#pink tote lid

[fledermaus-mainblog]

Pink Tote Discussion: My Personal Experience with Parental Trauma

I've been seeing a lot of "pink tote lid" moments* on TikTok today and it has given me pause to think about the things I've experienced with my own parents. My parents and I are, for the most part, on at least somewhat better terms now, but they're still bullies and it doesn't erase the experiences I had as a child.

*For those unaware, pink tote lid refers to a TikTok video where an individual recounts their experience with emotional abuse from their parents, wherein the mother screams at their child because she wanted them to get the pink tote lids out of the bathroom.

Trauma manifests in many different ways, and it can be hard for an individual to tell what exactly their trauma stems from. In my case, the main issue with identifying my trauma was the fact that I have memory issues. It's a vicious cycle — Between having ADHD and mental illness, my memory is very poor. That coupled with the fact that as you grow with little perspective of what others' upbringings are like, you grow comfortable in the idea that it's just normal behavior.

For the longest time when I was a child, I had an issue with food insecurity.

I don't know the true source, but my guess is that I wasn't fed enough. My family members tell me that I was being fed constantly, but then again, they are also responsible for my trauma. Not exactly reliable to my narrative. I remember that I often ate small amounts, but very frequently. I couldn't stomach a full meal, and instead liked snacking throughout the day.

My parents... Did not like this. I remember being hungry rather often because they didn't want to accommodate my appetite needs. Perhaps this is the reason I started food hoarding.

I think this behavior started around when I was five years old. I would sneak out of bed during the night or early morning and raid the fridge as well as the cabinets, often taking sugary snacks back to my room. Sometimes I would pick dried scraps from dinner off of the stove. I would discard the wrappers and containers under my bed or behind my dresser. When I was caught, I would get a beating. Eventually, they started locking the fridge and cabinets.

At one point, they locked me in my room for the night so that I could not sneak food again. When I woke the next morning, I had to pee very badly. I banged on the door for what felt like hours — My parents slept at the other end of the house. They couldn't hear me. If they did, they didn't care. I banged, and banged, and called. Finally, I couldn't hold it any longer. I ended up wetting myself because they had locked me in my room. I don't think I got a beating that time, but I was yelled at.

I was beaten once because I was suspected of eating a container of leftover sauteed mushrooms from the fridge. I hadn't. I tried to convince my mother of this, and she refused to believe me. I got the belt for it. Only later did my mother realize that my father ate them. She did not apologize to me.

Sometimes, I think to myself that I was not abused. And perhaps I wasn't. But man, sometimes it doesn't feel like my parents wanted me at all.

[ryukisgod]

This is why I hate the word “elites,” are you talking about billionaires, philosophers/ other intellectuals, or Jewish people?

Bernie is wrong. He has always been wrong and is still wrong. The flaw in his theory is what he deems the “wealthy elite” versus what everyday Americans consider them to be. Voters don’t see all billionaires as the elites. They see college-educated liberals on the coasts, some of whom are billionaires, as elites.

Bernie-style populism didn’t land because billionaires figured out long ago they could undermine it by being socially right-wing, and the working class would forgive their wealth and privilege. That’s why this same demographic is willing to make it rain for grifters like Joel Osteen and Pat Robertson. That’s why they worship the wealthiest man on the planet like a God and consider him some real-life Tony Stark. People dismissed Donald Trump as a shameless attention-hungry New York oligarch until he called Mexicans rapists. Then he shot up to the top of the GOP primary polls. The working class didn’t think much of Elon Musk until he said “pronouns suck.” Then he became their hero. A scion of working-class Pennsylvania lost his US Senate seat last week to a hedge fund manager from Connecticut. West Virginia elected their richest man to the Senate after electing him governor – as a Democrat and later a Republican. Ohio tossed out their longtime Democratic senator, known for his strong support of labor rights, for – literally, no joke – a used-car salesman.

You can’t tell me the working class in America thinks being a billionaire alone is what makes one a “wealthy elite.” There are significant factors at play here Bernie is either oblivious to or purposely ignorant of.

In college, a professor once told me that Communism never succeeded in the United States because we are too religious and proud as a country. Religion, traditions, and culture were never widely discredited the way they were in Europe and Asia, where the clergy and nobility kept the bourgeoisie in figurative chains for centuries. The relative ease of social mobility made America unique compared to its Western counterparts. Historically, American progressivism has been focused on expanding social mobility – initially limited to only white men – to identity groups who had been denied it at the start: blacks, women, and immigrants. We have done it, with various amounts of success. While it may seem counterintuitive, Americans pride themselves in being the nation that pioneered the idea that wealth and status can be achieved through ingenuity and hard work and not just based on a lucky roll of the genetic dice, as it was in the Old World. It doesn’t mean we don’t have generational wealth in our country; we do, but since it isn’t the sole way to achieve wealth and power, we don’t care nearly as much about destroying all of it. Further, we will happily endorse it if the oligarchs and the aristocrats vow to promote and protect the social values we care about and the social hierarchy that benefits us.

It’s one of the reasons I believe Bernie could never beat Trump. If you ask working-class people what they want: an anti-immigrant, anti-intellectual billionaire or a Vermont socialist backed by kids from Harvard and UC Berkeley who hate our traditions and customs, the working class will always back the billionaire.

–Nick Rafter, "Bernie Sanders Can Take a Seat"

[thewitchoftherock]

Did that "Pink Tote Lid" thing on TikTok and thought I'd post the comic here. under the cut is talk of abortion, and a comic about childhood trauma. sooooooooo

[a-stubborn-little-fish]

Reading all the stories these girls have of “pink tote moments” and I’m starting to realize that I’ve had more of those moments than anything else. I have a moment like that every week. I never realized how severely I was being abused and still am. I can’t even remember them all. They just keep happening. They never end. My body is broken because of it. She rarely puts her hands on me but I wish she would. Physical wounds are easy to recover from. She hurts me in worse ways.

[luveline]

PLS PLS PLS IM ON MY KNEES what about Remus with a sunshine reader? Like she comes around and is just so chatty and energetic and a much needed change of pace for our brooding quiet boy

Remus takes his earphones out the moment he sees you, but that's his secret alone. You barrel through the atrium to drape yourself over Sirius’ shoulder, meeting his smirk with a genuinely ecstatic smile before looking up at the others. “Hello, my favourite boys. Did you get dinner yet?” 

“No, babe, we were waiting for you. Sit down,” Sirius says. 

You beam and make directly for the chair next to Remus, though you could've sat with Sirius, or a little ways across next to the girls. “Hey,” you say, like he's the only boy you've ever wanted to speak with. James makes a knowing face behind your back. “What are you having?” 

“Remus doesn't believe in canteen food,” James says.  

“No kidding,” you say, still smiling, not even slightly put off by this nor Remus’ passive expression. It's not that he doesn't like you, the opposite, he just has a headache and he hates uni. You make it easier, a light in the dark. “What's not to like? Three quid for a slice of burnt pizza or five for a bowl of metallicy pasta. You couldn't get it any better.” 

“We'll go up to town,” Sirius suggests with a chuckle.  

“Let's order a pizza or something, they'll deliver in here, won't they?” James asks. 

You focus on Remus. “You don't like anything at all? The curry and chips is nice enough.” 

“It's not for me.” 

You nod appreciatively and let your tote bag fall from your shoulder into the crook of your arm. You rifle around and pull out a tupperware full of cut fruit, slices of banana, strawberries, blueberries, what looks like circles of pear. “We can eat this.” 

Remus could say no. He can't decide what's worse, saying yes or no, that is until you open the lid and put it between you both, offering to Sirius and James as well, and suddenly it isn't awkward at all, just something you've done. The pads of your fingers turn pink with strawberry juice as you tell him, “I was gonna put some tangerine in here but I keep getting super sour ones.” 

“They're out of season,” he says, fingers brushing yours as he takes a slice of banana. He swears, it zings. 

“I should know that. You know everything.” You leave a little strawberry print on the back of his hand, unnoticed, and he knows he's fucked when he lets it dry there in the shape of your finger. 

Somewhere between fruit slices and your chatter your chair grows closer to his, your knee pressed to knee without remorse, your elbow a whisper from his as you lean back in your chair. “So, bad day?” you ask. 

“What makes you think that?” 

You tap the space between your brows. He registers the gesture, nearly misunderstands, but eventually he relaxes the set of his brow and his tensed jaw. It's actually a relief. He hadn't realised he was doing it. 

“There,” you say, still smiling softly. “That's better. You'll get a headache, you know?” You sound genuinely worried. “It's not good to be so tense.” 

“Thank you,” he says. James and Sirius order a pizza on speaker across from you both, and, for fear you've missed it, he adds, “Thanks.” 

You needle into him with your elbow gently. “You're welcome. You're handsome when you smile.” 

“Not like you,” he says, “you're brilliant.” 

Your teeth peek out. His chest lifts, you look that happy, and when he smiles back it doesn't feel nearly as taxing as it usually does. 

[vllergy]

strawberry scones

s/tar/d/ew v/alley, 2.6 k, s/am allergy fic my farmer has the fetish because i said so, sam/seb/farmer are some kind of polycule also because i said so sorry to call u out directly but just want to note the text messages and dynamics are directly inspired from @bestwhumpist's fics because i'm obsessed with the way you write the 'one partner with the kink and everyone else around them' dynamic and you inspire me xoxoxoxoxoxoxo ty

goblin destroyer + milo abigail: r we still practicing today?? seb: we were supposed to…. abigail: ???  seb: sam might still be dying sam: IM GOOD! IM FINE! i took my allergy meds sam: we’re still on >:|  seb: uh huh sam: im serious! im much better sam: 4pm at my place be there or be lame sam: milo, you in? c: 

The glare from the sun made the surface of his phone near impossible to read at first. Angling his hat forward, Milo let the brim cast a shadow over the screen until the group chat became legible. And when it did, his throat immediately went dry. Nervous heat fluttered in his chest despite the still crisp early spring air and his thumbs became clumsy as they hurried to type back a response. 

milo: you know it!!! i’ll bring snacks

He was about to pocket his phone and resume tending to the bed of soil in front of him when another message came through. A private one, outside the group chat. Milo swiped back to read it and his heart dropped into his stomach.

sebastian: ur so fucked lol 

Upon first arriving, it seemed as though Sam’s insistence on his own well-being was actually genuine. He greeted Milo at the door with clear eyes and a beaming, slightly crooked smile. Feeling like a delinquent for doing so, Milo gave a cursory glance at his nose and found it not even the slightest bit red or raw looking. He tried to temper his disappointment in favor of relief. This was good, actually. If Sam’s allergy meds really were doing their job, this was going to be a lot easier for him to sit through.

