and green in them as a way to convince himself that he fits in with his brother and is a part of the team. He's a whore for cardigans and letterman jackets as well.

Butch Keane

Somehow, Butch has managed to take punk grunge and enfuse the style with his love for athletic brands and clothes (with a bit of Brick's influence as well occasionally, that what happens when the leader of the group is constantly telling the other two that they can't dress) and combine the two. His fits have a tendency to be LOUD! Chaotic. And either very baggy or perfectly fitted as if it were tailored to him. His closet makes Buttercup's dress code violations look like a slap on the wrist; one of his favorite hoodies portrays a guy with green fingers chopping cocaine (as pictured below). Occasionally, he might dawn a shirt that might reference sex in some way (he definitely has a "This is a very serious text post with no hidden meaning" shirt or hoodie in his closet somewhere). Butch probably owns the most leathered clothes between him and his brothers, and he has no problem with that. He's also the most proactively dressed between the three brothers with his love for sleeveless shirts, crop tops, tight tanks, and ripped jeans that might expose most of his legs (he gotta show off the gains somehow). While his female counterpart outgrew her obsession for camo print, Butch has yet to. He also loves utility jackets and any kind of coat with fur (he isn't sure/doesn't care if it's real or not, but he lies to Bubbles every time she asks just to get her off his back).

[sukisukidaysook]

If two trolls sprite^2 and then reached God Tier would that be fucked up or what

[ID: Two images depicting Homestuck Troll OCs. The first image shows a male purpleblood named “Jester Hypkno” with long, thick horns that curl at the tip, large ears, and white facepaint typical of purples. He’s wearing a black and purple clown outfit with rainbow stripes on his shorts, and a bow tie with the Capriza sign. The second troll is a female bronzeblood named “Vickie Faerie” wearing a simple black shirt and skirt, with bronze on the inside of the skirt, and pink shoes. Her horns are large and stick out straight, she has a pale scar on her cheek, and she has the Taurmino sign on her shirt.

The second image depicts a combination of the trolls in a God Tier outfit (named “Victer Hyprie”), depicted as a combo of the Prince of Mind and Witch of Doom, as shown on the side. The shirt, shorts, and tiara of the prince are combined with the skirt, shoes, and stripes of a witch. Her outfit is in shades of green, with a bright Doom symbol that includes the spirals of the Mind, and their shoes are both yellow on the left and red on the right. The fusion has both troll’s horns, the face paint, shorter ears, and a plush tail and white wings, with crosses for pupils. A chart on the side shows that Jester was combined with a plush jester-dinosaur, and Vickie was combined with a Fairybull lusus. The God Tier is labeled as “Knave of Choice”. /End ID]

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Ashes to Ashes

Once in a blue moon, I apparently have to write pure angst. For those not familiar with archives lore, Wallace is from Ace's tome "Go for Broke". Rated T | ❗ Major character death ❗ | 3.7k words | ao3 link

It’s a cold spring day.

The sky is gray and the ground is damp, covered in leaves that have rotted from orange to brown over the winter. A few ravens perched in a nearby tree and a car horn sounding somewhere far away are the only signs of life.

The casket next to the empty grave only radiates death.

Wallace swallows thickly and straightens the shirt he didn’t have time to iron this morning. The graveyard is windy and he’s already freezing, but if there’s anything he owes the bastard it’s to be there for him this one last time.

Like he wasn’t on the night he died.

Cold stings in Wallace’s suddenly wet eyes and he blinks the feeling away. He looks at the priest to try to figure out what they’re waiting for, but she just stands there and silently watches the only guest apart from Wallace who bothered to show up.

Wallace has never seen him before today. He’s tall and blond and dressed in a full black tux, the color so dark it makes his already pale skin appear a sickly white. A black dress shirt with a black tux is probably against some kind of dress code but apparently this guy really wants to pretend to be mourning.

Wallace doesn’t even own a tux. He’s wearing a simple green jacket and patterned yellow shirt with denim blue jeans.

