#Hang Tag Manufacturers

[clothing-labels-india-blog-blog]

Enhancing Brand Identity with Seal String Tags: A Stylish Statement in Packaging

From the choice of colors to the texture of materials, each element plays a crucial role in conveying a brand's identity and message. In this landscape, seal string tags emerge as not just a functional addition but also as a stylish statement that elevates the packaging experience.

Seal string tags, also known as hang tags, are small accessories attached to products via a string or cord. Traditionally used for labeling and providing essential information about the product, they have evolved into a powerful branding tool that communicates a brand's values and personality. At Golden Fabtex, we understand the significance of these tags in creating lasting impressions, and we offer a range of options to cater to diverse branding needs.

First and foremost, seal string tags serve a practical purpose. They provide essential information such as product name, price, size, and care instructions, offering customers valuable insights at a glance. Moreover, they can include barcodes or QR codes for easy inventory management and seamless checkout processes. By incorporating these tags into packaging, brands ensure that their products are not only visually appealing but also informative and user-friendly.

However, beyond their functional utility, seal string tags serve as a unique canvas for branding and storytelling. With customizable designs, shapes, and materials, brands can unleash their creativity and craft tags that reflect their identity. Whether it's a minimalist design with a subtle logo embossed on recycled paper or a vibrant tag adorned with intricate illustrations, each tag conveys a brand's aesthetic and values.

Furthermore, seal string tags offer an opportunity for brands to engage with their audience on a deeper level. By sharing compelling narratives, brand ethos, or sustainability initiatives on these tags, brands establish meaningful connections with consumers. In an era where conscious consumerism is on the rise, such transparency and authenticity resonate with customers and foster brand loyalty.

Additionally, seal string tags can serve as a powerful marketing tool, extending beyond the point of purchase. When designed thoughtfully, they become keepsakes that customers are reluctant to discard. Whether pinned on a mood board, repurposed as bookmarks, or used as decorative elements, these tags continue to promote brand visibility long after the initial transaction.

At Golden Fabtex, we recognize the importance of seal string tags in shaping brand identity and enhancing the unboxing experience. That's why we offer a wide range of customization options, including choice of materials, printing techniques, and finishing touches. Whether you're a small boutique seeking to differentiate your products or a global brand aiming to make a statement, our team is committed to bringing your vision to life.

Brand Storytelling

In an era where consumers crave authenticity and connection, seal string tags serve as a canvas for brand storytelling. Beyond conveying essential product information, these tags offer an opportunity to communicate the brand's narrative, values, and ethos.

For example, a heritage brand with a rich history could use its tags to share anecdotes and milestones, fostering a sense of nostalgia and authenticity. Alternatively, a socially responsible brand committed to sustainability could highlight its eco-friendly practices and initiatives, resonating with environmentally conscious consumers.

Interactive and Engaging

Seal string tags have a unique ability to engage customers on a tactile and interactive level, enhancing the overall unboxing experience. Whether it's the satisfying feeling of tearing open a perforated tag or the joy of unraveling a delicate string, these small gestures create moments of delight and anticipation.

Moreover, brands can leverage QR codes or augmented reality technology on their tags to provide interactive content, such as product tutorials, behind-the-scenes footage, or exclusive offers. By incorporating these elements, brands transform passive packaging into an immersive brand experience, fostering deeper connections with customers.

Seal string tags are more than just labels; they are powerful branding tools that leave a lasting impression on customers. By combining functionality with creativity, these tags become ambassadors of brand identity, storytelling, and sustainability. At Golden Fabtex, we invite brands to explore the endless possibilities of seal string tags and discover how they can elevate their packaging experience.

[enigmatech1]

LabelMe is one of leading hang tag supplier in Delhi, India. We have hang tags for apparel, bags, or something else entirely. For any query call us +91 96677 32082 & Visit:- https://www.labelme.in/

[qualitylabel]

Custom Clothing Labels: How They Enhance Your Brand Identity

In the competitive world of fashion, where countless brands jostle for attention, the importance of brand identity cannot be overstated. Brand identity is the unique set of visual and emotional cues that distinguish your brand from others. It’s what makes a brand recognizable and memorable, fostering customer loyalty and trust. While many elements contribute to a strong brand identity—such as logos, packaging, and marketing—custom clothing labels often play an underestimated role.

These small, seemingly insignificant tags can have a profound impact on how your brand is perceived. This article explores how custom clothing labels enhance your brand identity and why they should be an integral part of your brand strategy.

1. The Power of First Impressions

First impressions are everything in the fashion industry. When customers pick up a garment, the first thing they often notice, beyond the fabric and design, is the label. A well-designed custom clothing label immediately communicates the quality and style of the brand. It gives customers their first tangible interaction with your brand and sets the tone for their overall experience.

Custom clothing labels allow you to make a statement right from the start. Whether it’s a minimalist, high-end design that speaks of luxury or a quirky, colorful label that reflects a fun, casual vibe, the label can tell a lot about your brand’s personality. The texture, color, font, and even the stitching of the label contribute to this initial impression, making it a crucial element of your brand identity.

2. Building Brand Recognition

Brand recognition is essential in a crowded marketplace. The more familiar customers become with your brand, the more likely they are to choose it over competitors. Custom clothing labels are a powerful tool for building this recognition. By consistently using a specific design, color scheme, and logo on your labels, you reinforce your brand’s visual identity every time a customer interacts with your product.

For instance, think of iconic brands like Levi’s or Ralph Lauren. Their clothing labels are instantly recognizable, not just because of the logo but also due to the specific style and quality of the labels. Over time, these elements become ingrained in customers’ minds, making it easier for them to recall and prefer these brands. Custom clothing labels thus serve as constant reminders of your brand, helping to embed it in the customer’s memory.

3. Conveying Quality and Attention to Detail

In the fashion industry, quality is paramount. Customers are often willing to pay a premium for clothing that they perceive as high-quality. Custom clothing labels are an excellent way to convey this quality. A well-made label suggests that the brand pays attention to every detail, reinforcing the perception of quality in the minds of consumers.

High-end labels, such as woven or embroidered tags, can communicate luxury and durability. The use of premium materials, such as satin or leather, can further enhance this perception. On the other hand, a poorly made or generic label can detract from the perceived value of even the most well-crafted garment. Therefore, investing in custom clothing labels is not just about aesthetics; it’s about reinforcing the quality and craftsmanship of your products.

4. Creating a Cohesive Brand Experience

Consistency is key to a strong brand identity. All elements of your brand, from the website to the packaging, should work together to create a cohesive brand experience. Custom clothing labels play a crucial role in this by ensuring that your brand’s visual identity is maintained across all touchpoints.

For example, if your brand has a particular color palette or font style, incorporating these elements into your clothing labels helps to create a seamless brand experience. This consistency helps to reinforce your brand’s identity and makes it more recognizable to customers. Moreover, a cohesive brand experience fosters a sense of reliability and trust, which are critical factors in building long-term customer loyalty.

5. Personalization and Connection with Customers

In today’s market, customers crave personalization. They want to feel that the brands they choose understand them and cater to their individual tastes and preferences. Custom clothing labels can be a powerful way to add a personal touch to your products, helping to create a deeper connection with your customers.

For example, you can include a special message or a unique design on your labels that resonates with your target audience. This could be a motivational quote, a fun fact, or even a personalized thank-you note. Such details show that your brand goes the extra mile to connect with its customers, enhancing their overall experience and fostering loyalty.

Moreover, custom labels can be used to tell your brand’s story. Including information about the inspiration behind the garment, the materials used, or the ethical practices of your brand can add value and meaning to the product. This not only differentiates your brand but also aligns it with the values of your customers, further strengthening their connection with your brand.

6. Differentiation in a Competitive Market

In a saturated market, standing out from the competition is essential. Custom clothing labels offer a unique opportunity to differentiate your brand. Unlike generic labels, custom labels allow you to showcase what makes your brand unique.

For example, if your brand focuses on sustainability, you can create labels made from recycled materials or include information about the eco-friendly practices your brand follows. If your brand is known for its craftsmanship, a label that highlights the handmade nature of your products can set you apart from mass-produced alternatives.

Differentiation is not just about being different; it’s about being memorable and creating a lasting impression. Custom clothing labels enable you to communicate your brand’s unique selling points in a subtle yet effective way, helping you to stand out in a crowded market.

7. Enhancing Perceived Value

Perceived value is the value a customer believes a product or service is worth. It’s a crucial factor in pricing and customer decision-making. Custom clothing labels can significantly enhance the perceived value of your products.

A beautifully designed label that feels luxurious to the touch can make a garment seem more expensive and desirable. Even small details like the weight of the label, the quality of the printing, and the way it is attached to the garment can influence how much customers are willing to pay. By investing in high-quality custom labels, you can elevate the perceived value of your products, allowing you to command higher prices and attract a more discerning clientele.

8. Supporting Ethical and Sustainable Branding

As consumers become more conscious of environmental and ethical issues, brands that align with these values gain a competitive edge. Custom clothing labels can support your brand’s ethical and sustainable identity in several ways.

Firstly, you can choose sustainable materials for your labels, such as organic cotton, recycled polyester, or biodegradable options. This not only reduces your brand’s environmental footprint but also sends a message to your customers that you are committed to sustainability.

Secondly, your labels can be used to communicate your brand’s ethical practices. For instance, you could include information about fair trade, the use of eco-friendly dyes, or your commitment to reducing waste. By doing so, you not only differentiate your brand but also build trust and loyalty among ethically-minded consumers.

9. Versatility and Creativity

Finally, custom clothing labels offer incredible versatility and creativity. They can be tailored to suit any brand’s identity, whether you’re a luxury fashion house, a streetwear brand, or a niche boutique. From size labels to care instructions, hang tags to woven labels, there’s a wide range of options to choose from.

This versatility allows you to be creative and express your brand’s personality in a way that resonates with your target audience. Whether it’s through the use of bold colors, unique shapes, or innovative materials, custom labels offer endless possibilities for branding.

Conclusion

In conclusion, custom clothing labels are far more than just functional tags; they are powerful tools that can significantly enhance your brand identity. By creating a strong first impression, building brand recognition, conveying quality, and adding personalization, custom labels contribute to a cohesive brand experience that resonates with customers. In a competitive market, they help to differentiate your brand, enhance perceived value, and support ethical and sustainable practices.

Investing in custom clothing labels is an investment in your brand’s future. It’s an opportunity to create a lasting impression, foster customer loyalty, and ultimately, drive the success of your brand. So, whether you’re a new brand just starting out or an established name looking to refresh your identity, custom clothing labels should be a key part of your branding strategy.

[k12academics]

The perfect affordable finishing touch to your clothing products is our custom woven cloth fabric labels and clothing tags. These are professionally woven cloth labels used by many large garment manufacturers, designers, and crafters who rely on our professional services. Woven clothing labels are the ultimate finishing touch! We have a very low minimum order quantities and offer free samples of our work available to be sent to you, unlike many woven label manufacturers. Choose from custom woven clothing labels or adhesive clothing labels and we also offer iron on camp clothing labels and iron on name tags. Now you can have the same professional look with personalized custom labels or iron on patches as custom clothing labels and hang tags for your own garments or projects. Personalized iron on clothing labels are inexpensive and fun. These custom clothing labels come in your choice of Damask labels, taffeta labels, satin labels, or semi-damask fabric labels. Regardless of the configuration you choose for your name labels, we offer exceptional woven clothing labels at affordable prices. We also specialize in Kids clothing labels for toddlers and children. We will custom design kids clothing labels for cloth products and toddler clothing designs. Many of our customers create custom clothes for toddlers and user our custom child labels. We're proud of our labels... you will be, too. We appreciate your visit today, and look forward to serving you. .....

[sugar-plum-writer]

Company Cam-Girl <3

Tags: Gang-bang [Toji, Sukuna, Gojo and Suguru]; Use of toys [vibrator]; slight-bondage; size-kink; camera; public-exposure; nsfw + more nsfw; porn with slight plot; manhandling; unprotected sex; spanking; over-stimulation; cream pie; c*mplay; rough sex; lot's and lot's of very dirty talk; explicit; MNDI!; (18+); smut

A/n: This is probably the most explicit thing I might have written; my hazy imagination is getting too much. This period is killing me so it's just pure filth, this is pure porn with a little plot so MDNI!