Sam threw a lean, muscled arm around Milo’s shoulders and guided him inside. He smelled like fresh laundry and sunshine and was already talking a mile a minute. 

“I think you’re really gonna like the new stuff, Sebastian’s been working on some lyrics that really brought the whole ting together--” he glanced at the tote Milo had clutched under his arm, “Oh shit, you really did bring snacks! I could kiss you, dude.”

They entered Sam’s room—always surprisingly clean for a man so full of boundless energy—and Abigail snorted. 

“Ugh, save it for when I leave,” she muttered, “The three of you can make out on your own time.”

Milo blushed dark red, the freckles on his cheeks nearly dissolving into the pools of color as the heat crawled up his face. Just as his step faltered, Sebastian appeared at his side and snaked an arm around his waist. He pulled Milo free of Sam’s golden aura and cocooned him in his own: velvety and dark and every bit as distracting.

“It was a figure of speech, jeez,” Sam’s cheeks went a little pink too, much to Milo’s delight. The blonde palmed the back of his neck sheepishly while he kicked off his shoes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Milo caught Sebastian smirking. He never quite knew where the lines between them all existed. He and Sebastian were dating, he was pretty sure of that. But Sam and Sebastian had a thing all of their own too. And for their part, Milo and Sam always seemed to get tongue-tied around one another, a phenomenon Sebastian relentlessly encouraged. 

The only one who could clock all of them from a mile away seemed to be Abigail, who rolled her eyes and snatched the tote away from Milo before retreating back to the couch with it. Cracking open the lid made the room fill with the sweet scent of fresh baked scones. Abigail’s eyes went wide.

“Milo, you outdid yourself,” she gasped.

Milo, who’d just stopped blushing started right up again, and raked a hand through his dark curls.  

“It’s a new recipe.”

“Oh hell yes! Gimme one!” 

Sam darted past and snatched one out of the bin, jamming nearly half of a scone into his mouth with glee. Both Sebastian and Abigail rolled their eyes, but Milo merely watched with unmasked affection. Sam never did anything elegantly. It was all wide-toothed grins, exaggerated movements and unapologetic mirth.

By contrast, Sebastian was more delicate about the whole ordeal. Taking a scone for himself, he held it between his long, pale fingers and inspected the glaze. His dark eyes flickered to Milo.

“Strawberry?” he asked.

Milo nodded, “Picked this morning.” 

Sam had already demolished his first and was onto his second as he stooped down to his guitar case. Scone in mouth, he snapped the latches with his hands and shook hair out of his face like a dog. Milo’s chest squeezed. So cute.

En route to the keyboard, Sebastian stopped and placed a soft kiss on Milo’s cheek. “Thanks, farmer.” His hand strayed to his hip as he passed and pinched at the bone playfully. Milo almost yelped but managed to keep his reaction from emerging. 

He whirled an accusing gaze on Sebastian who merely gave a pointed look over at Sam who now held a half-eaten scone in one hand and was furiously rubbing at his nose with his other.

—

Abigail used to joke that Milo was a captive audience for these practice sessions. But the truth was, there was nowhere in the world Milo would rather be. As music filled the room, Milo sank back into the old couch Sam had dragged in and pushed against the wall.

He couldn’t hold a tune to save his life and he’d never learned to play an instrument, so the best he could offer was a pair of listening ears for Goblin Destroyer’s new material. He tended to think everything they did sounded great, but he at least pretend to offer varying opinions. He mostly just liked being a part of it all. Plus, watching both Sebastian and Sam in their element had a kind of hypnotizing power over him. 

Unfortunately, not hypnotizing enough to distract Milo from the losing battle happening before his eyes.

Sam turned his head against his shoulder and rubbed his nose against his shirt. With both hands occupied by his guitar, it seemed to be his only option, and one made effortlessly casual at that. It was over and done with in a second, having not missed a beat for his efforts, and it seemed Milo was the only one who’d noticed. It could have been a fluke. 

But of course it wasn’t. 

A few moments later, Sam sniffed hard. The sound was lost behind the music but Milo could see it happen clear as day. The bridge of his nose crinkled a few times and then the tip wriggled as he tried to assuage an itch without actually scratching it. Milo squirmed on the couch, wondering what it might be like to help him. To reach up and rub his nose for him while he played, or run his fingers along the bridge of his nose to try and coax out— 

Sam sneezed without warning. A tightly controlled thing, just one bob of his head and a brief shuttering of his expression. It was impossible to say if he’d made any sound or not given the volume of the music, but Milo doubted it. For as inelegant as Sam could be, he’d been suffering from his allergies for long enough that he’d gotten good at suppressing them. Normally he didn’t bother, at least not around them, but Milo supposed these were different circumstances. There was a certain veneer of professionalism here.

Sam sniffed hard enough to wrinkle his nose again and continued playing, unbothered. But Milo knew where this was going. And he was certainly bothered. 

Sam’s fingers never missed their mark on the neck of the guitar as his eyes fluttered and his head snapped forward once, twice, and then a third time with completely suppressed sneezes. His mouth was shut in a tight line, his expression pinched. He shook his head after the third as if to clear the sensation and arched his shoulder to wipe under his nose as he played. 

Milo felt the room turning to molasses around him. Heat crawled up his throat. Worse still, Sebastian had caught that last outburst. A tiny smirk played on the keyboardist’s pale features as he continued to play, his eyes flashing almost wickedly as he met Milo’s gaze. 

His expression seemed to say Told you. 

There were a few moments of peace. Milo tried to will himself not to look at Sam again but his eyes were pulled there like a magnet. He could tell the fit was getting away from him. Sam’s eyes closed and this time his hands paused their rhythm on the guitar as the tickle distracted him. He tilted his head toward the light, a lock of blonde hair falling limp across his forehead, and then whipped to the side after a brief pause. 

“—tiiew!” 

Milo only caught the tail end of the sound over the music, and the resounding-undoubtedly wet-sniffle was swallowed up by Sam falling seamlessly back on beat. He blinked a little groggily as he continued playing. Then, he must have noticed Milo staring, because he grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders at him. 

That slight acknowledgement of it all went right to Milo’s dick. He somehow plastered on what he thought was a convincing smile in return and then had to cross his legs. His heart began jackhammering in his chest. Fuck, was he really about to have to sit here while this happened? Maybe he really was a captive audience.

Sam struggled in vain to keep playing but his nose had other ideas. Surrendering to the tickle, his hands went slack against the instrument again and his upper lip curled over his canine. Milo couldn’t hear the uptick of his breath but he could imagine it well enough, watching the plane of Sam’s chest swelling against his t-shirt. Hh—hh? Hh?

Sebastian stopped playing. And the pause between Abigail’s drumming was just long enough for the first, clear sneeze to strike through the room crystal clear.

“h’h’JIISHZSHh’huu!” Sam gripped the neck of his guitar and angled away from it. Milo couldn’t tell if he was worried about sneezing near it or just using it as a point of stability. He gasped and let his head snap forward with a second, wet, “hh’tiiISChiew!” 

Abigail stopped playing too. Silence descended, to which Sam quickly shook his head. He turned to the others even while his head bobbed between sneezes, eyes struggling to open during the quick cadence.

“N-no, don’t—nNNCH!—stop, I’m—hNGT!—fiii-nnGXT!—hGNT!—I can keep—tschh! TSCH! Going!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, you sound like it.”

“You know when you hold them in like that it only just makes it worse,” Abigail scolded him.

Milo felt like the walls were closing in on him. He quickly angled himself towards the arm of a couch and placed one of the pillows on his lap as strategically as he could. 

Sam lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth as he geared up for another. “h’Hsshhh-ue!!”  "Bless you," Milo said, his mouth dry.

“I thought you took your allergy meds,” Sebastian sighed.

Sam remained under the cover of his shirt, eyes cinched shut. He gasped wildly and ducked down, “HHh’uPSCHh’ue!” A watery, pathetic sniff followed and Milo could think of nothing else besides the wet mist most likely spraying his own chest. 

As Sam emerged, his nose was pink, nostrils an angry shade and twitching. “I did,” he groaned, “God, I fucking hate sp-sprhiing.” 

Lifting up his shirt again, he pinched the fabric around his nose and shuddered into another, “hh’eSCHh!” 

Milo couldn’t help but notice the slight spot of dampness now forming on the shirt. "Bless you," he said again, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes were apt to roll back into his head if he wasn’t careful.  "Thagks," Sam sniffed hard.

“Maybe sit this one out,” Sebastian suggested as Sam pawed at his nose, “Abby and I are the ones who have to learn the run anyway.”

To anyone else, it might have sounded like something a concerned friend might say. But Milo could hear the edge of playfulness to it. The slight lilt of teasing that was meant for him, and only him as Sam nodded glumly, shrugged out of the strap of his guitar and made his way over to the couch. 

Milo stiffened, eyes going wide. Sam flopped back, completely oblivious, one arm going behind him around the back of the couch. He dropped his head back, gave a liquid sniffle and groaned. Milo could feel the heat of his arm near his shoulders and chewed on the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood.

“Just don’t sneeze all over Milo,” Sebastian warned. 