Because Ace loved color. Red was his favorite color but Wallace couldn’t do red, not after the gunshots and sirens and running up to the motel room only to see the slumped body and splatters along the wall and red, red, red—

Wallace clenches his trembling fists until his nails dig into his palms. He fucking told Ace that those people were bad business but Ace didn’t care, laughing it off with a flippant, “I’ve cheated death more times than you can count, buddy. Have you forgotten how lucky I am?”

Now Wallace won’t even get the chance to say, “I told you so”. He doesn’t understand why Ace was so reckless, how he’d somehow gotten the idea that he was immortal.

Wallace relaxes his fists and looks back at the other man. It’s just the two of them: Wallace tried to get a hold of Ace’s remaining relatives in Argentina but couldn't find any. He always suspected that neither Ace nor Visconti were his real names, but that’s what Wallace knew him as and he refused to dig further. Ace would have told him if he wanted him to know.

But fake names or not, their friendship was real. Wallace didn’t always think so, but then Ace showed up one day from god-knows-where, after seven years of complete radio silence, laughing and slapping Wallace’s back and asking, “Miss me?” with that stupid, cocky smirk of his.

Wallace’s chest felt full then, like something he didn’t even know was missing was slotting back into place. He didn’t care that the bastard disappeared without a word or that he took even dumber and more careless risks than before. He was just glad to have him back.

Ace claimed he’d been in Europe working a con all those years. He was just as shady as usual, not saying much because Wallace didn’t ask. But based on the spring in his step and the grin he got whenever his phone buzzed, Wallace knew he’d found something more than just a quick buck in Europe. That chick had to be real special for Ace to stick around that long and even attempt long-distance after he returned to the States.

Or that’s what Wallace thought, but there's no mystery lady standing by his grave now. She clearly didn’t give a shit about Ace: she was probably the one who put those reckless thoughts in his head in the first place, demanding he earn more money to fund a life of luxury for her. Wallace doesn't know anything about her but he still hates her.

He looks at the blond again. He’s standing ramrod straight with his chin up like rich folks so often do. He has to be a lawyer or something, because Wallace was told there was someone to arrange the funeral and take care of Ace’s assets. Or the lack thereof.

The lawyer’s face is stone cold and without any emotion. Another asshole who’s probably happy Ace died just so he could get money out of it; Wallace knows the sort. At least this one had the decency to show up to the funeral.

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Wallace asks.

“The others,” the man says in an accent Wallace can’t place. It catches him off guard: not your typical west coast lawyer, then.

“There’s no one else comin’,” Wallace says through gritted teeth, because he doesn’t want to spell out that Ace didn’t have friends.

The man finally turns to face him for the first time since they got here. His expression is just as neutral as before, but his eyes are…wrong, somehow. His gaze flirts all over the place and he almost looks lost, completely at odds with the rest of his carefully presented persona. Like a crack in the facade.

“Just a few more minutes,” the man says.

“Alright,” Wallace agrees.

The stranger turns back to stare unblinking at the casket and, not having anything else to do, Wallace keeps looking at him to try to figure him out. The tux is tailored to a T and his watch looks expensive, making Wallace’s mind immediately jump to how much he could pawn it for. Bad habit.

Wallace frowns as he notices the man’s hands are scarred and blemished. He looks so perfectly put-together otherwise but his hands are in piss-poor shape, with bitten nails and picked cuticles and scabs that have barely healed. Wallace spots gloves peeking out from his pocket and realizes he probably usually covers them. But not for this, for some reason.

The guy must be cold in nothing but the tux, but he still insists on waiting. For what?

Wallace opens his mouth to ask again, when he hears it.

Car doors slamming and the gradually growing sound of voices and footsteps on gravel. And not just those of one or two people.

Wallace turns to look. Through the nearest cemetery gates, what has to be a group of nearly thirty people are making their way over. Young and old, men and women and boys and girls, chatting, laughing and some already wiping away tears. They’re dressed in both formal and casual clothes mostly in black, but also in earth tones and pastels and neons. Most of them are carrying flowers—more flowers than Wallace has ever seen at once.

Wallace blinks. Are they here for Ace? All of them?

A few of them push their way to the front of the group. A black woman in an evening gown and a blond girl in jeans and a sweater hurry past Wallace and to the other man.