Synopsis: What happens when a slight back talk results in getting railed and over stimulated like crazy by 4 big men in the sex-toy company?

Word count: 2.6k

[Pic not mine I randomly found it on the internet; I'll change it the owner requests ]

Your heels clicked on the floor as you walked, the place you worked was- explicit to say the least. You would have never expected to work in a company like this when you graduated- literally; a sex toy manufacturing company? beyond your wildest dreams

You were working here all because of pure desperation. Broke with college debts does not make life easy. The position gave good pay, insurance, good bonus, what else could you ask for? hence you continued working.

You worked in the marketing department which was a headache as it sometimes made you wonder how to advertise certain devices.

"Y/n- the manager is calling you to discuss the latest high-intensity vibrator ad!", one of your colleagues yelled giving you the papers and walking away

You looked at the paper which outlined the build, the components, the types of intensity, movements, etc normal people would look away and even be embarrassed but- after a while, it became average to you like another Tuesday.

"Alright, tell him I'll be there, " you yelled, browsing the pages as you entered the office.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"This design is so outdated… we need a new design-", Suguru muttered as he sat at his desk scrolling annoyed, the cigarette hanging off his lips

Toji clicked his tongue as he leaned back on his chair, "Damn if only we could experiment it on someone and record everything down", his deep voice sent a shiver down your spine

"I could always get a hook-up to try it out~", Gojo muttered with a smirk, "I don't mind"

"You fools", Sukuna scorned, "A hook-up won't give accurate data- her fucking brain will just be mushy, ask any questions-", he rolled his eyes, "her replies will just be fucking moans"

"Don't any of you have a girlfriend or somethin'?", Toji groaned as he grabbed his beer bottle, drowning it down, "You can get her and we can experiment"

"Nah- I asked my ex once she nearly threw a god-damn vase at my face", chuckling Gojo scrolled through his phone

"Ah, shit-"

With a groan, they collectively sighed. The atmosphere in the room was tense- after all, they were your superiors, you were just a mere girl from the PR department

"um- excuse me", clenching the papers tight you looked at them all, "T-The documents have an error-", you tried to keep your voice stable

"Oh shut up woman", Sukuna glared as he walked towards you, "Can't you read the room? or are you senseless?"

"Huh-?", rage-filled your veins, you were already annoyed with overwork- been working so hard not to let it get to you but this- this was the last straw.

"You are the senseless one!", you snapped back, "You assholes can't even design a vibrator properly! Look at you discussing this shit!", you scorned and shoved the paper on Sukunas face as you glared at the others

"What did you just say you fucking bitch-", Sukuna grabbed your jaw pinning you against the wall

"You deaf?", glaring into his eyes you scoffed, "I said you assholes cannot even design a fucking vibrator"

"Yo, calm down", Gojo yelled as he made his way towards you and Sukuna

"Fuck off-", his grip on you tightened choking you

"What a pain in the ass", Toji grabbed Sukuna with Suguru and pulled him back

"Tch", groaning he let go of you while Gojo picked up the fallen papers

"You alright?", Sugurus eyes locked with yours- something about his cold black eyes- gave you goosebumps all over your skin

"Y-Yeah" Gasping for air you coughed as you looked at Sukuna who was starting to calm down more

"You said we can't design a vibrator, right?" Toji smirked with a dangerous glint in his eyes

"Y-Yeah..", You backed away afraid. Something about his expression makes you instinctively back away as if your body subconsciously tried to protect itself

"Why not be our test subject? we lacked one anyways~", with a sneer he leaned in. The atmosphere in the room changed as all eyes were on you.

"Your fool brain finally came up with a good idea", grinning Sukuna fixed his blazer, "What do you say woman? or are you too scared?"

"W-What!? no way never!", you immediately shook your head shaking it crazily

"Awwww come on~ it'll be fun I promise!", Gojo nudged you wrapping his arm around your shoulder

"No way!", slapping his hand away you glared

"See you said we can't design good vibrators", putting out the cigarette in his mouth Suguru shrugged, "Have you ever even used one of our vibrators to know if it's bad? ever cummed dripping wet?"

You blushed hard, "W-what explicit nonsense are you even saying!?", shoving the papers on his face you scowled

"Oh~ is someone scared?" smugly Sukuna leaned in and whispered near your ears, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine

"N-No I'm not! It's just a vibrator!", shoving him away you tried to push the men away

"Great!", standing behind you Gojo wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you close, "I'll even let you try out my new designs baby~"

"Hey! Bun-head, grab the newest vibrators and bring them here", Sukuna yelled, "We found a pussy to try it on!" he chuckled deviously

"What-!?" before you could say anything Toji cut you off, "Bring some lube too, I just know she's tight as fuck", smirking he looked into your eyes

"Alright, alright- I'll even bring a camera to record it. Need the data", with this- Suguru went to get all the items whistling

All while you stood stunned- how did you even end up like this? How did a small comeback develop to- well- this?!

"You did it to yourself, baby girl, ~ if only you hadn't opened that darn mouth of yours", with a chuckle Gojo whispered near your ears

"oh well, I'll look after you well~"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Is the Pussy visible?" Gojo leaned in as he looked at the screen of the camera

"Yeah, just gotta zoom in more", Suguru adjusted the camera, the RBG ratio, etc as he zoomed in

With your legs spread apart on Sukunas desk- your panties are removed as your cunt's all visible in the camera. Rather than an office it looked like a porn production set.

"Hm…she's tight", Toji looked at your cunt, "I wonder when's the last time she got fucked", Sukuna muttered

"Shut up!? what the fuck do you think you are even saying-", embarrassed you looked at both of them annoyed, "Just by looking at my- my pussy you think you can say such things?"

"Doll, I have seen enough to know what pussy has not been fucked and how well it was fucked", chuckling Sukuna smirked

Hearing Sukuna's comment Toji, Gojo and Suguru snickered

"Damn right", smiling smugly Suguru stood up and walked towards you

"You-", too stunned to speak you just lower your head, "How can they say such things!?" you think as you take a sharp breath blushing; almost embarrassed with the explicitness but it was low-key hot.

You hated to admit it but you were aroused as fuck. The cool air brushed against your cunt making the walls quiver, 4 hot guys gazing at you as they discuss what's the best way to record your pussy holding vibrators in the office. It made you get even more wet with your cunt oozing out and dripping, making a mess on Sukuna's desk.

"Look she's already dripping and making a mess how cute~ how needy", Gojo chuckled

"Well can't leave her like this can we?" with a smirk rolling up his sleeves Sukuna started circling his fingers around your clitoris- flicking it a bit making you gasp

"W-wait!" trying to stabilize yourself at the sudden wave of pleasure you try to focus elsewhere, your hands and body trembled at the way he abused your clitoris

"Where's your mind goin'?" Toji cups your breasts and starts kneading them, pinching and flicking the nipples making you squirm and moan

"T-Toji wait ah-" your eyes widen as your feel Sukunas fingers do deeper stretching you out ruthlessly, "She's tight- Fuck", he gritted his teeth

Tossing your head back you try to cover your mouth but it was instantly pulled away by Toji, "Can't have you cover your mouth now can we sweetheart?", smugly he pulled your shirt up and tied your hands with it

"Nice boobs you got here", Gojo brushed his hand against your breasts, fondling them, "I wonder how hard the nipples can get heh~", smirking he brought his lips closer to your nipples and started sucking on them making you moan even louder, "Gojo- ah! 'tis too much wait-!" earning only a chuckle from him as he sucked even harder biting it

"The Vibrator No 1 is ready~ let's see how well you take it darling", smirking Suguru stood beside Sukuna- turning the vibrator on and putting it down on your cunt grinding it, the movements so good you felt you were on cloud 9; while Sukuna continued to move his fingers deeper stretching you out.

"Smile for the camera doll", smirking Sukuna slapped your pussy which stinged a bit but also made you so fucking wet it was embarrassing

The intense stimulation from the vibrator immediately made you arch your back, toss your head back and let out the loudest moans you could muster, it was stimulating- too stimulating.

It was too much- your poor pussy could not stand so much abuse. It was all puffy, sobbing wet, begging for mercy as it dripped and oozed pre-cum. Tears stained your cheeks as you whined and moaned

Your breasts were off even worse, the biting and sucking of Gojo had swollen your nipples so much. The bite marks covering your breasts stung but also gave you so much pleasure wanting more

"Fuck- who knew we had such a natural cam-girl?", licking his lips Toji just watched your expressions hungrily wanting to devour you

"I know right? Should have fucked her and filled her up first", chuckling Suguru increased the intensity of the vibrator to it's highest limit making you gasp and moan, squirm all at once, "Let's see how loud she can scream eh?"

"Oh my God! it's too much ah-" tossing your head back you squeezed your thighs shut as your eyes rolled back and you climaxed instantly because of the intensity

"Stay still, how bratty", slapping your thighs Sukuna spread your legs open forcefully holding them down, his fingers covered in your release, "Heh- who said the vibrator was bad huh? look at the amount of cum", smirking he licked it off his fingers making you blush harder and be even wetter.

"D-Don't-!" you frantically tried to wipe your cum off his fingers too bad Toji held your arms down all tied up

"I wanna taste some too~", licking his lips smugly Gojo with a quick movement shoved his fingers inside your cunt and licked it

"How sweet I can eat her out forever~ Try some Suguru"

"Oh don't mind if I do~"

Seeing them taste your cum from their fingers made you almost lose your mind and your brain felt mushy. The camera still recording everything that they were doing to you. It was so crazy

"Hah- finally stretched out, what a good fucking pussy", Sukuna smirked satisfied

"We can finally put the vibrator in~ shall we put two?", Gojo chuckled as he gazed at your cunt

"I think she can take it~" smugly Toji looked you in the eyes, "She's such a good girl after all. Aren't you baby?"

"Well" with a sneer Suguru finally put the vibrator inside you with the highest intensity, "Let's see what she can do, go at it girl show what you got~"

Hungrily they all gazed at you, their eyes those of starving wolves who wanted to completely devour you, fill you up- breed you so fucking well like the way you deserve. You had no idea what a raging boner they had seeing you and your cunt.

"Oh my god- ah- hah~", moaning you squirm as the vibrator continued to hit all the right spots- making your whole body-shake, your walls clenching so tight- holding on for dear life; "Fuck it's so good!", biting your lips you closed your eyes as you felt your brain going numb.

It felt like it was designed specifically for you, the way it hit your G-spot was driving you mad. It kept pushing you over the edge again and again.

"Shit", biting his lips Sukuna approached you, his hard-on evident, bulging fully, so big it made you wonder if it would even fit.

"Moaning like a whore just from a mere vibrator", unbuckling his pants he removed the vibrator making you sequel and whimper

"Guy's let's give her the best fuck of her life shall we?", smirking he positioned himself to your entrance and slammed in without warning, doing deep, hard and fast thrusts- hitting your G-spot again and again

"Fuck, so good, shit how was I missing out on such good pussy"

The vibrator already broke your brain in the beginning and now feeling Sukuna fuck you, so big- so hard- filling you up so well drove you even more over the edge. Your throat had gone dry from all the moaning

Toji, Gojo and Suguru also unable to keep their hand to themselves any longer; unbuckled their belts with their hard on started jerking off standing beside you, letting out grunts and moans imagining fucking you. Making you suck on their dicks like the good girl you were.

Seeing how big they all were you wondered how your poor cunt will ever be able to take them all inside.

Your vision was going white with all the pleasure as you clenched around Sukuna's dick, squeezing him so tight he tossed his head back pussy drunk just wanting to feel you all around him.

You don't know many hours went by all you know is they all took their turns fucking you- in all positions, filling you up with their cum; praising you and telling how much of a good girl you are, how well you are taking them.

You were fully- completely knocked out and brain fucked. The office fully messy from the desk to the couch and all vibrators gone.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The next moment you wake up, sharp pain shoots up and down your body as you groan.

"Oh look who woke up, our cam-girl", chucking Toji sat beside you while the others crowded around you

That's when everything hit you all at once and you look down finding yourself completely and utterly naked.