Milo gave him a desperate look. It must have been really desperate, because Sebastian even laughed and managed to appear a little apologetic. 

“Or the scones,” Abigail added.

Sam gave them both the finger even while turning his face to the side and half-stifling into the open air. The frame of the couch shook softly and his knee brushed against Milo’s as he released it. “hH’NGXtssh!”  He groaned and shifted back. Sam hardly ever looked grumpy, but he was absolutely pouting now. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else but his arm quickly retracted from behind Milo so he could lean forward. He ducked beneath the safe haven of his shirt again, head dropped and hair falling over his brow as he buried his nose into the fabric. "hh'tscHH!! hhi'zESHhhiyew!"

Milo instinctively reached for him, his hand smoothing over his spine. Sam startled at the sudden contact and bit down the next series of sneezes seemingly on instinct, folding into himself further with each quick set.

"hH'nNNT! nnGSST! nnGXCH!"

"Sorry!" Milo said hurriedly, retracting his arm.

Sam tried in vain to shake his head through and speak through the last of the tickle, "No, my ba-haa'aSScHIEW--bad! Sorry, hh'tssch!--fuck! There."

He'd thoroughly soaked the front of his t-shirt now. Sniffling wetly behind the cover of it, he lifted his gaze with no small amount of bashfulness. A hoarse, weak laugh escaped him. "Bless you doesn't seem to cover it," Milo said, breathless for entirely different reasons.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam continued to apologize, sluicing the moisture from his nose with his shirt.

"Do you not own tissues?" Abigail balked. "My house, I can sneeze where I want," Sam sniffed again before standing up and unceremoniously stripping out of his sodden shirt. Milo blinked, stunned, and could do nothing but stare at the lean muscle on full display as Sam walked towards his dresser. Sebastian cleared his throat and when Milo caught his eye, he was practically grinning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him look so happy. Milo sank further into the couch and forced his eyes to the floor. "Okay, I think the worst's over," Sam declared as he grabbed a fresh shirt. Though Milo caught his profile just as the telltale hitch of his breath followed the statement. "Hh? Hh!"

His long, blonde lashes fluttered as turned to the side, eyebrows lifting in expectation. Milo watched his bare shoulders swell softly as he inhaled, muscles along his ribs flexing. Sam sniffed and seemed to ignite the tickle fully, directing one last tired sneeze towards his elbow. "hH'tishew!"

The exhausted nature of it did something irrevocable to Milo. His mind went completely blank as Sam sniffled through tossing his new shirt over his head and eventually returned to his guitar.

Music started up again but Milo barely heard it. He was lost completely, shoving strawberry scones in his mouth one after another to have something to focus on other than Sam's delightfully pink nose.

[orchidsangel]

MY BABY, MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY, SAY IT TO ME. (JT)

notes/cw ~ fluff, minor(ish) angst, fem!reader, talks of having a baby, idk i just had really bad dad!jason brain rot and i felt like i had to share it with my lovely angels, (2.3k)

The sound of laughter rings through your house like jingle bells during the holiday season, pitter patters of tiny feet tumbling against hardwood floors, and bigger ones chasing after them invade your ears. Squeals of laughter pour out through an open window as you pull bags of groceries out of the trunk of your car, the sound of running dying down when the trunk closes with a thump. "Is mommy home?" You hear a familiarly sweet voice say. "I think she is. Come on, let's see if we can beat her to the door."

Bags in hand, you walk up the pathway to the entrance of your house. The street of your suburban neighborhood, mostly empty on this chilly winter night, save for some residents walking their dogs before lights get turned off. The sound of a lock clicks before you're even halfway up the path, and soon after, you're met with Jason and your daughter standing in the doorway looking ridiculous, goofy grins on both of their faces. Red bows are hidden amongst his hair, some tied around short braids, some just hanging loosely on a few strands bunched together. Pink pajama pants peek out from under the red tutu she's wearing, and she dons pink ballet slippers on her feet as if she's about to perform the Nutcracker. 

He steps outside, meeting you at the top of the steps, hooking his fingers under the canvas straps of your reusable tote bags—an investment you'd made to offset some of the carbon emissions from his bike—and takes them into his hands. "New hair, huh?" you ask, eyeing the variety of red satin ribbons tied in knots littering the expanse of his head. "Yeah, you like?" He asks, turning towards you, lowering his head a bit so you can get a better look. You roll your eyes, but there's a smile playing on your lips at the image of Jason sitting down while your daughter's tiny hands play hairdresser with bows and barrettes.

You close the front door behind him as he makes his way toward the kitchen to unpack the groceries, turning your attention to the little girl in front of you sporting a toothy grin. "I thought ballet ended hours ago," you say, eyeing the layers of bright red tulle you had previously hidden to avoid the specks of glitter that shed every time she moved. "She had to practice her pirouettes." you hear Jason say from inside the fridge. "Yeah, mommy. I was practicing my pirouettes." She pouts her lips and cocks her head to the side, small hands fidgeting as she tries to use cuteness to get out of trouble. You cross your arms and squint your eyes at her, "Uh huh. And the hair?" You gesture to Jason, walking toward you. "What does that have to do with pirouettes?" 

He joins the two of you in the living room holding up a container of Gerber baby puffs, using them as a distraction to get both him and his little girl out of trouble. "What?" You ask, deadpan. "What d'ya mean what? We've got an infant I don't know about?" Your daughter gasps, eyes lighting up suddenly. "A sibling!" He laughs, turning towards you with a raised eyebrow. "No, you jerk. Him, not you, honey," you say, quickly correcting yourself. "They're for me." You snatch the container of blueberry-flavored rice puffs out of his hand, peeling off the lid and shoving a handful into your mouth. "God forbid women enjoy things." 

You pop a few more into your mouth before feeling a tug at the coat you still hadn't taken off. When you look down, you're met with your daughter, mouth open and waiting for you to share. She stares at you with wide eyes, using your inability to say no to her to her advantage. Sighing, you raise the container a bit and pause, "Only a few, and you have to get ready for bed after." she nods her head, mouth still open, and you tilt and pour out a substantial amount. She closes her mouth and displays her adorable little smile once again before running off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. "Hold on," Jason shouts down the hallway. "Say thank you to your mom!" You hear feet running again, and soon enough, feel the soft squeeze of your daughter giving you a hug; she presses her head into your lower abdomen as you bring your hand up to softly stroke her hair. "Thank you, Mommy." She says before moving on to Jason and giving an equally soft hug despite using all her might. "And thank you, Daddy, for letting me do your hair." She lets go and scurries off again, leaving a trail of red glitter in her wake for you to clean up.

She disappears into the bathroom, and you watch the hallway, now empty, as she gets ready for bed. You sigh, listening to the sound of water running while she independently does her end-of-the-night tasks, something you'd still helped her with not too long ago. Jason's arms creep around your waist, pulling you against him. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you feel something tickle your neck, but you're not sure if it's his hair or a ribbon. He notices the solemn look in your eyes, a stark contrast to the liveliness he'd seen in you just a few moments ago. "What's wrong? Is it the glitter? Because I can clean that up." He says. "No, not that." You nibble on your bottom lip, lost in thought, trying to organize your feelings. "Just… she's gotten so big." He hums in acknowledgment, his way of saying he shares the sentiment. "I just don't know where the time went." You mumble, overcome with an unexpected sadness. "She's only five." He says into your neck, bringing his hands up to your shoulders and gently pulling off the coat you'd forgotten to take off. "Yeah, but she was just a baby not that long ago. I swear."

The both of you watch her move between her bedroom and the bathroom, soft dark brown curls bouncing with every movement. At five, she was already more responsible than most children her age, having a pretty concrete idea of right and wrong well before most kids do. Responsible for her age, but still just a baby in the grand scheme of everything, and sometimes the two of you would wonder if Jason's occupation might end up inadvertently affecting her and warping her idea of justice, but those fears were almost always disproven as soon as they came and oftentimes you didn't worry more than a few minutes. "We're doing a good job." He says from behind you, rubbing your back in an attempt to take away some of the worry. Normally, it would go away with ease, today, not so much. "We're not bad parents." You say with conviction, but you both know you're just trying to convince yourself of it. "We're not. You know we're not." 

He turns you around to face him, away from the hallway, so you can't dwell any longer. His hands move to your upper arms, kneading gently as he searches for your eyes. "What's wrong? Talk to me." You struggle to make eye contact, unsure of your next words. "I think…I think I want another baby." You breathe out, looking down, unable to meet his gaze. Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes, and you barely breathe while you wait for his reaction. Not a single thing in the universe could've prepared you for the words that come out of his mouth. "Is that all? Is that what you were sulking about?" You look up at him, eyes wide, as he lets out a breathy laugh. Oh Jason, your Jason, taking your face in his hands and leaning down so he can look you in your eyes. "Don't scare me like that again, okay? Do you know how fucked up shit has to be for me to be the optimist out of the two of us?" It's your turn to laugh now, a weight having been lifted off your shoulders. "Language," you warn. "Aw, come on, she's way out of earshot." He bends down and presses his lips against yours; you close your eyes, leaning into him, hands finding his chest as you feel all of your worries melt away.

"Blegh." 

The sudden sound of a disgusted child, your disgusted child, pulls you away from Jason, and you wipe your mouth in embarrassment. It's just your daughter, but you still feel like a kid who's just been caught stealing candy and is about to get lectured into oblivion; Jason, however, handles it with ease. Taking on a playfully stern tone and pointing an accusatory finger at her, he asks, "Why are you up, little lady? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She mirrors his action, pointing a finger at him now. "You didn't tuck me in or read me my bedtime story." He puts his thumb and forefinger on his chin, seemingly thinking it over. "Hmmm, seems you've got me there." He shrugs before picking her up into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "You've gone soft," you say with a laugh, the embarrassment of being caught having passed. "What can I say? She's bossy. Gets it from her mama." You nudge his shoulder lightly as he turns in the direction of her room. "Alright, that's enough out of you." 