The woman puts her hand on his shoulder. “Felix,” she says, voice gentler than her fancy exterior would suggest.

The girl comes to stand in front of the man—Felix—and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wallace expects him to nod or at most mumble an unenthusiastic, “I’m fine.” Instead, the rich, obnoxious dick who Wallace hated nearly on sight simply…breaks.

Wallace watches as his face twists in agony and he hunches in on himself, his body wracked with ugly sobs that sound so unfitting for a man of his caliber. The women pull him tight and he clings to them desperately. It doesn’t even seem like he’s faking the tears. Maybe his arrogance was just an act.

The girl is crying now too, her hands trembling where she’s holding onto him. Her eyeliner is already running down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. The other woman doesn’t cry, but she squeezes the man’s shoulder and murmurs quiet reassurance.

More of the group hurry over to flock around the grieving trio, all worried faces and silent tears and, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while the blond guy just keeps crying. Wallace can barely see him through the crowd; it’s like they’re shielding him from the world and Wallace’s prying eyes alike. Wallace doesn’t think a man like him needs protecting, but he still looks away out of politeness.

The rest of the group gather around the casket. They murmur and whisper amongst each other, some offering comforting words and touches to the ones who start sniffling.

Who the hell are these people, appearing out of nowhere to cry by Ace’s grave?

“Hey, you must be Wallace,” comes a voice from behind him.

Wallace turns to find a nerdy white guy standing in front of him. He looks young and has old-fashioned glasses and an ill-fitting suit, but he stands straight and looks Wallace right in the eye, with an air of quiet confidence that catches Wallace off guard.

“Y-yeah,” Wallace stutters. Clearly, he could use some of that same confidence.

The man gives a little smile and holds out his hand. “Dwight Fairfield. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Wallace accepts the handshake and asks, “You’ve heard about me?”

Dwight huffs, like something is funny. “More than you can imagine.”

—

With all of them there, the priest starts the ceremony. It’s short and simple and Wallace is thankful, because the only deity Ace ever believed in was lady Fortuna.

Dwight gives a eulogy. Wallace doesn’t understand most of it and by the looks of it neither does the priest, but he doesn’t need to know what trials mean or why some campfire is important to get the gist of it. This is the seven years of Ace’s life Wallace knows nothing about: these are the people he met and the life he led. So many people from all over the world—France, China, Brazil, Japan—and they all came here for Ace.

Wallace is glad Felix made him wait for them.

A black girl in a floral dress arranges the flowers on the casket. There’s so many different kinds and she quietly explains what they all mean, and Wallace chokes on a sob when she tells Ace’s casket, “And Snowdrops for good luck, because I want you to have that even when yours ran out.”

A redhead with glasses places incense by the gravestone. Wallace only then notices it says Ace Visconti, and he doesn’t know what strings someone had to pull to engrave it with Ace’s chosen name and not his legal one, but he’s grateful for it.

The incense smells like warmth and fire, comforting and so different from the cold and wet around them.

Felix wordlessly slides down to his knees beside the casket and nobody seems surprised by this other than Wallace. The expensive tux will probably be ruined by mud but Felix doesn’t appear to care: like he’s happy to lower himself to Ace’s level even if it means everyone else is now looking down on them. He places his hand—scars and calluses and all—on the smooth wooden surface of the casket and sits there for several minutes, murmuring words in a language Wallace doesn’t understand.

When Felix rises, Dwight asks Wallace if he wants to say something. Wallace shakes his head: he’s not good at speeches and he didn’t bring anything fancy to leave on Ace’s grave. 

The alligator tooth he won all those years ago presses into his chest under his shirt, but Ace would be pissed if he left it on the grave. He’d say something like, “I’m already dead, what the hell do you think I’m gonna do with a gator tooth necklace? Win a ghost beauty pageant?”

Or maybe Wallace just wants something of Ace’s to hold onto.

At the priest’s encouragement, some of the men in the group help lower the casket into the grave. Wallace assumed they’d have to let the church staff do it since it was just him and Felix, but now there’s also a big bearded man and a guy with face tattoos and a loud Brit and a quiet Hispanic man who help them put Ace into the ground.