"You took us all in so well baby~ my dicks never been more satisfied", Gojo lifted you making you sit on his lap and kissed your neck

"S-Shut up! I need to go!" you blushed hard and tried to stand up but tripped

"What a brat, you really think you can stand? how annoying, you were better brain fucked", Sukuna immediately grabs you supporting you to not fall

"You!-" feeling your blood boil you immediately try to open your mouth to yell all kinds of profanities

"Oh she's awake", Suguru entered the room smirking, "Still naked is she? are we going for another round? Because I am down"

"I'll die if we do another round!?" in panic you look at them all in the eyes earning a chuckle and a light slap on your ass from Sukuna making you whine

"Shut up you aren't going anywhere from today onwards you are our girl"

"Huh!?", you gasp in shock

"Everything we did is recorded", Gojo chuckled grinning, "Suguru even finished processing it darling~ thank you for your-", he tossed a vibrator to you and winked, "lovely data"

You stand utterly stunned knowing there is no way out from this, they'll eat you alive whenever they please. You are officially the company's cam-girl and test-subject.

Congrats on your promotion~ <3

My Masterlist!

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter three)

18+ 3.8k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. fic directory | AO3

Now that he's got you all to himself, it's clear that Homelander has no intention of letting you go. For the sake of your own survival, you have no choice but to adopt his madness and play along with his domestic fantasy.

Homelander is insane.

You don’t know how to reconcile the hero of Vought’s marketing with this man, whose very presence unnerves you. There’s something uncanny about the way he moves, speaks, even the way he smiles at you. It all feels simultaneously practiced, and yet like he’s never actually spoken one on one to another human being.

The sentiment spins in your mind like a record, the melody scratchy and discordant. It’s as though you’ve fallen into some kind of bizzaro dimension where up is down, the sky is green, and Vought’s golden hero is a delusional kidnapping maniac who premeditated your abduction to the point of filling his home with a perfectly curated wardrobe for you. Even the products in the bathroom mirror your own.

You are home.

The conviction with which he said it gives you goosebumps. In the moment you’d been numb, trapped somewhere between reality and dream. That feeling–some mixture of shock and whatever he drugged you with–lingers with you even now, like you’ll wake up from this nightmarish fantasy at any moment.

You smooth your hands down your body, now clad in unfamiliar silk that feels cool and expensive against your skin. The sleep wear fits you like a glove. It’s your favorite color. It could have been pulled straight from your own closet if not for the lack of wear and the undoubtedly exorbitant price tag. All for wearing to bed.

Bed.

Nerves flutter in your gut like caged birds. You give yourself one last lingering look in the mirror. Washed and lotioned with the menagerie of products left for you, you’re unable to stall in the bathroom any longer. You’re as “comfortable” as you’re going to get, and Homelander’s waiting for you.

The thought makes you shiver. You can still feel his hands on your wrists like phantom shackles. From the moment he snapped and grabbed you, shocking you with immeasurable inhuman strength, you knew you were going to have to proceed with extreme caution.

There’s something deeply wrong with him, and you’re terrified of what else he’s capable of.

What if you’re not the first person he’s done this to?

Worse than that thought, what if you’re not the last?

It’s a short walk back to the bedroom, the way lit by the dim spotlights that hang over the portraits that litter the walls. There’s an eeriness to the penthouse that makes you feel as though you’re walking through an empty museum after hours.

The glossy wood flooring is as cold as tile beneath your bare feet, every part of this place hard and manufactured. It feels more like an enclosure than a home.

Even more bizarre than the decor is the layout itself. You haven’t seen the whole place yet–he had insisted a tour was for daylight hours–but rounding the corner from the living room takes you to an open alcove that serves as his bedroom.

You hesitate in the open hall, struck by the sight of yourself reflected a dozen times over in the mirrors that make up his bedroom walls and ceiling, and Homelander himself already tucked into bed, his torso bare.

Your stomach flips. He smiles at you, beckoning you with a nod towards the empty side of the bed. Anxiety crawls up your spine like an insect with every step you take towards the bed, worsened by the open anticipation he watches you with. It goes against your every instinct to move closer to him.

Just as you reach the bed, he flips the blanket down for you. You tense, gaze dipping, but you’re relieved to find that he is not entirely nude.

He’s wearing sleep pants with a thin band that nicely hugs the sharp jut of his hip, following the slight curve of his stomach. He’s leaner than the chiseled exaggeration of his suit implies, but his strength is no illusion. His hand felt like a steel vice around your wrist, his pull like being guided by a freight train. 

Homelander clears his throat and your eyes snap back up to his. You realize all at once you’ve been standing there in silence staring for far too long at his half-exposed body. Embarrassment hits in a hot rush and you mumble some kind of half formed apology, busying yourself with slipping into the bed, lingering at the edge.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, watching you settle on your back and tug the blanket over yourself.

“Like what you see?” he asks, smiling crookedly. Though he claims he has no intention of eating you, you wouldn’t know it by the look in his eyes. He has all the intensity of a bird of prey watching a rabbit skitter through an open field.

Not knowing how to respond, you stare wordlessly at him. You notice the asymmetry of his mouth for the first time, how it curves on one side.

Christ, why can’t you stop staring at him like this? Every time you try to formulate a response–something, anything–the words get jumbled up in your throat, threatening to choke you.

At a loss, you roll onto your side, putting your back to him and screwing your eyes shut. The bed dips suddenly and an arm slipping around your waist startles you into a jerk, your body going tense.

“Jeeze, so jumpy,” he laughs, breath hot on the nape of your neck. He pulls your body flush against his, your soft curves fitting seamlessly against his wrought iron edges.

His strength is impossible to ignore, inhuman and titanous. You can feel it in every part of him, but nowhere more keenly than in the flex of his arm as it encircles you, pinning you against him.

He sighs into the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ve really been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, his words nearly beneath the thunderous racket of your own heart in your ears. Your body is awash in heat, and not just from the flush rolling through you. He’s as hot as a furnace at your back, as if his skin conducts heat just as well as the steel he feels made from.

If there was any doubt before that you had no choice but to yield to him, it’s evaporated now. He could crush you without so much as a second thought if he decides you don’t fit whatever elaborate fantasy he’s created in his mind. He could make you disappear.

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging the shell of your ear with his nose. “I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?”

The pressure of a sob swells up in your throat, the reality of your situation folding in on you with the weight of the world, but you choke it back. Hesitantly, you place your hand over his forearm and squeeze, hoping it will be enough of an answer to appease him.

You feel his smile in the way he caresses the sensitive flesh of your neck with his mouth. In turn, he squeezes you against his chest like a child would his new favorite toy, covetous and possessive. It makes you wonder what sort of boy he’d been: was he the sort to be precious with his toys, or was he the sort who wore them threadbare before looking for the next new and shiny thing?

“‘Atta girl.”

Although sleep doesn’t come easily, it does at least come eventually. The room is dark, but not pitch black, and the ambient sounds of high altitude winds spilling in from his open windows are surprisingly soothing, better than the scratchy ocean recordings you usually drift to.

The exhaustion you experience in the aftermath of your abduction overtakes you, pitching you into a deep slumber. You spend the night dreaming a tumultuous mix of reality and nightmare, some aspects exaggerated while others play out perfectly as they were. The truth of your situation is nightmarish enough without any theatrics from your imagination. 

Waking up in Homelander’s bed for the second time is no less disorienting than it was the first time.

Last night returns to you in bits and pieces, but nothing grounds you in reality as swiftly as the heavy arm looped around your waist, and the steady warm breaths wafting over the back of your neck, giving you goosebumps. His other arm is stretched out under your pillow, his hand resting palm up by the edge of it.

Is he asleep…?

“G’morning,” Homelander purrs, giving a firm squeeze around your middle.

Not asleep, which leaves you wondering how long he’s been awake, assuming the man actually does sleep. There’s been no lack of speculation towards how human supes really are or aren’t, whether they need to eat or rest the way regular humans do.

Especially those as powerful as Homelander.

The sleepy slur and fray of his voice gives you hope that he does, though. On top of everything else, it would be too unsettling a horror to learn that he doesn’t.

“Morning,” you give back after a beat, hating how meek your voice is. The tension in your body makes everything sound tight and forced. You see his fingers flex just before he curls his arm inward, hand clutching your shoulder to embrace you.

“I don’t know about you,” he says in your ear, lips brushing the shell of it as he speaks. “But that was the best damn night of sleep I’ve ever had.”

That solves that, you suppose.

The silence that follows makes you realize he was prompting you.

“Same.” The lie hitches in your throat like a hiccup.

Another pause, and then Homelander is shifting, uncoiling his arms from around you and lifting up on his side. With a hand on your shoulder he turns you on to your back, bringing you to face him.

You meet his gaze, but something about the look in his eyes turns your gut cold. There’s no softness in the lines of his face, not even thinning tethers of patience. There’s simply… nothing.

“Don’t ever lie to me,” he says, his voice set low and strangely hollow. “You’re free to do whatever you want. Except for that. Understand?”

Your throat clicks on a dry swallow. The weight of his stare makes it hard to breathe. You nod.

“Tell me you understand,” he says slowly, each perfectly annunciated word dripping with malice. There’s no pleading in his voice the way there had been last night. He’s composed entirely of cold and hard lines that make you feel caged, the bars shrinking around you.

“I understand,” you choke out.

Just like that, the lines at the corners of his eyes soften, crinkling with his smile. He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. The abruptness of the shift is enough to give you whiplash, leaving you dazed. For just a moment, he was another person entirely.

“That’s my girl,” he says, seeming to savor every word on his tongue. Dumbstruck, you watch him climb out of bed, swinging his arms in a slow stretch.

“Uhm,” you start, clearing your voice of the faint tremor in it. “I should, uh… Call someone. Work. They’re going to be worried if–”

“Already taken care of,” he cuts in, lifting his suit from the suit rack next to the bed. Your eyes dart to the crumpled one he shed the night before, still in a pile.

How many of those does he have?

“Everyone you know is under the impression that you had a mild stress-induced nervous breakdown, and are currently on an impromptu vacation in Europe, totally off the grid,” he says with a smile, sliding his hand smoothly through the air.

You pale. Whenever work came to be too much, you’ve joked about disappearing like that, but would anyone actually believe you have? You suddenly regret the plethora of hyperbolic existential posts you’ve made.

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, feeling sick.

Homelander, on the other hand, looks as bright as the morning sun. “So! Who’s ready for breakfast?”

Regardless of whether or not cooking is enjoyable, it’s always a reliable routine. Breakfast perhaps most of all. Eggs, toast, bacon and whatever fruit is in season. You find all these things and more in dizzying variety and proportion in Homelander’s lavish kitchen.

The eggs are large and brown, the bacon wrapped in butcher's paper rather than plastic, and cut in thick strips. The artisanal loaf of bread has a perfectly crisp golden crust, soft on the inside as you slice it. It’s everything you know, but elevated.

The opulence feels weighted. It makes you wonder how you could ever be expected to pay for any of this. How you could be worth any of this. Every ounce of silky butter you swipe over the piece of artisan toast in your hand feels like another smattering of grave soil peppering you from above, burying you deeper than you already are.

You don’t owe him for any of this. You didn’t ask for it. Regardless, you lick an excess smear of jam from your thumb–the color of it as red and vibrant as fresh blood–and all at once you are Persephone taking the pomegranate seeds between her lips. There is a terrible feeling of complicitness in this, despite that you’re only trying to survive.

Homelander lurks behind you while you cook, observing from a slight distance with an idyllic smile, his hands clasped behind his back. While you’re still wearing your pajamas, he’s wearing his hero suit again, the bulk of it returning to him his larger than life silhouette.

The silence he observes you in is unnerving, making everything else too loud in comparison. It would be nice if he’d at least sit. Instead, you’re keenly aware of the oppressive weight of his expectant gaze the entire time you cook.

“Looks delicious,” he says, his voice suddenly so close that you startle, the butterknife slipping from your hand and clattering on the marble countertop. His gloved hands cup your elbows and squeeze, soothing and overly familiar. “Oops-a-daisy,” he laughs, as if you’re just clumsy. His hands stroke slowly up and down your arms.

You snatch the knife up from the countertop and dutifully wipe away the jam splatter with a dishtowel. “I hope you like it,” you say distractedly, heart racing.