He leaves the door to her bedroom slightly cracked, and you can hear their whispers as they do their nightly routine of picking out a book to read, followed by her falling asleep in his arms. "What do you have in mind tonight?" He asks, laying her down gently on the bed adorned with princess sheets and stuffed animals he'd bought for her during trips around the world. "Can we finish Lord of the Rings?" She grabs her favorite stuffie, a gray bunny with droopy ears and button eyes, and holds it close to her chest as Jason climbs in beside her. "I don't think we can finish it, but we can fit a few pages in before it's time for you to go to sleep. That work for you?" He leans over the side of the bed and picks up a worn copy of Lord of the Rings that had been sitting on top of a stack of books he kept in her room solely for the purpose of bedtime. She nods her head at his question and snuggles further into him as he flips to the page they left off at.

You hear the sound of rustling and know the bedtime story has commenced, leaving you to clean up the mess of glitter and ribbons. Broom in hand, you start to sweep up the remnants of her "pirouette practice." Going up and down the hallway, sweeping back and forth. You catch a glimpse of the photos in the frames lining your wall before coming to a full stop and reminiscing about how far you guys have come. There were some pictures from when it was just the two of you, but most of those were kept digital, hidden amongst miscellaneous screenshots and disorganized photo albums. The majority of the framed photos came after she was born; something so special about being able to hold a photo of the three of you in your hands, to have it on display in your home proudly saying this is my family. Corny, maybe, but you'd never regretted starting the collection, especially since it had been Jason's idea. He'd been insistent that you keep a scrapbook to commemorate your ever-changing lives, but after realizing neither of you had the knack for cutting and gluing bits of paper onto pretty pages, you'd settled on the wall. Now, you look at them so often and always with fondness. Oh, how things had changed since that day, you'd met so long ago.

You don't know how long you'd been standing there, but you hear a door closing softly, and you turn to see Jason trying to make his way into the hallway with minimal noise. "Is she asleep?" You ask, barely above a whisper. "Out like a light." He says, joining you in front of the framed memories. A picture of her as a newborn, freshly discharged from the hospital, catches his eye, "she was really tiny, wasn't she?" He says, voice cracking a little as he remembers the overwhelming fear he'd experienced when you were in labor and how it all went away once he had held her in his arms. You hum in agreement as you both get lost in pictures of her from the past. Birthdays and holidays, family events and major milestones, there was a picture for everything.

There was one of her on his shoulders; she couldn't have been more than two at the time, her tiny fingers laced through locks of jet-black hair. You remember like it was yesterday; she had just watched Ratatouille and was trying to imitate Remy. He had played into it, and he couldn't get her off his shoulders for days after that. Another, taken from her first trip to the beach. You sit behind her, keeping her upright and holding her arms out, making one wave at Jason, who was behind the camera. You smile to yourself, the two of you standing outside of your daughter's bedroom, mostly content, remembering what it was like to have a baby in your arms. The memory of bringing her home floods his brain; how nervous he was yet so insanely happy he couldn't control the smile on his face. A shaky laugh falls from his lips as he pulls down a picture of the three of you still in the hospital, thumb pressed against the glass like he's trying to physically feel the moment. "Yeah…I could do it again." 

been working on this almost non stop for 9 hours, literally my longest fic yet (only by like 600 words, but still !!!), special thanks to @kiyozu (my beloved) for giving me this idea !! eek, hope you guys enjoyed it <33 (user orchidsangel is going to sleep now) (also tried following up dialogue with actions this time, gonna see how that goes bc if it’s too hard to follow along with i’ll just go back to he said she said)

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 16

word count: 5.0k

i've hidden some small things within my story that make up aspen and harry, have you guys noticed any? 🤭 where should i turn the story to from here? more dates, more intimacy, group activities, etc! let me know & thanks for all the support!

The next day, Aspen had cleared her schedule, wanting to use the free time for something meaningful. Her evening had been a whirlwind of laughter and warmth, spent with Isobel in her bed as they dissected every detail of Aspen's first official date with Harry. Takeout containers littered the nightstand, barely touched, because they were too engrossed in giggling over Harry's sweet words and Aspen's recounting of every look, every laugh, and every moment of connection.

Today felt different. There was a quiet kind of excitement humming in Aspen's chest, the kind that made her toes curl against the floor and her heart flutter every time she thought of surprising Harry. She'd been up early, not out of necessity but because the thought of doing something thoughtful for him gave her a sense of purpose she didn't often feel in her quieter routines.

Her plan was simple but heartfelt: bring Harry lunch. She'd realized, after observing how carefree and spontaneous he seemed, that he probably didn't bother with packing himself meals. He struck her as the kind of guy who either grabbed something quick or skipped lunch entirely. The thought tugged at her, making her want to do something about it.

Aspen had spent her morning channeling her rare bursts of culinary motivation into creating something she hoped Harry would love. The kitchen had filled with the warm, savory aroma of steak bites sizzling in butter, the citrusy tang of cilantro lime red rice, and the comforting, creamy scent of mac and cheese bubbling on the stovetop. Cooking wasn't something Aspen did often, but when she did, she poured herself into it entirely. Each stir, each sprinkle of seasoning, carried her thoughts to Harry—how he'd smile when he opened the container, the way he might tease her for going through so much effort, and how he'd hopefully enjoy every bite.

When the meal was ready, she carefully packed it into a container, sticking a pink sticky note on the lid. She spent longer than she'd admit debating what to write, eventually settling on a simple but warm message:

For my favorite person. I hope you love it! ❤️ —Aspen

The little heart at the end made her blush as she stuck the note firmly in place. It was bold for her, but she wanted to leave him with a tiny piece of her feelings—nothing overwhelming, just enough to make him smile.

Aspen slid the container into her light pink lunch bag, patterned with scattered white stars, and tucked in a bottle of water and a Redbull, knowing he might need the energy boost. Napkins and a fork were added as the final touches. Checking her phone, she noted the time—she had about thirty minutes before his usual break, just enough to pull everything together.

She dashed upstairs, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. After rummaging through her clothes, she decided on the grey flared leggings from the other night, paired with her trusty Converse. For her top, she grabbed the shirt she'd "borrowed" from Harry—it still smelled faintly of him, which made her cheeks flush as she pulled it on and tied it in the back to better fit her frame.

Aspen worked quickly, brushing her hair and pulling it into a simple half-up, half-down style. She swiped on a light coat of mascara, just enough to make her eyes pop, and dabbed tinted lip balm on her lips, giving them a subtle sheen. Glancing at her reflection, she smoothed the shirt over her waist, trying to quiet the small voice in her head wondering if she looked okay. It wasn't about being perfect—Harry had already seen her in her coziest clothes—but she wanted to feel confident and put-together.

With her tote bag and lunch bag slung over her shoulder, she took a deep breath, her heart thudding softly in her chest. The thought of surprising Harry, of seeing the look on his face when she handed him the meal she'd made with him in mind, made her smile. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would let him know how much he meant to her.

As she locked the door behind her and stepped into the bright spring afternoon, the warmth of the sun seemed to echo the warmth in her heart. Today, she wasn't just thinking about Harry—she was showing him how much she cared, in her own quiet, thoughtful way.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The bell above the tattoo shop's door jingled softly as Aspen stepped inside, her lunch bag clutched tightly in one hand. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the space that felt both familiar and slightly intimidating. The red-accented walls were lined with framed artwork and sketches, a testament to the creativity that buzzed within these walls. Aspen adjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder, her heart racing—not from fear, but from anticipation.

Zayn was the first to notice her. He was behind the counter, flipping through the appointment book, and his face lit up when he saw her. "Well, if it isn't little miss Aspen," he greeted warmly, leaning casually on the counter. "What brings you here today?"

Aspen offered him a shy smile, shifting on her feet. "Hi, Zayn. I, um... I'm here to see Harry."

Zayn's brows lifted, his grin widening with mischief. "Here to see Harry, huh?" His tone was teasing, but not unkind. He gestured toward the back of the shop with his chin. "He's in his office. Go on back."

Before Aspen could move, another voice chimed in—Niall, sitting in the nearby waiting area, sketchpad in hand. "Ooh, Harry's got visitors now? And bringing lunch, too? Look at him, living the dream." His Irish lilt made the teasing even more playful, and Aspen could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Shut up, you two," came Harry's familiar voice from somewhere behind them. He appeared a moment later, his flannel sleeves rolled up, ink staining the tips of his fingers. His green eyes softened the moment they landed on Aspen. "Hey, love," he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a lopsided grin. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Aspen smiled nervously, lifting the lunch bag a little as if to explain herself. "I thought I'd surprise you... I figured you might not have had lunch."

Harry's gaze flickered to the bag, then back to her, and something warm and unspoken passed between them. "Y'know me too well," he said softly. Then, turning to Zayn and Niall, he added, "Don't you two have something better to do than nose into my business?"

"Not a chance," Niall quipped, earning a laugh from Zayn. "You're the entertainment, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. Instead, he placed a hand lightly on Aspen's lower back, guiding her toward the hallway that led to his office. "C'mon, let's get out of here before they make it worse."

Aspen's skin tingled where his hand rested, and she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder. Zayn gave her a wink, and Niall mimed a slow clap, his grin wide. They exchanged a look between each other, surprised at Harry's sudden softness. 

She turned forward quickly, her cheeks flushing even more. "They seem... nice," she murmured. Harry chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Nice isn't the word I'd use, but they mean well."

When they reached his office, Harry pushed the door open and gestured for Aspen to step inside first. The space was small but cozy, with sketches pinned to the walls and a desk covered in art supplies and paperwork. A worn leather couch sat against one wall, and the scent of ink and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," Harry said, shutting the door behind them. He leaned back against it for a moment, watching as Aspen set her bag down on the desk. There was something about the way she moved, so quietly yet purposefully, that tugged at his chest. And he would be lying if he said his eyes didn't wander lower, lingering on how her gray leggings hugged the beautiful curve of her ass. He looked back up with a small smirk when she turned back to face him.