A blonde woman plays guitar and sings. The song is melancholy and her voice sounds familiar, accompanied by sniffles from several people in the group. The priest gives a few parting words after to close the ceremony.

And then they shovel.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Just as Wallace hopes this will be quick so he can go drown his sorrows in booze, the Brit points his shovel down at the casket and says, “Just layin’ there while we do all the work, eh? Lazy wanker.”

Several people laugh, and then others join in to tell stories and share memories of Ace and Wallace does too, even if he still doesn’t know what a trial is. He tells them about his and Ace’s big win in Seattle and one of the girls, the redhead with braids, snorts and asks, “Was that the time Ace stole a uniform and pretended to be a dealer so you guys could scam the casino?”

Wallace stutters and they all look at him expectantly. Some of the kids are grinning and even Felix is smiling, though his eyes are still red from crying.

Wallace finds himself chuckling and giving them the unfiltered version of the story, now knowing they can handle the not-so-legal parts of it. His audience listens raptly and some even chime in with details Wallace didn’t know about that day—or just typical exaggerations Ace would have added to the story. He doesn’t bother correcting them.

The priest shortly leaves—probably not thrilled about them bonding over gambling and stealing—but the whole group stays to wait for them to finish shoveling. 

Even after they’re done, nobody makes a move to leave; on the contrary, they all settle into a big circle on the ground, carelessly dirtying their nice dresses and suits. Felix takes a seat next to the grave and the black woman sits down on his other side, with the rest already having fallen into place like it’s a practiced effort. Like everyone has their own place.

Wallace hesitates. He thought they were done here, but the others urge him to join them, pointing at the other side of the filled grave. Wallace does as told and realizes the grave acts like an empty spot, like Ace is still part of the group.

Before Wallace can get too sentimental, a man with a prosthetic arm thumps a big cooler in the middle of the circle and beers and sodas begin exchanging hands. An Indian woman starts dealing playing cards and several bets are made among the group before the game even starts. The singer whips out her guitar again and starts strumming an upbeat melody.

“Is this allowed?” Wallace asks even as his chest warms. “It’s a graveyard. Isn’t this against the rules or somethin’?” 

An older black man shrugs. “Loitering isn’t grounds for arrest and I think Felix is more than capable of paying a fine if someone calls the police.”

Wallace only then notices a badge peeking out from his shirt pocket. He’s a cop: Ace somehow befriended a cop, and now he’s here, honoring Ace’s memory with an illegal party like the rest of them.

“Here,” Dwight says, handing Wallace a beer.

Wallace doesn’t ask if they should be drinking and celebrating at a time like this. He just uncaps his beer and raises it along with the others once they toast and the Brit booms, “To Ace!”

Because a party is exactly what Ace would have wanted.

—

They stay there for hours; laughing, playing, drinking and telling stories. Wallace actually makes an effort to get to know this strange group, though he still doesn’t catch all of their names.

Once the sun starts setting, the Korean woman complains about the cold even though she’s wearing a fur jacket. Jane fishes out a pair of keys from her pantsuit and says they have more blankets and snacks in the car, prompting the Brazilian siblings to jump up and volunteer to retrieve them.

On the other side of the circle, the boy with dark bags under his eyes has nodded off against Cheryl’s shoulder. Meg and Jake argue over whether to start a fire now that it’s getting dark, with Meg saying it’s not the same without a real campfire and Jake claiming they’ll end up burning down the whole graveyard. Adam manages to resolve the argument by retrieving a large lantern from the car, lighting up the area with a warm yellow.

Despite everyone’s best efforts to celebrate life and not mourn death, Wallace feels the heavy shroud of grief hanging over all of them. There’s a moment of hesitation whenever a card game ends and someone has to deal the players in again, strange gaps in conversation like they all expect Ace to fill the silence, and bright eyes glazing over in sadness whenever someone looks at his grave.