“How could I not?” he asks in that same low, pleased tone. He gives your arms an excited little shimmy before releasing them, reaching around either side of you to grab each plate. You feel his chest against your back, where he lingers just a second too long. “You made it just for me, after all.”

He moves away from you, taking the plates with him to the small round table near the floor to ceiling windows. The view from his penthouse is stunning–overlooking the entire city, all the way out to the waterfront–but it’s also dizzying. It unsettles your stomach to sit so close to the window, the size of them making it feel as though there’s nothing between you and a hundred story fall.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you?” He asks, settling down across from you.

You look from the window to him. He wastes no time splaying a cloth napkin in his lap and picking up his utensils, though he never takes his eyes off of you. You’re not sure he ever does. “Uh…Not particularly. I just don’t think I’ve ever been up so high,” you say, draping your own napkin similarly in your lap. Never has breakfast felt like such a formal affair.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says confidently, jabbing his knife into the yolk of his egg to spread over his buttered toast. “I’ll take you flying again. You’ll be conscious this time around,” he chuckles, flipping a piece of bacon on top as well.

Your gut tightens, toast paused halfway to your parted lips. You gawk at him. It’s difficult to comprehend how someone can be so beyond reproach, so intensely cavalier about something like drugging you into unconsciousness and kidnapping you.

I saved you. That his voice already lives in your mind–correcting you–is sickening in and of itself. Your already tenuous appetite vanishes, but you take a bite of the toast out of spite. The jam’s farm fresh sweetness is tart, though it’s offset perfectly by the savory sea salt richness of the butter. 

It’s as exquisite as it is repulsive.

A crisp snap brings your attention abruptly back to Homelander, whose hand is still poised in the air, his thumb and middle finger pressed together. His hand falls away once he has your attention, his smile returning. “That good, huh? Looked like you went a million miles away.”

If only, you seethe, taking another bite of the toast. You use the moment to chew, swallowing the anger over being snapped at alongside your mouthful of food.

“It’s delicious,” you say, curating your words carefully. Don’t ever lie to me, his words echo again, helping you to shape a mental survival guide. Feeling his eyes on you, you meet them. His smile widens a touch, though you don’t think it quite reaches his eyes. He’s appraising you like one might an exhibit at a museum.

Glancing down at his plate, you notice he hasn’t really eaten his breakfast so much as he’s toyed with it. It’s all just cut apart, yellow egg yolk oozing slowly across the pristine white plate. “Is there something wrong with yours?” you ask with a lurch of anxiety. He’s drugged you once already.

“Not at all,” he beams with clean white teeth, hands resting in loose fists on either side of his plate. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The strange earnestness of the compliment stuns you. “Thank you,” you say uneasily, still not convinced there wasn’t something in the jam, or maybe the butter.

His smile broadens and this time it reaches all the way up, crinkling his eyes at their outer corners. There’s a sort of pride in his expression that makes you feel like a dog that’s finally learned the trick he’s been trying to teach you. 

“Whelp,” he sighs, clapping his hands together as he stands. “As much as I hate to go, duty calls,” he says, sliding his chair back beneath the table. Rounding it, he holds his hand out to you. “Walk me out?” he asks, his smile gleaming with predator charm. You only hesitate briefly before slipping your hand into his, reminding yourself to choose your battles wisely.

He lifts you to your feet with such ease it makes your stomach flip, breath hitching in your throat. He doesn’t let go of your hand, choosing to keep it snug within his grasp as he walks you through the decorated halls of his penthouse. There’s scarcely a space untouched by decor, making even these spacious corridors feel claustrophobic, dozens of carved and painted eyes leering at you as you pass.

The tour of the penthouse had been brief, awkward. He hadn’t especially known what to say about each room, giving you more facts about the artwork than anything. The lack of personal effects only make the place feel even more like a museum than it had before.

The only pictures of him were Vought promotional material. Not a single photo of him outside of his suit. No trace of family or childhood. Just The Homelander.

He holds your hand all the way up to a set of double doors made from dark wood, where he stops and turns to face you. “Thanks for breakfast,” he says with a picture perfect pearly white smile. Not a speck of food to be found. Uncomfortable with how fixated you’ve become on the condition of his teeth, you force your attention back on his eyes and nod.

“You’re welcome.”

He leans closer, and you have to fight the urge to lean back.

“Will you kiss me goodbye?”

You blink, the question striking you in the same way his compliment had, but for a different reason. In the wake of asking, his smile has lost that razor sharp edge it usually carries. Like his eyes, it’s softer now. More boyish. There’s a level of nervous apprehension in it that’s a stark contrast from his usual smugness. Yet again it hardly feels like you’re even looking at the same person.

Swallowing dryly, you bring your hand to the underside of his strong jaw. His skin is warm under your fingers, and he leans readily into your touch. You can feel the tension in the muscle beneath his cleanly shaven face as you turn it away, simultaneously moving in to press your lips to his cheek.

When you pull away, he’s staring sidelong at you, his face still turned away, his thin lips parted. For a beat, you think he’s going to be upset, but you realize quickly that the heat you see rushing to his cheeks isn’t anger. It’s a blush. Of all the ways you expected him to react, bashful was not among them.

“Okie-dokie,” he says, suddenly sheepish, and the tension in your shoulders drains as he relinquishes your other hand, busying himself with slipping off one of his gloves. “Should be home around 4:00, but I might be able to squeeze out closer to 3:00,” he says, tossing you a conspiratory little wink. As if you should be as excited as he is at the thought.

You watch him reach for a black plate next to the door handle, which he slides up to reveal a sleek number pad with a glowing blue circle, which he presses his thumb to. The circle turns green, and you hear a mechanism unlatch. Your stomach drops. All at once you understand why he brought you all the way to the door. He wanted you to see this.

“Pretty nifty, huh?” he asks, sliding his glove back on. “State of the art,” he says with a grin, pulling the door open. Over his shoulder, you see nothing but a long, long hall and a distant elevator at the end of it. You consider screaming down it to see if anyone might hear you, but the noise gets stuck in your throat. Even if they heard you, no one would reach you in time.

Homelander steps through the threshold, lingering in the doorway, leaning partially inside. “Don’t you worry,” he says, taking in the stricken expression you wear. He looks pleased with himself. “You’ll be perfectly safe. No way anyone’s getting in or out–aside from me, that is.”

He offers a few parting words, but they distort into unintelligible static. The door closes. That green circle turns blue, and the locking mechanism echoes in your ears like the slam of a prison gate. Turning around, you stare down the lengthy corridor you came from, your ears buzzing with the eerie quietness of the penthouse.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

[wellntruly]

If you read the novel Catch-22 (1961), about U.S. Army pilots & sundry stationed on a Greek island during World War II, you will encounter this off-hand description during the period where Yossarian is hiding in the field hospital:

At which you will either pause worryingly, or you’re normal.

I am not normal, because I have watched the television show M*A*S*H (1972-1983), about U.S. Army medical staff in a mobile surgical unit during the Korean War, and which features a character called Hawkeye Pierce, who frequently looks like this:

Now this bathrobe, iconic simply, appears red to the observer. However, deep into the run there is a line in which Hawkeye refers to it as "purple"—great consternation. But film cameras and light waves being what they are (capricious, devilish), it could very well be maroon in life. It could very well be maroon. It’s what I assumed after that comment. But what I'd never asked was, what is it made out of? Is that corduroy, could it be corduroy, could this be—

Oh noooooooo!

Why is Hawkeye the only one who is wearing the robe of patients from the last war, I ask you! Is it for the METAPHOR. To make me YELL. Did the costume department make it for him, or did they just already have one on hand in the WWII storage? Wait it wasn't real was it? Where is it, where is this robe!

Well babe, it’s in the Smithsonian:

A) of all, fucking fantastic, could not be a place I more want Alan Alda’s bathrobe as Hawkeye Pierce to be than the National Museum of American History. B) well well well well well, what do we have here:

[sic]

So looking THAT up brings you nothing that makes any sense, even trying to correct for spelling. But not to fear: historical re-enactors are here.

On the website of the “WW2 US Medical Research Centre,” an absolutely delightful combination of words and spelling brought to you by two European history buffs, and that’s Europeans who are obsessed with history, specifically American medical units in the 1940s, there’s a page for pajamas, and why look who’s here:

OH ho oh HO!

“Progressive Coat & Apron Mfg. Co.” is so similarly bizarre that I would be very willing to bet that something like idk, the imperfect process of digitizing thousands of records for a website catalog, could have absolutely resulted in “Agressive Coat and Manufacturing Company.” Which would mean yeah, yeah yeah: vintage World War II, slash Korea, just five years later. It was authentic, what they gave Alda to wear, along with his dog tags.

Just Hawkeye though still, which is what's odd.

BUT HANG ON.

Heeeeey now!

So I was recently reminded that in the pilot episode, but the pilot episode only, Wayne Rogers as Trapper John McIntyre also has the regulation corduroy MD/USA bathrobe! In fact, he actually has what would appear to become Hawkeye’s—observe the location of the embroidery. Pocket, like Hawkeye’s in every robe appearance after this first episode, the robe that ends up in the Smithsonian Museum. Whereas the one with the embroidery on the chest that's hanging above Hawkeye's cot here, a common variant that shows up when you’re searching around on military history websites, after this appearance I believe is seen just once more on a visiting colonel later in the first season, then quietly vanishes. Alda ends up in Trapper's, and stays in it for keeps, while Rogers gets, of all things, a cheery goldenrod terry number.

But like, why. Why just Hawkeye in the WWII surplus robe. Both Doyle and Watson have avenues here that I like to think about. For the Doylist side, I suspect it was a decision of like, this is simply too matchy. It’s 1972, our TV screens are small, we gotta take any chance we can get to distinguish these tall white men constantly wearing the same of two monochrome outfits.

In fact, I actually wonder if there was a world where Trapper might have stayed in the maroon and Hawkeye could have ended up in Henry’s robe.

The light blue & white striped bathrobe McLean Stevenson wore as Henry Blake was sold at auction in 2018, and the item description contains the curious detail of it having a handwritten tag inside reading “Hawkeye.” Well heeeyy again.

And here’s another curious detail:

There was a blue & white striped Army-issue robe as well

Now Henry’s is clearly NOT vintage WWII, lacking the pocket embroidery, being terry cloth, and also of course: pastel. But it’s INTERESTING, isn’t it? They had to have been GOING for that look, with that same unusual collar shape and that multi-stripe patterning.

(Also, for real 'what the hell even IS this color' fun, this militaria collectors purveyor has one of the maroon versions too, with photos you can page though and laugh as it flips between looking clearly purple and clearly red in every other photograph. Cameras!!!)

Anyway now we turn to the Watsonian explanation, which seems to run like this: the men at the 4077 were just casually passing their robes around to each other. It's about the intimacy in the face of war, etc. I can see bathrobes going missing when they bug out, getting stolen from the laundry by Klinger and scrapped for parts, being handed off to a poor cold Korean kid who needs it more, and then they need to get to the showers and one of them is like hey, just take mine, and then it’s his now. And eventually most of them end up in warmer-looking civilian robes than the Army holdovers that were being distributed early on, but Hawkeye, he just hung on to Trapper's.

And as a side effect, still looks like he's been injured in World War II.

[enigmatech1]

Creative Ways to Use Clothing Hang Tags to Boost Your Brand

Best Clothing hang tags are an essential component of any fashion brand. They provide vital information about the product, including the brand name, logo, care instructions, and pricing. Hang tags also serve as an excellent marketing tool and help build brand awareness. In this article, we'll explore five creative ways to use clothing hang tags to boost your brand and help you stand out from the competition.

How Custom Hang Tags from a Reliable Hang Tag Supplier Can Improve Your Brand Image

Custom-made hang tags can change the game when it comes to apparel. Custom hang tags provide you with a chance to show off the character and aesthetic of your company. You can develop distinctive designs that complement your brand's image and appeal to your target market by working with a reputable hang tag supplier.