Aspen glanced around, taking in the little details of his space. It felt so him—creative, a little messy, but warm. She carefully unzipped the lunch bag, pulling out the container and setting it in front of him. "I, um, made this for you," she said softly. "I hope it's okay... I wasn't sure what you'd like, but..."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to lift the container's lid. The smell of the warm food hit him immediately, and his eyes widened slightly. "You made all this?" he asked, looking at her in surprise.

Aspen nodded, twisting her hands together nervously. "I thought... maybe you don't bring lunch with you? And I just wanted to, you know... do something nice for you."

Harry stared at the meal for a moment, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. "But... thank you, Aspen. Really."

Her heart fluttered at the way he said her name, the warmth in his tone making her feel like she'd done something right. "I just... I wanted to," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "You do so much for me, Harry. I wanted to do something for you, too."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. "You're somethin' else, y'know that?" he said, his voice low. His touch was gentle, grounding, and Aspen felt her nerves settle slightly under his gaze.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. For Harry, the thoughtfulness of her gesture was almost overwhelming. He wasn't used to people doing things for him, not like this—not with so much care. And for Aspen, the way he looked at her, like she was the most important person in the world, made her chest feel light and full all at once.

Harry reached down, his hand sliding gently along Aspen's arm as he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding, just a quiet moment that seemed to still the world around them. Aspen's breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as her heart raced in her chest. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on her face, his green eyes warm and filled with something she couldn't quite name but felt deeply all the same.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, his voice low and coaxing. He slid his hand into hers, guiding her toward the worn leather couch against the wall. Aspen followed, feeling lightheaded but blissfully so, her fingers curling around his instinctively.

As they settled onto the couch, Harry unwrapped the container she'd brought him, his brows raising slightly as he took in the meal. The sight of it—the steak bites perfectly cooked, the fluffy cilantro lime red rice, and the creamy mac and cheese—made something tight in his chest ease. She'd done this for him, thought of him enough to go out of her way. He wasn't used to that kind of care, and it both surprised and humbled him.

He took the first bite, letting out a low hum of approval. "Bloody hell, Asp," he said, looking at her with wide eyes. "This is incredible. You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Aspen's cheeks flushed immediately, her fingers twisting in the hem of her borrowed shirt. She ducked her head, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "I don't cook much," she admitted, her voice soft. "It's kind of rare that I actually feel like doing it."

"Well, I'm lucky you felt like it today," Harry said, taking another bite and savoring it. He glanced at her, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You're spoiling me, baby."

The word "baby" made Aspen's stomach flip, and she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too widely. She couldn't help the warmth spreading through her chest at his words, though, or the way her heart seemed to skip every time he looked at her like that.

As Harry continued to eat, he threw in compliments here and there—about how perfectly seasoned the steak was, how the rice was better than anything he'd had from a restaurant. Each word made Aspen shrink a little further into herself, not because she didn't like the praise, but because it made her feel so seen. She wasn't used to this, to being appreciated so openly, and the intensity of it made her shy.

But as she watched him eat, a different thought began to creep into her mind, one that made her pulse quicken. She wanted to kiss him again. Badly. The way his lips curved into a soft smile as he spoke, the way he licked a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth—it all drew her in, leaving her with a quiet ache she didn't know how to voice. The realization made her blush even more, and she turned her gaze toward the floor, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Harry, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in her demeanor. He set the container down for a moment, leaning back against the couch as he looked at her. "Y'alright?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Aspen nodded quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leggings. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at him, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter. "Just... thinking."

"Thinkin' about what?" Harry asked, tilting his head slightly. He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to push her too much. He could tell she was feeling shy, and the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Aspen hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down again, her blush deepening.

Harry couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him. "Asp," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and the touch sent a shiver up her spine. "Y'don't have to say anything if you're not ready. But if i's about me, I'm all ears."

Aspen bit her lip, her gaze flickering up to meet his for a moment before dropping again. "I was just... thinking about... how much I liked—" She broke off, her face flaming as she stumbled over her words. "Never mind."

Harry's grin widened slightly, though his tone remained soft when he spoke. "How much you liked what? The food? Or somethin' else?"

She groaned softly, hiding her face in her hands. "Harry," she said, her voice muffled but filled with exasperation. "You're making it worse."

"Alright, alright," he said, laughing quietly. But he didn't let go of her hand, and the warmth of his touch was enough to steady her nerves. He was patient, waiting for her to speak when she was ready, and that alone made her feel a little braver.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Aspen finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She peeked at him through her fingers, her heart hammering in her chest. "And now I'm all embarrassed, so... yeah."

Harry stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening in a way he hadn't expected. She was so endearingly honest, even when it made her nervous, and he found himself falling for her all over again. "You're somethin' else, Asp," he murmured, his voice soft. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her temple. "Y'don't have to be embarrassed, love. I've been thinkin' the same thing."

Aspen's blush deepened, but this time, there was a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "You have?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Course I have," Harry said, his tone gentle but firm. "Who wouldn't?"

Aspen fidgeted with her hands as she tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, her blush still lingering as she glanced shyly at Harry. The words danced on the edge of her tongue, but she hesitated, biting her lip as if she wasn't sure if she should say them. He waited, patient as ever, his eyes soft as they studied her face. Finally, she took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"Maybe it's the whole... 'I have a boyfriend' thing," Aspen murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I've been thinking about you more than usual. Like... a lot more." She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, her cheeks burning with the admission.

The corners of Harry's mouth curved into a slow, warm smile. His chest tightened at her honesty, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He knew how much it took for Aspen to open up like this—how much courage it required for her to let him in on the thoughts she usually kept to herself. That bravery was one of the things he admired most about her.

"Y'know," he said softly, setting the half-eaten container of food aside, "you're so brave, Asp. For tellin' me all this. For lettin' me in." His voice was warm, laced with sincerity, as he leaned forward to take her hands in his. His thumbs traced gentle circles over her knuckles, his touch grounding her in the moment.

Aspen looked down at their hands, her lips curving into a shy smile. "It's easier with you," she admitted. "You make it... safe. Like I can say anything, and it'll be okay."

Harry's heart swelled at her words, and a quiet sense of wonder settled over him. He'd never expected to find someone like Aspen—someone who made him want to be better, softer, more present. He gave her hands a gentle tug, guiding her toward him.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and coaxing. Aspen hesitated for only a moment before letting him pull her onto his lap. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders for balance, and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushing again as she settled against him. "This is so unfair," she mumbled, though her tone was more playful than anything.

"Unfair?" Harry repeated, raising a brow as he gave her a teasing grin. "How's this unfair?"

"You're too... you," she said, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything.

Harry chuckled, his hands resting gently on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. His lips lingered there for a moment, and he couldn't help but take in the details of her outfit—the way the leggings hugged her legs, the way his shirt looked impossibly better on her than it ever had on him.

"You're wearin' my shirt," he teased, his voice a low murmur against her skin. His grin widened as he leaned back slightly to get a better look at her. "Didn't think you'd steal from me so soon, love."

Aspen's eyes widened, and she quickly tugged at the hem of the shirt, her blush deepening. "I didn't steal it!" she protested, though her voice was soft and her smile betrayed her. "You didn't mention needing it back, and it was... just there, and it's comfortable, so..."

"So y'stole it," Harry finished for her, his tone light and teasing.

She buried her face in her hands, letting out a soft groan. "You're impossible," she mumbled, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry laughed, his hand sliding up to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Impossible, huh? Guess that makes two of us," he said, his grin softening as he looked at her. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

For a moment, the world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of their connection. Aspen felt her heart steady, the nervous flutter settling into something warm and sure. Harry's presence had a way of grounding her, of making her feel like she could let go of the walls she'd spent so long building.

"You're somethin' else, Asp," Harry murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. "Y'know that?" Aspen bit her lip, her gaze meeting his. "I think you might've mentioned it," she said softly, her smile shy but genuine. Harry chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her temple. "Well, I'll keep sayin' it," he promised, his arms tightening around her. "Every chance I get."

Aspen’s fingers moved delicately along Harry’s shirt collar, their slow, rhythmic movements betraying the nervous energy coursing through her. She felt the soft material between her fingers, grounding herself in the moment, but all resolve slipped away when Harry pulled her closer. A small, involuntary sound escaped her lips, blending into a soft giggle as his lips curved into a smirk against hers.

Harry’s hands rested on her hips, his grip firm but reassuring. He tilted his head up to meet her lips, their familiar softness igniting a warmth in his chest. It had been too long—much too long—since he’d kissed her like this, and the moment felt like a long-awaited reunion. The cool press of his lip ring against her skin sent a shiver through her, its gentle nudges against her teeth a comforting reminder of their closeness.

For Harry, kissing Aspen always felt different—more intimate, more profound. Her lips molded perfectly against his, and the subtle gasps she made only fueled his desire to savor every second. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the way she melted into him, the way her quiet trust was woven into every kiss.

Aspen slid her arms around his neck, her thumbs brushing lightly against the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The sensation made him hum low in his throat, the sound reverberating between them. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, and it made Harry feel cared for in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Their kisses were slow and tender at first, each one a quiet confession of how much they’d missed this. But when Aspen tilted her head slightly, granting him better access, Harry’s lips parted. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and Aspen’s breath hitched. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, letting the kiss deepen.

The moment their tongues met, Aspen’s body instinctively leaned closer, her movements shy yet intentional. The languid motion of their tongues moving together sent a warmth coursing through her, spreading from her chest to her fingertips. Her thumbs brushed gently over the curls at the base of his neck, grounding her in the moment.

For Harry, it was as if time slowed. Every touch, every small sound Aspen made, was etched into his mind. His fingers tightened slightly on her hips as he sat up straighter, his head tilting to match the new depth of their kiss. The soft noise Aspen made from her nose—a quiet exhale laced with pleasure—sent a jolt through him. He didn’t want to stop, but the need to taste more of her overwhelmed him.