But there’s also joy and camaraderie. The wind is cold and the ground they’re sitting on is dull and brown, but Wallace can finally see a few flower buds sprouting through the rotten leaves. The group has lost one of their own but they choose to remember the good and not the bad; it’s probably a kindness Ace doesn’t deserve, but Wallace’s throat still feels tight with emotion from the respect being shown.

When the next card game ends, the Chinese girl starts cursing vividly, glaring at the grave and accusing Ace of cheating. Wallace laughs, because if Ace could, he would. Even from beyond the grave.

Some of the guys gather around newly appeared bottles of vodka for a drinking contest and the Japanese woman promptly gets up to join them. Her name must be Yui, because that’s what nearly everyone starts chanting.

Yui wins, drinking the much larger men under the table with what seems like barely any effort. There’s cheers and whoops from around the circle before the singer—Kate—encourages everyone to sing a campfire song together.

Wallace doesn’t know the song so he looks around, only to notice Felix quietly fiddling with something in his hands. It’s a ring: a particularly worn and gray and ugly ring, probably made of simple steel and not even silver. Why would someone like him even have a cheap knock-off like that?

Felix’s bitten nails trail over the inside of the ring and catch on an engraving and Wallace nearly swallows his tongue. He realizes he’s seen that ring many times before: Ace throwing it in the air and catching it; Ace fiddling with it in his pocket when he was impatient; Ace wearing it on his ring finger whenever a con needed him to pretend to be married; Ace having it engraved with some corny Latin phrase because it was supposedly another of his good luck charms.

When Ace returned from Europe, he claimed to have lost the ring, and Wallace should have smelled his bullshit right then and there. Ace wasn’t sentimental about a lot of things but his lucky charms were always the exception. Wallace had helped Ace throw a motel room upside down in search of a rabbit’s foot, listened to years’ worth of complaints after he won the gator tooth from him in a bet, and painstakingly superglued an old poker chip back together after it got run over by a car and Ace just sat on the sidewalk cradling the broken pieces like he was holding an injured animal.

Wallace should have known better than to think Ace would have just lost the ring.

Felix abruptly stills and Wallace realizes he’s been caught staring. Their eyes meet and Felix curls his hand around the ring, holding it tightly against his chest.

A lot of things suddenly make sense and Wallace feels stupid for not realizing it before. Felix isn’t even wearing the ring, but he doesn't have to: marriage isn’t meant for people like Ace and Wallace, and just Felix having something so important of Ace’s and being this protective of it says more than enough.

Wallace considers pulling out the alligator tooth to rest over his shirt instead of hiding it underneath, but he doesn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Ace was like a brother to him and he’s not sure what exactly he was to Felix—friend, lover, partner, kindred spirit?—but the specifics probably don’t even matter. Whatever they were, Ace was happy with Felix.

Wallace settles on a meaningful nod to Felix, giving his approval even if it wasn’t asked for. He then quickly turns back to observe the group’s singing, but can’t help smiling to himself: looks like Ace’s special European someone made it here after all.

“I’m gonna do a handstand!” someone drunkenly announces as soon as the singing stops.

“You only have one hand, jackass!” Nea pipes up.

“Does anyone want to dance?” one of the siblings asks, swaying a little on her feet.

“What, on Ace’s grave?” Zarina asks, arching an eyebrow. “Even I’m not that glad to be rid of him.”

Laughter erupts from the group once again. A few people roll their eyes at the alcohol-fueled antics but nobody protests or shushes the progressively louder voices; not even when someone suggests a handstand contest that will most likely end in a visit to the ER.

Wallace braves another glance at Felix but he’s just smiling again. Most people probably wouldn’t welcome this kind of behavior at the funeral of someone they loved, but Felix knew Ace—all of these people did, maybe even better than Wallace. And they stuck by Ace’s side for seven years and made this horrible day into a celebration he would be proud of.

Seven years. That’s all the time it took for Ace to somehow become a man Wallace barely recognizes anymore. He did what Wallace never thought either of them capable of, what he’d have bet his entire life savings on never happening.

Ace found a family.

Wallace bows his head and chuckles, addressing the empty space on his right. “Twenty-five years of friendship and you still keep surprisin’ me.”

He thinks that, somewhere, Ace is smiling.