Custom hang tags can be made in various shapes, sizes, and materials. From eco-friendly options to glossy finishes, the possibilities are endless. The key is to choose a custom hang tag design that reflects your brand's style and values. Here are some creative ways to use custom hang tags to enhance your brand image:

1. Use Custom Hang Tags to Promote Sustainability

Many consumers are becoming more concerned about sustainability, and clothing companies that put an emphasis on sustainability are becoming more well-liked. Custom hang tags printed on recycled paper or with eco-friendly ink can show customers how environmentally conscious your company is. Think about employing hang tags to inform customers about your sustainable practices and motivate them to make environmentally responsible decisions.

 2. Add Value to Your Clothing with Custom Hang Tags

Custom hang tags can add value to your clothing items and make them more appealing to consumers. You can use hang tags to highlight the unique features of your products, such as the fabric or design. You can also use hang tags to promote limited-edition or exclusive pieces, creating a sense of urgency and exclusivity.

3. Use Custom Hang Tags to Promote Brand Awareness

Hang tags can be used as a powerful marketing tool to increase brand awareness. By including your brand's logo, name, and contact information on your hang tags, you can make a lasting impression on consumers. You can also use hang tags to showcase your brand's mission and values, further enhancing your brand image.

4. Create a Consistent Brand Experience with Custom Hang Tags

The secret to creating a powerful brand image is consistency. A consistent brand experience across all of your items may be achieved with the use of custom hang tags. You may create a recognizable brand identity that customers will remember by using the same design elements, colors, and fonts throughout all of your hang tags.

5. Use Custom Hang Tags to Encourage Customer Loyalty

Custom hang tags can also be used to encourage customer loyalty. By offering special discounts or incentives on your hang tags, you can reward loyal customers and encourage repeat business. You can also use hang tags to direct customers to your social media pages, website, or other marketing channels, further building your brand's online presence.

Conclusion

In conclusion, clothing hang tags are an essential part of any fashion brand. By using custom hang tags from a reliable hang tag supplier, you can enhance your brand image and create a lasting impression on consumers. Whether you're promoting sustainability, highlighting unique features, or building brand awareness, there are many creative ways to use custom hang tags to boost your brand.  And to customizes your hang tags you will need to have an expert to design it for you. For that the best option is to contact Labelme. Labelme is one of the most trusted and experienced clothing hang tag manufacturers in India.

[cherubfae]

Hello! I love your writing, it's so cute! Here's an Idea bouncing around in my head: Reader is a shy and easily flustered individual who's developed a crush on Alastor. However they try to keep their distance as they know he's Aro/Ace and doesn't want to overstep boundaries. They go to Lucifer a (somewhat) expert on romance and feelings of longing to vent, also developing a crush on Lucifer- (Reader is a hopeless romantic lol)

Anyway, hope you have a nice day and remember to drink water!

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 || {𝔞𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯, 𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯}

tags: gn!sinner!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, love triangle, miscommunication, blood/injuries, mild nudity mention, divorced!Luci, I had to make it a bit comical, I made this too angsty for my own liking now I'm sad 😭, protective bois

This is a one shot. I won't be writing a part two. Thank you! :)

A dreamy sigh echoes from your lips, swirling down the empty hallway. You're sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest with a clawed hand over your heart. Sometimes you miss the thrum of your heartbeat against your fingers. With all of the people occupying Hell, you didn't expect to feel quite this lonely.

You stare down at the pocket watch in your hands. Such a tiny device cost quite a fortune, but it was a true antique having been manufactured in the 1920s. Your intention was to give it to Alastor. Yet, you never did.

Despite everything in your being wanting you to give him the simple gift, a token of your love and your friendship, you just couldn't. You were already internally setting yourself up for a failure that may not even come. You weren't sure Alastor would ever be into someone, let alone you. So, allowing these thoughts to fester you withdrew yourself from him. Forcing smiles when around him and the others, faking laughter; all of which Alastor could see right through. Every time he tried to seek you out, to confront you, you were already engaged with someone else or another task for the hotel.

You were actively allowing your depression to swallow you whole all the whole not realizing that if you had only asked, Alastor's feelings are the same as yours. He just didn't know how to approach you and Rosie thought it best to let you come to him; yet you never did. Even Alastor was finding it a bit hard to keep that smile on his face. Why won't you just approach him? He...He can't do it. Please.

A dreary day in Hell with violent lightning and thunderclouds and acidic rain brought you into the company of Lucifer Morningstar himself. He could smell your sadness from miles away and like clockwork, he instantly pulls you under his wings.

"Now then, sweetling, what brings you to see the Big Boss Man Himself?" Lucifer grins, crossing his leg over his knee nursing an apple martini with an apple slice hanging off the sugar-dusted edge. He serves you whatever drink you may like, alcoholic or non-alcoholic.

"I'm in love with Alastor and I don't know what to do! I'm scared to get too close to him because I'm not even sure he's into me like that and I don't want to get hurt!" You sob, the words come pooling out of your mouth like a waterfall and so do the tears.

Lucifer visibly bristles at the mention of his rival, almost choking on his drink. With a snap of his fingers, his martini glass vanishes with a poof! His full attention now on you. Gently, he takes your hand in his gloved one.

Softly, he begins. "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real. It's not the end of the world, not by a long shot. Everyone who we meet and who we love crosses our paths for a reason. To teach us something, either for a short chapter or they'll be lifelong companions. Even in the afterlife, there are still people worth risking the hurt for." Smiling wobbly, Lucifer embraces you close. "Take a few deep breaths. If this is truly how you feel, talk to him about it. We may be magic down here in Hell but not all of us are mind-readers, darlin'."

For the first time in a long while, you smile too. Embracing him again with a laugh.

Standing to leave, you turn to your friend. "May I see you again?"

Lucifer let out a tiny gasp, a slight pink hue coating his cheeks. "I'd like that a lot!" He jumps up. "I can show you how to paint rubber ducks!"

When you finally return from your outing, you're in a much more visibly happy mood. With eyebrows raised, Alastor watches from the shadows as you whistle a happy little tune and make your way up the stairs and veer to the left towards your bedroom. A familiar scent clings to your own, one that makes his lips curl back in a vicious snarl. Lucifer.

"Now darling, I think it's time that we have a talk--" Alastor materializes from the shadows, fully manifesting into your bedroom. You shriek in surprise.

Immediately, you snap. "Alastor, what the fuck! OUT."

Alastor, who has been turned away from you, spins to face you aghast that you'd speak to him in such a manner as you never have before, only to quickly cover his eyes. You were standing in the privacy of your bedroom, almost entirely naked except for those flimsy bottoms you called your underwear. Alastor swallows thickly at the sight of your bare skin, even when you wrap your blanket around your body. He feels lightheaded.

"My apologies, dearest. Ta-ta!" In a plume of smoke, Alastor fades out of the room. By the time he returns to his radio tower, he's gasping with his palm covering his face which was now nearly as red as his hair. He's ashamed he hadn't shown more decorum and instead witnessed you in such a state. Even when angry with him, you had never looked more alluring.

Lucifer swung by the hotel rather unexpectedly, surprising Charlie with a new plant for her bedroom and crushing Maggie into a huge hug! The place was really coming along, he had to admit. There was a more inviting atmosphere to the hotel now since it was rebuilt. It almost felt cozy.

"Dad, what brings you by?" Charlie smiles, carefully handing the plant over to Vaggie.

Lucifer smiles. "I'm here to pick up a friend for a little coffee date and I figured I'd say hi to my favorite daughter and my favorite soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" He coos, squishing Charlie's cheeks between his gloved hands.

On queue, you're walking down the stairs into the foyer. "Lucifer!" You beam, a large smile crossing your cheeks. His tummy flutters at the sight. The outfit you had on was darling, suiting you to a T.

A crackle of static explodes into the front lobby, the Radio Demon taking form between you and the Morningstars. Alastor's eyes immediately narrowing at the unwelcomed guest, at least in his mind.

Laughing nervously, Charlie wedges herself between her father and friend. The air rippled with electricity as the two stared the other down.

"Okay, you two, calm down. Let's not start anything, ok?" She glances at Vaggie for help who simply shrugs her shoulders; setting Charlie's new plant baby aside. Approaching slowly you stand by Lucifer's side. Placing a hand on the King's shoulder, Alastor nearly explodes with radio feedback. An eerie green glow consuming his form.

Static voice dripping with malice spits out, "You're going out with him." It wasn't a question.

Casting a look over your shoulder, you nod at Alastor. "We're going out for coffee."

The Radio Demon is practically seething with venomous rage--not at you, but at the puny little shortstack of a King who thinks he can meddle with those in his life. "You don't deserve their attention, Morningstar."

Lucifer balks. "You had your chance, pal! You snooze, you lose." Alastor's expression turns to one of confusion.

"What do you mean?" The radio filter is gone from his voice.

Snarling, Lucifer glowers at him. "They were in love with you! And now I'm here to pick up the pieces-- oh, fuck, you didn't tell him did you, sweetling?" His gaze is gentle as he regards you. You're begging for the ground to swallow you up.

Fighting back tears, you fidget on the spot. You're looking everywhere but at the two men who have held your heart captive. There was the love you held for Alastor, pure and genuine. How you got together like pieces of a puzzle. And then there was your love for Lucifer, intimate and loving. He was able to teach a part of you that you'd long forgotten. He helped you smile again.

Alastor shoves Lucifer out of the way, his clawed hands cupping your face. He wipes away those tiny tears with a gentleness no one in the hotel had seen. "Je t'aime tellement, mon cour."

Lucifer, now in his Full Demon form, shoves Alastor aside and grasps your arm. You let out a cry of pain, making the two males jump. With the appearance of his full form his claws had accidentally sunk too deep into your skin. Red leaked from the four deep gashes slashed across your skin, staining the sleeve of your lovely shirt. Your pretty eyes pooling with tears.

Like a true beast, Alastor explodes into his demonic form, arms outstretched to shield you behind him. Lucifer can only fixate on the blood dripping down your arm. Vaggie and Charlie are tugging you away while Husk prepares the First-Aid kit.

Lucifer is only able to stare at the tiny pool of blood you had left behind and the pain in his eyes. And then there was Alastor, ever the gentleman, always the one fighting for your honor, looking damn well ready to devour the entire fucking Earth for you.

And Lucifer felt he deserved whatever he had coming to him. His own words echo in his head: "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real."

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/foil-print-paper

[cityof2morrow]

Q4MAT: Quake 4 Build 007 - Door Pack

Published: 8-15-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY “Industrial-strength designs for 2morrow’s hi-tech facilities, manufactured with real, semi-synthetic materials…” Check out #co2quake for more futurist designs from Quake games, refreshed and expanded with details from CuriousB (2010) and others. As a companion collection to previous #co2quake sets, here are 400+ (!!!!!) colorful/grungy recolors for various doors and 40+ recolors for the 2-tile panels from my EZ Panel Kit (Simmons, 2024). The set also includes edited versions of the one-way “Valuewood Justa Door” (Doc Holladay, 2007; 2006) and deco-only versions of the 4t2 “Not So Inconspicuous” sliding door (EA/Maxis; converted by Jacky93sims, 2024). Pick and choose what you want below – Happy Simming! DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. §12-330 | Build > Doors/Columns and Buy > Deco > Wall Hangings All packages with “MESH” in their filename are REQUIRED for textures to show properly. Depending on what door recolors you choose, you may need additional meshes (see below for more details). Some door textures are only 256x256 – ideal for performance but may look distorted if you zoom in really close. Other CC recolors can be found under these tags - #co2recolors, #ts2recolors, #ts2repo #co2repo #co2repopack. NEW ITEMS 2 Another Not So Inconspicuous Doors (“vault door”) (Deco) (530-768 poly) Doc Holloway’s One-Way Justa Door (~400 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) ** swatch previews are included in each download

Valuewood Justa Door recolors from SFS | from MEGA Basegame-compatible; custom doors repo’d to this one will share recolors. **see the compatibility note below One-Way Valuewood Justadoor EDIT from SFS | from MEGA **delete the original one-way “Doc Justadoor” file (Doc Holladay, 2007; 2006) Myne Door recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need the University EP.

Unique Separator DOOR recolors from SFS | from MEGA Unique Separator MAT recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need Apartment Life EP for both of these.

Industrial Door recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need the Industrial Door MASTER Mesh by Cyclonesue (2008)

Sim Trek Sliding Door recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need the mesh files by Leefish (2011) **Some recolors are grungy w holes; If you place the doors on adjacent tiles, the frames will overlap (see pic)

2-Tile EZ Panel recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need the 2-tile “…-imgMESH” from the EZ Panel Kit (Simmons, 2024).