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from her lips, but he didn’t stray far. His lips pressed gently to her jawline, tracing a line of tender kisses down to the side of her neck. Aspen tilted her head instinctively, granting him better access, her cheeks flushed with a deep blush that spread all the way to her neck. The warmth of his mouth against her skin made her dizzy in the best way, and she let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into his touch.

Though this was only the second time Harry had kissed her like this, the intensity of it all overwhelmed Aspen in the best way. It wasn’t just the physicality of it—it was the way Harry’s touch felt deliberate, the way he seemed to cherish every inch of her. She buried her manicured nails gently into the curls at the back of his neck, her fingers tightening slightly as she let herself sink further into the moment.

Harry’s hands shifted, his fingers splaying out over her hips as they began to wander. He tested the waters carefully, his hands slowly moving toward the curve of her ass.

“This okay?” His voice was low, thick with want but tempered with care, his words murmured between kisses as his lips lingered against her skin.

Aspen’s breath caught at his question, but she nodded, her voice soft yet assured. “Yes,” she whispered, her tone trembling slightly but filled with trust. When Harry kissed that one particular spot on her neck, a breathy whine escaped her lips. “Yes, it’s okay,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her again, focusing on the spot that had made her gasp. His fingers moved lower, trailing over the curve of her ass before gripping gently, pulling her closer against him. She fit against him so perfectly, it almost made his head spin.

“You’re perfect,” Harry whispered against her skin, his lips brushing against her collarbone. He pressed wet, lingering kisses there, his teeth grazing her lightly, just enough to make her shiver. Aspen’s hands tightened in his curls, her soft breaths quickening.

The next sound she made was different, not quite a whine but unmistakably a moan. It was quiet, shy, as if she hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but it made Harry pause for a moment.

She had moaned for him, on his lap, in his office, because of what he was doing. 

Harry groaned softly against her neck, his lips trailing wet kisses along her skin. The nip he gave to her sweet spot drew a quiet gasp from Aspen, followed immediately by a soothing kiss that made her body relax under his touch. She felt warm, wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, and completely consumed by the moment—until a sharp sound jolted her out of it.

Her eyes shot open, her ears now hyper-focused on the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the door. Panic shot through her like lightning, and her hands quickly slid down from Harry’s neck to his shoulders. She gave him a gentle but urgent push, scrambling off his lap and onto the seat beside him.

Harry blinked in confusion, leaning back against the cool leather as he tried to process what had just happened. His brows furrowed deeply, his green eyes clouded with concern. Had he done something wrong? The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Asp?” His voice was low, tinged with worry as he studied her flushed face. “What happened? Did I—.”

Before he could finish his thought, Aspen shook her head frantically, her soft voice rushing out a series of breathless “no’s.” She was practically vibrating with nerves, her fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt when the door swung open.

There, standing with smug grins and bags of crisps in hand, were Zayn and Niall.

“We just came to check on how your homemade lunch was,” Zayn began, his tone dripping with mock innocence. His gaze flitted between Harry and Aspen, taking in their disheveled state. His grin widened. “But it’s very clear you need some alone time.”

Niall snickered beside him, not bothering to hide his amusement. Harry ran a hand through his wild curls, his face twisting into a scowl.

The picture Zayn painted wasn’t far off. Harry’s hair was a mess, his lips red and slick from their kisses, and Aspen’s face was a shade of crimson that matched the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks. They probably looked the part of being “busy,” and that only added to Harry’s irritation.

“Don’t you dipshits know how to knock?” Harry growled, his voice sharp as his glare bore into them. “Get the hell out.”

Zayn and Niall didn’t seem phased, their laughter echoing as they backed out of the room. They continued to crack jokes through the muffled door, their chatter trailing off as their footsteps faded.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of Harry letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He leaned back and turned his head to Aspen, his expression softening the moment he saw her face. She was burning red with embarrassment, her wide brown eyes fixed on the closed door as if willing it to lock on its own.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, his touch gentle and grounding.

“That was somethin’, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry 'bout that, love. Was what I was doing okay? Didn’t scare you off, did I?”

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she tried to gather her thoughts. Slowly, her eyes peeled away from the door to meet Harry’s.

Her gaze took in everything about him—his unruly curls, his lips still glistening and swollen from their kisses, the cool glint of his lip ring catching the light. He looked confident and composed, as if the interruption hadn’t rattled him at all. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly handsome he was, and the realization only made her blush deepen.

“No, no…” Aspen’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she tried to convey her feelings. “It was good. I liked it. Really… liked it, H.”

Her words were sincere, and though her tone was laced with shyness, it carried a weight of gratitude. She appreciated how Harry always checked in with her, how he never took her silence or hesitation as anything but a reason to ensure her comfort.

Harry’s heart swelled at her honesty. He knew how much courage it took for her to open up, and every time she did, it felt like a gift. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin as he hummed in approval.

“Mmm.” His fingers wrapped gently around her ankle, tugging her closer with ease. “Yeah?”

Before Aspen could process what was happening, Harry guided her down onto the seat, coaxing her to recline fully. She felt her heartbeat thunder in her chest, each pulse so loud she swore it echoed in her ears.

Her breath hitched when Harry nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. The closeness made her head spin, her fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle themselves in his curls at the nape of his neck once again.

Harry’s grin widened, playful and teasing as his gaze roamed over her. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement as he kissed her shoulder and worked his way slowly up the side of her neck.

“’Cause I wasn’t done.”

[ladamedusoif]

Cookies (Tim Rockford X F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 26

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 1455

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Established relationship (Reader is Tim’s wife); workplace sex; fingering; unprotected but safe PiV sex (Reader is on birth control); no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of Reader; strong language; when we say “fuck the police” this is what we mean

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my work.

Tim kisses you on the cheek as he heads down to the precinct on Christmas Eve, overcoat in hand.

“I hate leaving you all, baby, but…”

You wrap him in a tight embrace and return his kiss. “Tim, you’re a good man. I’m sure Corinna appreciates you taking the Christmas Eve cover, so she can be at home for her baby’s first Christmas.”

Your husband’s ears pink up a little at your praise. “I guess. And older cops did it for us, too, when the kids were tiny.”

He looks over your shoulder into your mother’s kitchen, where your daughters are excitedly asking their grandma whether the Christmas cookies are cool enough to decorate. You turn and smile at the scene.

“I love you, Detective Rockford. We’ll save you some cookies. Come home safe.”

***

The cop at the front desk is thanking his lucky stars as he sips his umpteenth cup of filter coffee. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and - other than a couple of minor call-outs for the guys out in the patrol car to break up bar fights - he hasn’t had to book a single person into the cells.

It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

And then the door buzzes. He sighs in exasperation and checks the CCTV. A woman, wearing a winter hat and carrying a tote bag. He presses the button to let her in.

“Hello there, ma’am. Now, I have to warn you, as it’s Christmas Eve we don’t have a full complement of officers in tonight and - oh! Hi there, Mrs R!”

You smile as you take off your hat and scarf, and hand him a small tin. “Hey, Bryan. Tim in his office?”

“Sure is. Hey, these some of your famous cookies?”

You’re already climbing the stairs to your husband’s office. “Maybe. Open it and see if Santa thinks you’ve been a good cop this year.”

***

Tim’s at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie slightly loose, flipping through some papers with his glasses on. The desk lamp bathes him in a warm light, highlighting his handsome features, and you pause for a moment to take him in before you knock on the door.

He looks up in surprise before a broad smile spreads across his face. “Hello there, miss. What brings you to the precinct on a Christmas Eve?”

You carefully close the door and turn the little lock on the handle, before pulling down the blind. You reach into your bag and produce another cookie tin, sauntering over to Tim’s desk and placing it in front of him.

“So, everyone was tucked up in bed at home, and would you believe it? I met Santa Claus, leaving gifts for the girls.”

Your husband chuckles and pulls you onto his lap. “That so?”

You nod. “The man himself. And you know what he said?”

Tim shakes his head, eyes twinkling. You lean in and kiss him softly.

“He said that Tim Rockford had been a particularly good boy this year, and he should get an extra special gift.”

Tim’s eyes turn to the cookie tin. “The cookies?”

You shrug, reach for the tin, and open the lid. “You could say that, I guess. They’re part of the gift.”

He bursts out laughing when he looks inside and takes out a gingerbread man perfectly decorated to resemble - well, him. White shirt, black pants, dark hair and moustache, tie, and even a pair of shoulder holsters.

“Your handiwork?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Damn right. Why wouldn’t I make cookies that look like the most delicious man I know?”

He eyes you up suspiciously, but a smile plays on his lips. “You said the cookies were part of the gift.”

You stand up and move his paperwork out of the way, clearing enough space on the desk so that you can sit up on it. “The other part is under my coat.”

Tim’s eyes widen as he reaches for the buttons on your knee-length woollen coat, unbuttoning them eagerly and pulling the coat open.

His mouth falls open. “Holy fuck, baby.”

“You like what you see?” You fight against all the anxieties and insecurities that haunt you about your body, focusing on the look of astonished desire that’s burning in your husband’s eyes.

Tim’s eyes roam over you, taking in the dark red bra and matching, high-waisted panties trimmed in black lace, the sheer black stockings. He carefully eases off your coat and throws it to one side, running his big hands gently over the soft skin of your shoulders as he slips down the straps of your bra.

“I love what I see.” His voice is a rapt whisper.

He slips his hands to your back and waist and pulls you tight to him as he kisses you deeply, moaning as you twine your fingers through his dark, grey-streaked curls. You bring your hands to his belt buckle, working it open and undoing his pants so you can palm his cock, already hardening under your touch.

Tim brings his mouth to the side of your neck and begins to softly bite and lick the sensitive skin, working his way down to your breasts as one hand holds you in place while the other tugs aside the lacy fabric that covers your pussy. “I fucking love what I see,” he grunts, pulling down the cups of your bra to expose your breasts. “I love you. My sexy fucking wife.”