4t2 Not So Inconspicuous deco/recolors from SFS | from MEGA 4t2 Inviting Swing Out Door recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need the original meshes converted by Jacky93sims (2024). *the new deco doors are found under columns; minor flickering on the interior

4t2 Community Canvas/DIY Garage recolors from SFS | from MEGA You need the meshes by Moocha Muses HERE (2018) and HERE (2019) Extra add-Ons are available HERE (Simmons, 2024) **the “top” TXTR is actually the BACK of the Community Canvas Garage Door

COMPATIBILITY **NOTE: The Value Pocket Sliding Door (TheNinthWave, 2022) is repo’d to the “Valuewood Justadoor” door BUT with adjusted mapping (see below). This only messes up the “fancy” recolors – but don’t delete them because they will be gone from the other doors as well! All other textures show up fine on the custom pocket door.

CREDITS Thanks: Sims2/Simming communities and a special shout out to all the original creators/modders mentioned above. Sources: Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), EA/Maxis, Glitch Inside (Maknastudio, 2022), Hacked Font (Libeau, 2022), Quake 4 (Activision, 2005), Quake 4 Textures (Klevestav, 2013; 2010), Other TXTRs (Simmons, 2022-2024; Freepik, 2022; Ilexandro, 2018; CuriousB, 2012; Evillaire, 2008; Pixelhate, 2009; 2008).

[ahockeywrites]

between the fog, i see you

pairing: nico hischier x fem!reader requested? yes rating: 18+ warnings: smut, oral (f! receiving), mentions of the devils lettuce, alcohol consumption, smut under the influence, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it) if you like it, please reblog :)

Sweat, alcohol and weed were all that you could smell as you made your way through the copious amounts of bodies who were in your way. Smoking may have been outlawed inside buildings, but it didn’t stop people from bringing their vapes into the club where you were trying your best to find your friends. Sophie said that she had found a booth where some of her brother’s friends were nursing beers after their game. You hadn’t watched it but were aware of the score. The Devils had won the game 8-4 and the captain had a hat trick.

You liked Nico, or at least you did before he ignored you the whole night when you went to one of the Devils’ charity nights with Sophie’s brother hanging off your arm. The pair of you were strictly platonic and you only agreed to tag along if you could bring her brother to your upcoming fashion show where you were showcasing designs to various sportswear companies and having an actual athlete there would help you out.

From that moment on, Nico did everything in his power to ignore you. You were buying a round of drinks? Suddenly he didn’t want one. You were hosting a party? Suddenly something came up and he was too busy to attend.

The crush you had on him when you first met had dwindled down but never disappeared. It was still there. You always found a way to watch the game when you weren’t in the studio and enjoyed when the social media team posted photos of their captain. The way he rallied the team to work in tandem with each other. His sweaty hair that you imagined running your hands through. The photos did something to you that you refused to admit, even to yourself.

Lights shone down over the table that Sophie was sat at and she was deep in conversation with Nico. His hair looked slightly more golden than usual, but you put that down to the lighting and haze at which you were looking at him with.

Jack was the first to notice you and jumped up to give you his seat before Sophie pushed a glass with some concoction in it towards you. It was a no-brainer for you to pick it up and down the rest of the glass.

The booth filled quickly with large hockey bodies and after a lot of pushing and shoving, you ended up three shots deep, sat next to Nico Hischier. The exact man you didn’t want to be near in any capacity, let alone slightly intoxicated.

Someone handed you another drink before Dawson brought you into a conversation about the new clothing you had designed. You loved talking about your work and it was your dream to continue designing clothes. It just so happened that your supervisor at college had a way to get you into working in sportswear manufacturing so following an internship at a manufacturing plant, you had started developing clothes for athletes. Having Sophie as a friend and her brother as an athlete, it made sense to start your research with him and then branch out.

It was after another round of drinks when you started becoming a little more loose lipped, talking about how your ex-boyfriend just wasn’t good enough for you and how you were considering going back into the dating pool. Just dipping your toes in, not looking for anything serious just yet. But you had Sophie to blame when she brought up, in front of everyone, that he had never given you an orgasm and that you’d never had one before.

Your cheeks flushed red, and you hid in whoever’s chest was beside you. You couldn’t be here for this discussion. When you resurfaced, you saw shocked faces.

Fuck.

Nico was the one who was sat next to you. Nico’s chest was the chest you had hidden in. Your eyes widened. You couldn’t be here anymore.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you announced, still looking at all the shocked faces. “I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t even wait for the guys to move; you climbed over them and ran to the bathroom. Fuck. You looked at yourself in the mirror. To the average person, you looked fine, great even. To yourself, you had fucked up royally.

The man who you had a crush on, the man who hated you, now knew that your ex had never brought you to climax, and parts of your highlighter were now on his fitted, black t-shirt. The one that exaggerated his biceps and allowed you to see parts of his tattoo. The one that he sometimes used to wipe sweat off his forehead with and then a slither of his abs were on show.

You turned the faucet on, waiting for the cool water to come out so you could put some on the back of your neck. There was no way in hell that you were going to splash some on your face because then that would make it look like you had been crying. Only a few tears had come out and due to the waterproof mascara, you put on before coming out, it hadn’t run. Yet.

Bass thumped through the bathroom you found yourself in, but it was quieter in there. it gave you time to compose yourself, pull yourself together. You waited to catch your breath before standing up and checking that your outfit was clean. Who knew what had gone on in this bathroom before.

A knock on the door threw you off and you walked over to it to see if it was another patron waiting for it. You heard your name being shouted over and over through the hard wood.

“If you don’t open this fucking door, I’m going to kick it down,” the voice commanded. Fuck, whoever that was knew how to control with words.

“Alright fine,” you conceded, unlocking the door and allowing whoever it was to enter the bathroom.

You were shocked when you saw Nico on the other side and even more shocked when he closed the bathroom door behind the pair of you and locked it. His eyes were dark and if you looked closely, you would have seen the fire behind them.

He was infuriated. How did your ex have a woman like you but never made you feel how he could. He had been infatuated with you from the moment he met you but thought you were dating his team mate so were naturally off limits. But when it came out tonight that you were single and looking to start dating again, all the reigns had gone from him. You hiding in his shirt was the last straw. Your head being so close to his cock made him turn feral.

One of his hands made its way to your shoulder and the other to your hair, bringing a loose strand of it behind your ear. Nico’s body towered over yours and he brought his lip to the shell of your ear.

“That bastard of an ex-boyfriend,” he kissed your ear between words, “never got you to come.” His kisses moved from your ear to down your neck, sucking occasionally. “Speak princess,” Nico encouraged you.

“No,” your voice wobbled as you spoke back. “He didn’t.”

“It must be a shame,” his hands moved lower to rest on your ass which was accentuated by your leather skirt, slowly grabbing the cheeks. “To never have a man make you come, want to make you come. Want to make you scream for him. Want to make you see stars over and over and over again.”

Your eyes rolled back as Nico found the spot on your neck that no other man had found so quickly. He sucked hard as your head lulled to the side, the feeling of heat building between your legs was impossible to ignore. You had to refrain from asking him to move his hands because you couldn’t look needy in front of Nico, in a dark club bathroom. Could you?

“Please,” you whimpered, the words barely audible over the music pulsating through the room. His gaze pierced yours as he moved a hand up the curves of your body, coming to rest on your bra-less chest. A bra wouldn’t have worked with the outfit, and you hadn’t expected to end up in this position.

Nico’s thumb ghosted over your nipple and a whine escaped your lips, asking for more.

“Please what, princess?” He asked with a smirk on his face. Nico knew exactly what you wanted, you wanted him between your legs; hand, cock, or tongue. He wasn’t picky at all, anything you wanted, he would happily give.

“Want you,” you got out through deep breaths.

“You’re in luck,” the Swiss man smiled. “Want you too.”

His lip collided with yours, his tongue tasting of the whiskey he was sipping on earlier. Nico took no time in pulling down the front of your shirt as the kiss turned heated, exposing your breasts to the cool, bathroom air.

“Been thinking about these since we first met, fuck,” his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking again. A moan escaped from your lips, but you didn’t care. You were too caught up in the moment.

Your hands finally found a place to rest, in Nico’s hair pulling and tugging every last strand. This wasn’t going to be the sweetest hookup you’d had, but it certainly was going to be the hottest.

Nico’s kisses began to head south, over your shirt until he reached the waistband of your skirt. It was short and tight, and Nico could have come at the sight. It wasn’t until he swiped two of his fingers between your legs that he realised you had no underwear on.

“A skirt this short and no panties?” The captain questioned with a cock of his head. All you could muster up as a response was a nod. “Once I get started princess, I won’t be stopping unless you say Islanders.” The smirk on his face was back as he made you repeat the safe word. All because he got his hat trick past the Islanders tonight. If you had a little more sense in you, you’d have rolled your eyes and walked out. But there was something about this side of Nico that you wanted to see more of. Needed to.

Two fingers pushed into you and the feeling was beautiful, the callouses on Nico’s fingers, the way his palm found your clit. The everything. He kissed with the same rhythm as he worked you open with his fingers, only stopping once to take his fingers out and lick them, tasting you on him.

“You’re delicious,” he whispered before lowering his head to between your thighs. “Just a taste,” Nico winked before diving into your pussy.

Turns out that just a taste meant bringing you on the edge of orgasm three times before announcing that when you were going to come, it was going to be on his cock.

“Just fuck me already Nico,” you complained as he expertly undid his belt then yanked down his trousers and boxers, exposing his hardened cock.

“Turn round, hands on the wall,” Nico commanded, flicking up the skirt over your ass. You obliged, realising that the wall was actually a mirror and you’d be able to see everything he did. Fuck, he knew what he was doing.

Kisses were peppered up and down your neck as Nico’s hands started massaging the muscle of your ass. It felt relaxing and you leant into his touch, egging him on.

A slap to your butt brought you out of that state of relaxation and you felt Nico’s cock sitting between your legs, collecting your wetness to use as a lubricant. It took everything in his might to not slam himself into you but somehow, he refrained, teasing you.

Your ass moved back onto his lower abdomen and started grinding, you needed friction, something to make this feeling go. It felt like you needed to let go, to have something push you over the edge. It was unusual but your body started moving of its own accord.

“Does my girl want my cock?” Nico teased, lining himself up with you. You nodded in response and twisted your neck so that you could get the right angle to kiss him again.

Nico pushed his hips up towards yours, sinking himself fully into you as he continued to kiss the moans you made as he stretched you out inch by inch. He was longer and thicker than your ex and as he started moving in and out you could feel him reaching areas that no one else had.

The stretch burnt beautifully and all you could do was let Nico piston his hips into you, leaving no mercy. Expletives left your mouth as though it was a prayer as he continued to snap his hips up and down. A hand moved around from your ass to grasp a nipple and he rolled the pert bud between his fingers.

You cried out in pleasure, not knowing what the feeling in the bottom of your stomach was. Your body felt as though it was on fire, tingling throughout. Your breath became shallow and sped up and Nico knew exactly what to do.

Continuing to thrust into you was the easy part, the hard part for the captain was getting you to open your legs that little bit more so he could find your clit once more.

“Princess,” Nico groaned breathlessly. You moaned as he stilled inside you. “Put your foot up on the basin,” his free hand pointed in the direction he wanted. It took you a moment to respond but a hard slap on your ass brought you back to earth and when he told you what he wanted you to do again, all you could do was oblige because Nico had you wrapped around his little finger.

“Good girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear before pulling your hair back to make you look into his eyes, and it sent shockwaves down your spine. No one had ever called you that before, but you liked it. You really liked it.

“Next time I’m fucking that ass,” Nico’s finger circled around your tight hole but moved it to your clit and started rubbing tight circles on the bud. When he started moving his hips again, that feeling of something building up started again.

“Fuck,” you moaned, head lulling to the side. “It feels like something is gonna break soon.”

He couldn’t come before you, not when he came into this bathroom to make you come. It wasn’t meant to be anything other than an orgasm but when he tasted you, he couldn’t help himself. Your walls tightened around him and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of release.