You whine as two thick fingers trail across your folds before settling on your clit, working it steadily in the way only he knows. “I’m going to get you good and wet for me, my love,” Tim murmurs, encouraging you to lift your hips so he can ease off your panties.

“Mmmm… and then what are you going to do to me, Detective?”

He slips his fingers into your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from you. “And then, Mrs Rockford, I plan on fucking you hard right here on this desk. But only if you come for me first.”

A hook of his fingers and you’re squealing with pleasure as Tim spreads you out in front of him, standing between your thighs as you continue to stroke his dick. He fucks you over and over with his fingers, watching you writhe and buck as you near your climax.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You look so beautiful like this, all spread out and ready to come on my fingers. Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re mine, sometimes.” Your pussy tightens around him and he knows you’re about to come.

“Tim…Tim, fuck, I’m - oh, fuck, baby.” He keeps fingering you through the orgasm, sucking on your nipples as he extends the wave of pleasure running through you.

You reach up and undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, hitching up his under vest so you can feel the soft, warm skin of his belly against yours as he pushes himself inside you and begins to fuck you. You hitch up your legs around his waist to hold Tim in place, slipping your hands under his shirt and gripping his broad shoulders firmly as he takes you on his desk.

“Feel good?”

“Fucking incredible, Tim - you?”

He leans his head against your chest and flicks his tongue over your nipple. “Baby, you always feel amazing but this - fuck, this is so fuckin’ good. Feels so tight and wet for me. Listen to that.”

For a moment the only sound in the office is the lewd wetness, skin on skin, and your pants and moans.

“Can’t believe you did this for me, baby,” Tim grunts, speeding up his rhythm and making you whine, arching your back. “Came down here in nothing but lingerie, ready to fuck me…fuck, you’re incredible.”

You giggle a little. “Got lonely at home, my love. Needed to have my man.”

Tim’s faltering rhythm tells you he’s nearly there as he buries himself deeper inside you. “You’ve got him, baby. All yours. All…”

And he’s there, spilling inside you as he collapses on your chest.

***

Cleaned up but still a little dishevelled, you sit on the floor of the office and eat some of the cookies, accompanied by weak coffee.

In the distance, you can hear chimes signalling the hour.

“Hey. It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Detective Rockford.”

Tim kisses you, tasting of ginger and sugar and spice and all things nice.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Rockford. And thank you for my extra-special gift.”

[putaposyinyourhair]

And they were roommates…

part 1 | part 2

• back by popular demand

• you get some chadthan and you get some chadthan everybody gets some chadthan!

• y’all wanted more… well this is what it look like

“Movie night?” Ethan repeats, watching Anika as the beta digs out multiple pillows from the giant sparkly pink tote bag she’s brought along with her.

He’s not sure how she’d managed to get so many to fit in there and as impressive a feat it is, frankly, he’s afraid to ask.

“Movie night,” Mindy parrots from where she’s lounging atop Ethan’s bed— because she steadfastly refuses to go anywhere near her brother’s bed because, and Ethan quotes, she doesn’t, ‘know what kind of bodily fluids are all over that thing.’

She holds out both hands and moves her fingers back and forth in a spirit-fingers kind of way as she echoes the words.

It’s disconcerting.

Mindy Meeks-Martin is a rollercoaster. Ethan is terrified of rollercoasters.

So, his slight fear of her checks out.

“And this is… a weekly occurrence?” he inquires, brows furrowed as he continues to watch Anika.

She’s kneeling atop the seemingly endless layers of blankets and bedsheets she and Chad have stretched out onto the floor between the beds, meticulously organizing the countless pillows against the dresser that he and Chad share— the one they’ve split evenly down the middle so each of them gets four drawers.

Chad’s desk chair is rolled out in front of the makeshift futon on the floor and his laptop is perched atop the seat, lid open and ready to go— the screen proudly displaying a slideshow of pictures of the Meeks-Martin family and friends.

It’s kind of endearing.

Ethan refuses to acknowledge the way it makes his chest ache a bit. He doesn’t have a single family photo on his phone. Only a few pictures he’s taken with Quinn over the years. And a single solitary snapshot of his mother from when he was a kid, before she’d passed.

“Every Friday!” Chad calls from where he’s got his head shoved in the closet— successfully pulling Ethan out of an inevitable dark swirl of thoughts. “We rotate. We had it at Tara’s last week but you missed it cause you were trying that study group thing. Next week it’ll be at Mindy and Anika’s and this week we get the pleasure of hosting, babe.”

Ethan feels his cheeks flush horribly, despite the fact that he tries his damned hardest to ignore the way his heart kind of trips over a beat in response to the flippant way Chad calls him babe. The alpha’s continued and incessant usage of pet names has been steadily increasing over the past two and a half weeks that they’ve known each other.

“You ditched us for study group last week?” Mindy inquires, face twisted in clear disgust. “Nerd.”

Ethan’s still reeling over babe so he can’t even bring himself to remind her she’s a horror movie fanatic and that, in and of itself, also makes her a nerd.

“Hey!”

Ethan’s gaze slides over to where Chad has pulled his head out of the closet.

“He’s the cutest nerd in all of Hortense Tower,” Chad declares with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Put some respect on his highness’ name.”

Ethan wishes he had a shell he could retreat into and hide.

Princess definitely seems to be the alpha’s favorite pet name for him— thanks to Quinn and her downright mortifying stories— and he uses, ‘his highness’ to refer to Ethan when talking to others more often than not. It’s embarrassing as hell. But Ethan doesn’t… dislike it.

Babe is a close runner-up, followed by the more pretentious-sounding ones; Baby, Darling, Sweetheart, etc.

Ethan’s sure at some point he’ll have to draw the line. Probably somewhere around Honey or Pookie.

He shivers at the thought.

“Debatable,” Mindy decides in monotone, giving Ethan one of those sweeping once-over’s before she turns her attention back to Anika.

Chad’s lips purse in an almost disappointed pout but Ethan smiles softly at his roommate when their gazes meet and Chad grins before he returns to whatever he’s attempting to do in the closet.

Anika is kneeling beside Ethan’s bed, stealing his pillows to add to the collection already on the makeshift futon on the floor. Mindy’s still sprawled on his bed though and is holding a few pillows hostage and Ethan watches as the alpha flops around, groaning dramatically and refusing to move when Anika reaches for them. She only relents when the beta huffs and sweetly asks for them with a gentle smile.

Ethan is still trying to figure out if they’re dating or not.

If they aren’t, they absolutely should be. Sometimes, when Anika goes on these long-winded, passionate rants, Mindy stares at her like she hung the moon and all the stars in the sky.

It’s downright adorable.

But Ethan’s not going to say anything. Despite the fact that he’s Chad’s roommate and Chad seems to like him well enough, Ethan feels like he’s on the outside looking in most of the time. Chad, Mindy and Tara had grown up together. And Mindy and Anika had met at summer camp years ago.

He’s kind of the outsider in this equation.

There’s a sharp knock at the door and Chad pulls his head back out of the closet for a moment to shout an enthusiastic, “Come in!”

The door is thrown open with such force that Ethan physically winces when it slams into the wall with a loud bang.

“The party has arrived, bitches,” Tara drawls, her fingers clutching a downright impressive amount of chips and snacks. She sweeps into the room, toeing off her shoes, and depositing all of the snacks onto the futon on the floor before she looks up at Ethan and waves.

Ethan lifts a few fingers in response to what he naively assumes is her greeting him, but when he glances over at the open door the other omega’s left in her wake, he stills and his hand drops to his side.

Oh, he realizes, that must be his cue.

He sniffs and resolutely does not frown.

“Okay, so— um,” Ethan mumbles, reaching up to run a hand at the back of his neck anxiously. “What time should I come back?”

All at once, four pairs of eyes turn to him.

Even Chad's, who finally seems to find whatever it is he’s looking for in the closet— it turns out to be an old, ratty red-and-green plaid blanket that the alpha tosses over at his sister, who catches it one-handed, even while she arches a sharp brow up at Ethan.

“Back where?” Tara questions, her nose scrunching and her brows furrowing. “What are we talking about?”

Chad’s eyes are narrowed at Ethan and there’s a distinctly grim frown on his face.

Ethan squirms, shifting from one side to the other as he avoids the alpha’s gaze.

“To the room?” he squeaks out, motioning in the general direction of his side of the room. “I mean, I can like… kill a few hours in the library or something but, um, I— I don’t really have anywhere else to like… sleep and stuff.”

Anika drops the pillow she’s holding, her mouth gaping as she stares at him like he’s suddenly grown another head or something.

A muffled sound comes from where Chad’s standing by the closet, something like a wounded noise.

Ethan doesn’t look.

And he gets the feeling he’s said something wrong.

When do you ever say the right thing, a mean little voice that sounds suspiciously like his father’s hisses from the recesses of his mind.

He takes a step back, lifting both hands to wave in front of him frantically.

“I— I mean, sorry, never mind,” he croaks, his face positively flaming once more in shame. “It’s fine, I can— I can figure something out.”

He turns abruptly, and almost trips over Tara’s discarded shoes in his haste to grab his backpack and flee.

Maybe Jason from his film class will let him stay the night, Ethan thinks as he shoulders one of his backpack’s straps and groans internally. If he does that, he knows he’ll have to deal with an infuriating barrage of subtle anti-omega bullshit Jason’s roommate, Greg, is sure to throw his way.

It’s ridiculous that in this day and age there are still people who think omegas are less-than for some reason.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Ethan’s head jerks back hastily as Chad rushes forward and steps into his path, effectively blocking him from their open dorm door.

“Slow your roll there, sweetheart,” Chad reasons, regarding Ethan with what looks to be a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Ethan grips his backpack’s strap tightly and does not think about the fact that even though Chad’s eyes look almost black from a distance, up close they’re very much a deep chocolate brown color that Ethan definitely doesn’t think is the most gorgeous he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, it’s your turn to pick the movie,” Tara calls out, and despite the fact that she’s clearly speaking directly to Ethan, he’s unable to pull his gaze away from Chad’s to look at her. “Thank fuck because I don’t think I could survive another one of Chad’s picks.”