“Good,” Nico spoke with authority. “Relax and let go,” he commanded, and you listened. Your legs started to tremble, and you could feel your eyes start rolling into the back of your head. “That’s it, princess,” Nico coached. “Such a good girl.”

Something snapped inside of you, and everything went black for a split second. This feeling of euphoria was nothing you had felt like before. This was what cloud nine felt like, ultimate pleasure and relaxation. Everything and nothing at the same time. The pleasure continued in waves as you felt Nico continue to pound into you.

Deep grunts filled your ear, and you knew what was coming next. Your ex always reached orgasm but never got you there and Nico who had never even touched your arm had you coming on his cock at the first attempt.

Nico’s hips stuttered and you felt his warm release inside you.

Shit, you had come back to reality. Had you just fucked Nico Hischier in a club bathroom? Apparently so. Had the aforementioned man just given you your first orgasm? Yes.

You had to get out of there. Not just the bathroom, not just the club, potentially the city. You had to get back to your apartment.

The mirror showed a woman royally fucked and there was nothing you could do about it. Your hands moved to flick your skirt back down and you walked out of the bathroom leaving Nico speechless.

[thepromisesatsundown]

BELIEF | WENCLAIR

Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair

Description: When Enid's struggles with the aftermath of that night, all she needs is for someone to believe in her. Luckily, if there's one person Wednesday Addams could believe in, it's Enid Sinclair.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Crying, Soft Wednesday Addams (for Enid only), A bit of Canon-Divergence, Healing, References to PTSD

WC: 2.6k

A/N: Uh hi so this is the first oneshot I'm posting and bare with me, it is far from perfect haha I pumped it out really late at night but wanted to get something out there at least. I'm truly just going through as many random prompts I can find and writing oneshots based on them- if anyone sees this and has requests please send them my way. Anyway, enjoy!

Nevermore Academy bustled with a manufactured merriment that Wednesday Addams found entirely too fraudulent. Garlands in a shade of green that nature had never intended dripped from every railing, fairy lights winked with seizure-inducing frequency, and an enormous pine tree hulked in the corner of the common room like a many-armed monster playing dress-up.

The new principal, a man whose name Wednesday had forgotten as soon as she’d heard it, had decreed that festivities would continue until the very eve of winter break. Something about “breathing life back into Nevermore.” Wednesday thought the only thing Nevermore needed breathing into was sense.

Amidst the aggressive cheer, a lone figure caught Wednesday’s eyes. Enid Sinclair, lifelessly sorted through a box of baubles. When a strand of lights tumbled from the mantelpiece with a shatter of glass, Enid flinched, her entire body constricting inward.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. Enid’s enthusiasm for all things bright and jolly was constant, a northern star in Wednesday’s sky of black. To see her so dimmed, so diminished, sparked an unfamiliar ache in Wednesday’s chest. She could still see the gouges in the wall from that night, could still hear Enid’s howls of pain echoing through the woods.

Belief. Such a simple word for such a complex thing. Enid had believed in the fundamental goodness of people, in the magic of the holidays, in the power of a well-timed hug. And in one blood-soaked night, those beliefs had been shaken to their core.

Wednesday watched as Enid attempted to hang a glass reindeer on the tree, her hands trembling. The reindeer slipped, tumbling end over end before shattering on the floor. Enid stared at the glittery shards, eyes wide.

Without a conscious thought, Wednesday found herself moving toward the werewolf. She didn’t know what she would say, what she could possibly offer in the face of such quiet devastation. But she knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she had to try.

Because in a world where monsters lurked in friendly faces, where the line between good and evil blurred like ink in the rain, belief was a fragile thing. And Wednesday realized, with a jolt that felt suspiciously like the ghost of a feeling, that Enid’s belief was something worth protecting.

Wednesday was already halfway across the room when the crack of a party popper rang through the air. It sounded like a gunshot, like the snap of bone, like a mirror shattering. Enid, who had been reaching for another ornament, froze. Her hand hung suspended, nails curled into claws.

For a moment, the world stopped. Enid shuddered. A full-body shiver that seemed to start at her toes and work its way up, leaving her shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, each one a serrated knife to Wednesday’s ears.

The common room fell silent too. Conversations died mid-word, laughter cut off like a guillotined head. Every eye turned to Enid, who stood in the center of it all.

Wednesday saw the exact moment the attention became too much. Saw the way Enid’s eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape. Saw the tremble in her lip, the heave of her chest. And then, like a startled deer, Enid bolted.

She moved with a speed that rivaled her wolf form. A speed born of desperation and fear. She was out the door before anyone could so much as draw a breath, leaving only a streak of blonde hair and the lingering scent of cinnamon in her wake.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause to consider the implications of what she was about to do. She simply moved, her feet carrying her after Enid as if they had a mind of their own. Behind her, the common room erupted into a hive of buzzing speculation, but Wednesday paid it no mind. Her focus had narrowed to a single point, a single purpose. 

Find Enid. Help Enid. Protect Enid.

As she ran, Wednesday’s mind spun, gears turning in unfamiliar patterns. Enid was sunshine personified, a beacon of unwavering optimism in a sea of teenage angst. To see her so shattered, so utterly undone… it stirred something in Wednesday. Something fierce and primal, something that snarled at the thought of Enid in pain.

Memories flashed through her mind. Enid, face matted with blood, running towards her despite the pain. Enid, her voice hoarse from exertion, insisting she was fine even as her body was torn in pieces. Enid, always Enid, putting on a brave front for the world while she crumbled inside.

Not this time, Wednesday vowed. This time, she would be the strong one. This time, she would be the believer.

She just had to find Enid first.

Her pace never slowed as she continued through the halls. She checked all the usual spots—their shared room, the greenhouse, the hidden alcove behind the staircase where Enid sometimes went to think. But each place was empty. Devoid of the warmth and light that seemed to follow the wolf wherever she went.

Frustration mounted in Wednesday’s chest. Where could she be? Where would Enid go when the world became too much, when the memories nipped at her heels like hungry wolves? And then, it hit her. A flash of insight that stole her breath. The library. Of course. Where else would someone go to hide from their own story?

Wednesday changed course, her strides lengthening, her pace quickening. The library was an oft-overlooked part of Nevermore, a labyrinth of shelves. It was the perfect place to get lost, to disappear into the stacks and let the world fade away.

The minute she burst through the door, Wednesday’s voice was a knife cutting through the gloom. “Enid?”

Silence. Then, a sniffle. A hitched breath. A muffled sob.

Wednesday followed the sound, weaving through the aisles. She turned a corner and there Enid sat, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her arms. She was shaking, fine tremors running through her frame like electrical currents.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, nothing more than a mere wisp in the silence.

Enid’s head snapped up, her eyes swollen and glassy. “Wednesday? What are you doing here?”

Wednesday crouched down, bringing herself to Enid’s level. “I could ask you the same question.”

A watery laugh bubbled up from Enid’s throat, but it sounded more like a sob. “Hiding, I guess. Pathetic, right?”

“No.” The word was out before Wednesday could stop it. “Not pathetic. Never pathetic.”

Enid blinked. It was rare for Wednesday to be so vehement, so unequivocal. Usually, her words were measured, carefully weighed and parceled out like precious gems. But now, at this moment, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

“I just…” Enid’s voice faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. They were clenched in her lap, fingers intertwined so tightly the knuckles had turned white. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. About the hyde. About… about Tyler.”

His name hung in the air for a beat. It was a name that carried the scent of betrayal, of shattered trust and broken promises. A name that tasted like ashes on the tongue.

Enid swallowed. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Not as he was at the end, as he was before. When he was just Tyler. When he was… when I thought he was someone you could trust.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, fracturing like a pane of glass under too much pressure. Wednesday felt something twist inside her. A sharp, unfamiliar ache. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, but it burned like poison.

“I trusted him,” Enid whispered. A confession. A secret shame pulled from the depths of her soul. “I trusted him, and he… he…”

She couldn’t finish it. The sentence lodged in her throat, choking her, strangling her. Enid’s shoulders began to shake, more tremors that quickly escalated into full-body shudders.

“I can still feel it,” she gasped out. “The hyde. Its claws on my skin, its teeth. I can still hear the sound it made when it… when Tyler…”

Another shudder ripped through her, so violent it seemed to shake the very air. It was as if the memory itself was a physical thing, a malevolent presence that sunk its own claws into Enid’s very being.

Wednesday felt a surge of something hot and fierce burn in her chest. That same protective instinct, stronger this time. She wanted to reach out, to gather Enid into her arms and hold her until the shaking stopped. She wanted to hunt down every last one of Enid’s demons and banish them to the darkest pits of hell.

But she didn’t know how. Comfort, empathy, these were foreign lands to Wednesday. Uncharted territories with no map to guide her. All she had was the compass of her own heart, spinning wildly.

So, she did the only thing she could think of. She reached out, slowly, tentatively, and placed her hand on Enid’s knee. It was a small gesture, a tiny point of contact. Buti t was a start.

“Enid,” she said, ever so softly. “You’re safe now. I swear it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Enid’s eyes finally met Wednesday’s. There was a vulnerability there, a look she’d never seen on the girl’s face before. A look that spoke of sleepless nights and unspoken fears.

“I want to believe that,” Enid whispered, voice trembling. “I want to believe it so badly. But every time I close my eyes…”

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. Wednesday could see it in the shadows under her eyes, in the pallor of her skin. The nightmares, the memories, they were eating away at Enid, stealing her sleep and her peace.

Wednesday’s heart clenched. She felt lost. These sorts of emotional situations were Enid’s strengths, not hers. But for Enid, she would try. She would reach into the depths of her own soul and find a way to be the rock Enid needed.

“Tell me about them,” she said, and it wasn’t a demand, but an invitation. “The nightmares. Perhaps… Perhaps talking about them will help.”

Enid hesitated, her lower lip caught between her teeth. For a moment, Wednesday thought she might refuse, might pull away and retreat back into herself. But then, with a shaky sigh, Enid began to speak.

“It’s always the same,” she said, lowering her gaze back down. “I’m rushing back into the woods, trying to find you. But the hyde… Tyler… he’s there. He’s coming for you, and I can’t transform. I can’t move. I can’t run. I can’t do anything but watch as he… as it…”

A sob wrenched itself from Enid’s throat, and Wednesday’s hand tightened on the werewolf’s knee.

“Sometimes I wake up nearly screaming,” Enid continued, the words tumbling out now, as if a dam had burst inside her. “Sometimes I don’t sleep at all. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, afraid to close my eyes.”

Wednesday’s heart ached harder. She knew what it was like to be haunted by the past, to have ghosts that refused to be laid to rest. But she’d always faced her demons alone, armed with nothing but her own stubbornness and wit.

Yet Enid… Enid was different. She was sunlight and laughter, warm hugs and bright smiles. She wasn’t meant for the shadows, for the cold embrace of fear.

“I’m sorry,” Wednesday said abruptly, though it felt inadequate, too small to encompass the depth of what she was feeling. “I’m sorry you must bear this burden. But you are not alone, Enid. I am here. Right here.”

Enid drew her eyes back up to Wednesday. “I know,” she sighed. “I know you are. And I… I don’t know what I’d do without you, Wednesday.”

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. She’d never been anyone’s anchor, anyone’s safe harbor in a storm. She’d never been needed like this, never been trusted with something so precious, so fragile.

It terrified her. It exhilarated her. It made her want to be better, to be stronger, to be everything Enid needed her to be.

Without thinking, Wednesday opened her arms. And for a moment, Enid hesitated, eyes wide and uncertain. But, with a sob that sounded like a release, Enid lunged forward. Crashing into Wednesday’s embrace, the wolf buried her face into the crook of her raven’s neck.

The Addams closed her arms around Enid, pulling her close. She could feel the girl shaking, could feel the hot splash of tears against her skin. But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t let go. She held her close, held her tight, as if she could physically hold Enid together, could keep all her broken pieces from flying away.

And slowly, Wednesday’s arms tightened around Enid. It was a strange sensation, holding someone like this. Wednesday was used to keeping people at a distance, both physically and emotionally. Touch, for her, had always been associated with pain or discomfort.

But holding Enid… it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel intrusive or uncomfortable. It felt… right. Like a piece of puzzle slotting into place, like a chord resolving after al ong, tense progression.

She could feel the rapid beat of Enid’s heart, the way her chest heaved with each shuddering sob. It was overwhelming, this closeness. It was scary and beautiful all at once. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an unknown abyss.

But not once did she pull away. Not once did she let go. Instead, she lifted one hand and began to rub slow, smoothing circles on Enid’s back.

“Shh,” she murmured. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The words felt strange coming out of her mouth. Unfamiliar. Clumsy. Wednesday wasn’t used to offering comfort, nor being gentle. Her tone was nothing short of sharp and cutting. But now… now she needed to be soft. Now she needed to be the balm to Enid’s wounds.

Enid’s sobs began to gradually quieten, her shaking beginning to still. She seemed to melt into Wednesday’s embrace. It was as if all the tension, all the fear and pain, was draining out of her, leaving her empty and exhausted.

Wednesday held her through it. She didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more platitudes or reassurances. She simply held on. Even as time began to stretch and warp and seconds bled into minutes.

But finally, after what could have been a lifetime or a heartbeat, Enid stirred. She lifted her head from Wednesday’s shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. But there was something else in her gaze now, a flicker of something that looked like hope.

“Thank you,” her voice was hoarse and raw as she whispered. “For… for everything. For being here. For not… not letting me be alone.”

Wednesday’s heart swelled. It was a feeling she couldn’t categorize nor even identify, but made her feel light, made her feel as if she could take on the world and win.

“You are far from alone,” she said firmly. “You shall never be alone, Enid. Not for as long as I am alive and breathing.”

Enid’s lips trembled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. But these tears were different. These were tears of relief, of gratitude, of something that might have been love.

“I know,” she said, and there was a new strength in her voice. A new steadiness. “I know that now.”

And it was in that very moment, with Enid in her arms and the scent of old books in her nose, Wednesday realized something. Something vast and horrifyingly wonderful, something that felt quite like the first flicker of belief.

Enid, she knew, wasn’t just something to protect. She was something to fight for. Something to believe in.

And Wednesday… Well, Wednesday was ready to believe.

[lonewolflupe]

The Frenzy After The Storm (One-Shot)

This is my entry for week 5 of The Clone Wars Winter Spectacular 2024 / @clone-wars-winter-challenge!

Summary: Clone Force 99’s cadets make the best out of a blizzard Rating: General audiences Tags: snowball fight, vode bonding, fluff, clone cadets, cadet batch Words: 924 Characters: Cadet Hunter, Cadet Tech, Cadet Wrecker, Cadet Crosshair Prompts: Hanging Chrismas (Light Day) Lights / Snowball Fight Read this one-shot here on AO3 week 4 < | ↓ | > week 6

Snowflakes came whirling down peacefully when the blizzard had finally died down. Even though there was still a crispness to the cold air, it wasn’t as windy as usual. There was a rare serenity to Kamino’s wintry atmosphere, lost to most occupants. But where most activities transpired inside the domed structures of Tipoca City, one landing platform was bustling with activity.

“Point three-six north, elevation 105,” Tech pointed out, just loud enough for his brother to hear, whilst readjusted the goggles he had manufactured himself quite recently. Without a word, Crosshair made the calculation, and with a smooth movement, threw his ammunition towards their hiding opponents. It was a direct hit.

A sly smirk slid onto Crosshair’s slim face when he heard Wrecker’s loud expressions of discontent coming from across the platform. “I like the new goggles,” he said casually to Tech, before grabbing another handful of snow and forming it into a ball. Tech blinked his eyes in surprise; it wasn’t often his snarky brother was in a good mood, let alone handing out compliments.

“Give me the next target. I want to hit Hunter in the face,” Crosshair shared with Tech, narrowing his eyes to obtain a better visual through the falling snow. Tech took another look from behind the crates they were using as cover, but before he could locate the target, a snowball hit him in the face with such force that he was blown backwards.

“Tech!” Crosshair shouted, the urgency in his raw voice begging him to get back on his feet, but it only resulted in a grunt from his brother's snow-covered face. He tried reaching his defeated brother, but was only met by an array of quickly succeeding snowballs. Suspiciously quick.

He grabbed Tech by his feet and dragged him behind the cover of the crates, where his goggled brother finally managed to sit upright, regaining himself. “Wrecker's strength is remarkable, but I must inform you that the velocity of the snowballs seem highly artificial to me,” he stated as he rubbed the snow from his face, taking his goggles off to carefully clear them from the substance.

From between two crates, Crosshair cautiously glanced to the platform’s other side, carefully examining his surroundings as he searched for their opponents. The falling snow was partly blocking his view, but he did manage to pinpoint Wrecker's location. His eyebrows folded in a confused frown when he watched how his brother was stuffing snow into some sort of weapon.

“Seems like you weren't the only creative one,” he remarked scornfully whilst pointing towards Tech’s goggles, the latter looking up in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask the meaning behind Crosshair’s sarcastic comment, when he was being shushed. “Let me hit Wrecker before he finishes reloading,” Crosshair quickly interrupted, readying himself to make the throw.

“Do I need to remind you to keep an eye on Hunter's whereabouts?” Tech warned his brother, putting his goggles back on and turning himself onto his knees, making sure to keep low this time. “He's right beside Wreck-,” Crosshair started with a huff, when a swift figure jumped over the crates and landed on top of Crosshair’s torso, making him stumble and fall to the snowy surface of the landing platform.

“Got you,” Hunter smirked contently as he loomed over Crosshair, who glowered at the smug expression on his brother's face. “I told you to not get distracted by any big guns,” he continued, before offering his hand to help him get back to his feet. With a scoff, Crosshair slammed it away before getting up without any help, wiping the snow from his outfit.

Instead, Hunter helped Tech back on his feet, shooting him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the goggles,” he said as soon as he noticed the snowy remains on it. Crosshair folded his arms, rolling his eyes before scowling at Hunter’s remark. “I would like to know what Wrecker was using to fire those snowballs,” Tech spoke intrigued, just when the fourth brother joined the batch.

“Got you good, Tech!” he laughed with a booming voice, slamming his goggled brother on the back with quite some force. A modified missile launcher rested on his broad shoulder casually, and when Tech regained himself from Wrecker’s forceful show of affection, he started inspecting the weapon. “Fascinating,” he exclaimed under his breath, lost in the customised device.

“Can we hang the Life Day lights in our barracks now?” Wrecker asked enthusiastically, his eyes glistening as if the Life Day lights were already being reflected in them. “We will, Wrecker. And according to our bet, you may decide where to hang them,” Tech answered practically when he tore his attention from the snowball launcher.

“Oh goodie,” Crosshair sighed in response, knowing too well he wouldn't be able to properly enter his bunk for the coming rotations. Wrecker sure liked filling up their bunks to shine a light on his brothers. Hunter shared his amusement with a low, soft chuckle, before briefly patting Crosshair’s shoulder in a silent understanding. It only resulted in another eye-roll before the cadets started their walk back to their barracks.

Wrecker flung the launcher from his shoulder, proudly turning it around in his hands as he inspected the weapon in complete satisfaction. Tech walked by his side, still in awe of it. His brother’s interest wasn’t lost on Wrecker. “I can show you how I’ve made it,” he beamed at his smaller brother, excitement radiating from his portly face. “I would like that,” Tech replied with a small smile.

[mekachu04]

6. Lipstick

Kidd - 11 | Killer - 15 | Victoria - 15 almost 16

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Killer in dresses and makeup

Teenagers doing teenager things

Victoria is a mill girl

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Victoria had been a mill girl since she was 10, a doffer for the older women in the textile mill, and earning herself a bed at the Women's Boarding House, tucked away on the city side of the mill complex, blocking the city's view of the textile manufacturing building and the waste it dumped freely out into the Heaps. She was well aware of the good fortune she'd fallen into, having seen the conditions other girls and boys her age outside of the walls lived in. She was almost 16 now, and still sleeping in the same bed night after night.

The years of being underpaid and overworked left her with a roof over her head, three square meals a day, and never having to worry about the things that go bump in the night.

Never had to worry about the unwanted attention of the older boys as not a one of them yet able to sneak past the Widow Matron of her building.

 That wasn't to say Victoria had not been sneaking a certain younger boy in for a couple of years now.

Three years actually - right under the nose of the adults - with the exception of one of the nurses who'd taught Victoria herself the tricks on a night the young woman preferred not to remember. It was a good thing Killer made a convincing girl, prettier hair than her own, and a wore her dresses and heels as naturally as she did. She just had to make sure he was out by curfew or someone was bound to notice the extra girl at head count.

Once, on one of her free weekends, her dress had torn along the back when it got caught on a nail or something. Instead of going home - and possibly be misunderstood as forfeiting her remaining free time - she'd convinced Killer (and Kidd because she'd forgotten to lock the door) to follow her into a shop's bathroom and put her dress on so she could sew it back up as properly as one could on the fly.

While using him as a dress form - she wasn't particular well devolved and he was about as wide chested as she was and it fit him well enough for the task - Kidd had asked the two if that meant Killer was a girl.

Killer had looked upset, it was too close to the ugly things the other boys called him and while she knew Kidd didn't know any better, it was still bordering on hurtful.

"What's wrong with being a girl?" she had demanded of him. Kidd looked surprised, before slouching against the main door, looking properly told off, muttering "Nuthin'."

With a frown, she'd turned back to her stitching, when Killer spoke up, his voice timid in a way she wasn't used to, "Victoria wears pants most of the time, does that make her a boy?" he asked Kidd.

"…no?"

"You're wearing one of her old shirts right now - does that made you a girl?"

The boy shook his head no.

"It's just clothes and stuff."

"Okay." Kidd agreed, sounding like right now he just want the conversation to end.

But Victoria had looked at Killer in her favorite yellow dress - it was the wrong colour for him, but made a cute silhouette.

She'd brought him an older blue one of hers a few weeks later. They'd snuck into the bathroom again, and she'd dressed him up and it looked so much better than the yellow one had.

And then they'd waltzed right in though the front doors of her boarding house, only barely keeping composed long enough to shut themselves away in her currently empty dorm room before they were laughing wildly, clutching at each other to keep from falling over.

"I can't believe that worked!" Killer was cackling, and neither could Victoria, and the thrill of getting such a big one over on the Widow Matron was a high she'd not been expecting.

Most of the time, Victoria was more than happy to hang out with both of the boys, but there was something exhilarating in sneaking Killer away from both his childminder duties and past the women of the boarding house. She was pretty sure some of the other girls had suspected something was up seeing as Killer - who had the audacity to introduce himself as Killer still - could never be found at meals or at bed check.

So far though, the only thing anyone had actually said was when Nicolette had still been in the room getting ready when Victoria and Killer slipped in one afternoon. Killer had quickly looked away from the half-dressed woman, blushing, and Victoria had felt a little offended he'd never reacted to her that way. Nicolette had frowned at the interruption but otherwise ignored them, at least until she was putting her things away. She held a little tube up thoughtfully, before tossing it to Victoria. Even surprised, she'd caught it with ease, looking confused.

"Killer'd look good in purple, I think." was all Nicolette said, before heading out for her own night on the town.

It was a tube of lipstick. Victoria and Killer looked at it thoughtfully.

Nicolette was right. Killer did look good in purple. It was a soft lilac colour that worked well with his straw yellow hair and ice blue eyes. Victoria found she liked painting him up in it, some times adding a touch of purple powder that she'd later pick up to the creases of his eyelids.

Sometimes, after he was all dolled up, they'd hit the town together. Other days they spend in her dorm room. "Just don't mess up your lipstick" was her only rule.

And then he'd either escort her back to the doors just before 10, or would be sneaking out the back, headed back to the Heaps. He had a small collection of makeup that was just his that he hid in one of his caches, along with the dress. The other clothes he would bring back to Kidd, who was more than happy to wear even the ugliest prints if not for anything more than the fact they'd never belonged to anyone else before him.

Kidd would watch him those nights, carefully washing the makeup off under the flickering of lamp light.

"You don't have to wash it off…" Kidd had said finally, "If you don't want to. I don't care if you like to look pretty."

Killer had smiled up at him, head tilted so his bangs fell away from his face for once, and he studied his younger friend, "You think I look pretty?"