“Whoa, hey,” Mindy pipes up, shooting up from her horizontal position on Ethan’s bed. “First of all, how dare you? Secondly, Empire Records is God tier.”

Mindy is kind of fiercely protective of her brother. It’s unexpected but admirable as all hell. Ethan highly respects her for it.

Quinn is the same way with him. Although, she’s probably the only person in the world who even cares about him at all so it’s probably not saying much.

“God tier?” Tara guffaws. “You and Chad literally just spent the whole night drooling over Liv Tyler.”

“So did Anika!” Mindy squawks, pointing up at said beta accusingly.

Ethan kind of half tunes them out— as they continue to bicker back and forth for a moment, until Anika steps in, in an attempt to mediate— and gulps quietly under Chad’s intense stare, the alpha refusing to look away from him.

“My turn?” Ethan queries uncertainly, licking at his lips nervously and staunchly disregarding the way the alpha’s gaze flickers down for a second. “Are— you want me to stay?”

Chad’s lips stretch out into this lazy reassuring smile, a few of his top teeth digging into his bottom lip as he reaches back with a foot and pushes at the door.

It closes with a soft click.

“Your turn,” Chad promises, one hand lifting to slide the strap of Ethan’s bag off of his shoulder.

Ethan lets him do it and relinquishes his backpack, which Chad immediately tosses into the corner.

Then, Ethan’s eyes widen and his face flushes furiously as Chad wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into his side, ducking his head just the slightest bit so his lips graze against the shell of Ethan’s ear.

“Stay with me, princess.”

[bomberqueen17]

Lotfus Bralette Sewalong: Construction 1

ok things I've learned: it'd be easier if I used a different fabric for main and lining, and it would be easy if that fabric had an obvious right and wrong side. Despite all my labeling and stickering and everything I *still* sewed a panel in wrong, and it was a nightmare making sure everything was mirror-imaged correctly.

All that said, I had to unpick a total of one seam (but unpicked two by accident, argh), and there's a sudden point where you have everything assembled and you're like..... none of this needs labels any more, and you have to peel them all off before you can continue. And it comes suddenly. So.

I'm not finished but I'm really near the end. It's a lot of fussy little sewing, but the seams are like ten inches long max, it really doesn't take very long.

This being my muslin, I have focused on getting everything put together and have not paid attention to seam finishing, trimming, grading, pressing etc. My next version, I will do those things, but I've omitted them from this version because I still don't know if the thing is going to fucking fit, I'm not topstitching something if I might have to tear it all back out, though let's be realistic I'm not going to disassemble this thing, if it turns out unwearable I'm just going to cut the notions off and start over. It's not that much fabric. I will make minor tweaks probably, but generally it is not going to be worth it to pull this apart. (Exception: if it's too large I would cut seams off and sew it smaller. But it will not be too large, I already know that from the approximate shove-my-boob-meat-into-a-half-of-it not-exactly-try-on-- it is certainly not too big, but I can't tell if it's too small because without the elastic and fasteners it's not pulled closely enough to me to be sure. It feels like there's not enough fabric to go around, but I know the wide band elastic covers a lot of territory, so I'm reserving judgement.)

So. How far did I get? Well.

[img description: this is the cluttered basement setup. Image shows a blue rubbermaid tote lid with a tall rim leaning on a pile of stuff on a cluttered desk, and on the lid is a Kindle with the sewing instructions loaded up, one half of the bra cup assembled, several pattern pieces, and next to the rim is a large box of yellow-headed quilting pins.]

I sent this setup photo to my family groupchat when we were discussing what we're doing with our weekends. (One younger sister is camping in Vermont with husband and kid, the other was gardening and found a big shed snakeskin which was cool, Mom was visiting a brew pub in fort edward and sent a photo of what looked like a pole to me and said "there's edward" and i don't get the joke, and the oldest sister had just taken her daughter to get her ears pierced, which among our people is a sign of young adulthood. Not that it's relevant to the sewalong but this is my blog after all, LOL.)

I had to unpick a seam but progress was quick after that.

[image description: an assemblage of fabric, with a pin in it, going through the throat plate of a sewing machine. The lower fabric is pink, the top fabric white. Both are decorated with Sharpie marks around the edge. The pink is nonstretch nylon tricot, the white is heavy duty powermesh.]

When it came time to attach the powerbar to the cup lining, I felt that the video sewalong had said to have the powermesh side up. The issue here is that the bra cup and lining are non-stretch fabric, as the pattern is written, and the powerbar and back band are stretch fabric, specifically powermesh (which has superior recovery to other stretch fabrics and so is indispensible in bras and compression garments). And attaching stretch to nonstretch is always a little bit of a nightmare, and generally is inadvisable, but bras break the rules in many ways and that's why so many of us are intimidated about bras.

I discovered immediately that sewing with the nonstretch side against the feed dogs and the stretch side against the presser foot was a NO GO. The stretch fabric would get pulled by the presser foot wildly out of shape, and I kept having to raise the presser foot and shove at the fabric to keep it aligned, and I kept wobbling my seam all over the place and it was awful. So I flipped it over and put the stretch fabric against the feed dogs instead, and then had zero further issues. I have not re-checked the sewalong, and the pattern instructions do not specify, but for my own reference, always put the stretch fabric against the feed dogs, that is unambiguously what worked here.

I also broke my anti-topstitching-on-muslins stance here and did topstitch the seam after I attached the back band to the cups. I wasn't doing it anywhere else, but I think it's necessary there, to hold everything down. There's gonna be SO much strain on that seam.

[image description: a pale pink, quite substantial bra, though it only looks fully assembled, lying on the talbe in front of a sewing machine. There's no center gore so it's only arranged as if assembled. But the cups are visibly partly self-supporting, because they're now three layers of fabric, so they're approximately boob-shaped, and hilariously fleshtoned in this light, I did not think this through.]

I got this far, both cups and linings assembled, with the powermesh in the middle. And then I had to make the center gore, which didn't go together the way I expected at all. You sew it in two halves, and then sew the halves together, which I had not expected and could not make myself understand. I did it, and then re-watched the sewalong afterward, and i'm still not sure I did it right, but mine did go on and looks right so I guess even if I did do something not the way the sewalong suggests I did it right enough that it works.

The frustrating thing is that you make the center gore and then set it aside, though, LOL. So I had to make it, then put the neck elastic on, and then check again.

I was SO confused by the elastic. You sew it on right sides together, and then flip it to the inside of the bra and topstitch it from the outside. So you want to sew it in such a way that just a little edge of it, which may or may not have decorative picots because it depends what you bought, will overhang when you flip it. So you want to sew it down along the MARKED SEW LINE on your strap, and if there's a bunch of extra wobbly edges and shit, sew to the inside of that, and you can trim them off after. This is where you compensate for wobbly cutting and wobbly sewing and wobbly putting-layers-together, and it's brilliant.

I didn't do it right but I will next time now that I understand that. And Jenn from Porcelynne *does* explain that, explicitly, in the sewalong, but I watched the sewalong ahead of time and couldn't remember in the moment. So this is me reinforcing it: your whole neckline edge, sew that elastic just so and once you flip it, it will look like you lined everything up perfectly. And you don't have to stretch as you sew for the whole strap bit, and there's only a tiny bit of stretching as you sew down around the cup, and it ends right where your powerbar came in, so it's a nice continuous band of stretch all the way around your boob.

And THEN you stick the center gore in, sandwiched, before you flip the elastic, and it looks weird as hell and no way could this be right. But then once you flip the thing, sure enough, there's just a cute decorative bit of elastic between the cup and center gore, and it looks good as hell.

(I mean, it doesn't on my muslin, but it will when I make a nice version. My muslin is hideous LOL, and I'm not worried in the slightest.)

[image description: an expanse of pale pink fabric with disconcertingly peach-colored elastic running down the middle of it.]

That's what the elastic looks like topstitched down, and there's the center gore with a big sharpie mark down the middle because i meant to turn that bit to the inside but put it in backwards. Oh well.

and this is the back, where the elastic's sewn down: if I was doing a finished one, I could trim off all those odd little bits sticking out where the three layers of fabric didn't quiiiiite go together evenly, and it would look finished and polished and lovely.

[image description: a bit of pale pink fabric flipped to the back. The peach elastic at the top has a couple wobbly lines of stitching on it, and some sharpie-bordered white fabric is sticking out and looks wobbly and terrible, and there are unclipped loose gray threads from construction everywhere.]

I'm not even saving that much time by making the muslin shitty, LOL. I'm just figuring, I need to see how it goes together before I get hung up on the cute details. I have enough of this exact fabric to use it again, but I also have a cute kit, a bunch of salvaged notions, and an intense desire to use a whole variety of other nontraditional bra fabrics, so I'm not that worried.

I should buy cuter elastic though. Elastic can't really be salvaged, not nicely. I'll have to pick up some cute stuff with decorative picots and whatnot. The supply list doesn't specify that you need picots, but then the instructions assume you have them, which confused me. The point is, you should sew the elastic at a point where some of it will protrude past the turned edge, because that's the correct look and function, and you should buy elastic that's not too scratchy.

I know a lot of people are concerned with bras being scratchy. I personally have never been irritated by the seams or fabric of a bra, but I HAVE been wildly irritated by the edge of the hook-and-eye band, the tips of side boning if there is any, and the STRAP elastic being shitty. So I will be focusing my energies on those.

I'm also thinking about making a bra in one layer, with binding over the seams and the powerbar made of stretch lace with a decorative edge, and put on the exterior of the single layer. That would be possible. The two-layer construction of this is kind of bulky and I get why it's like that, but my heavy-duty chestmeats aren't necessarily that heavy-duty.

I'm also going to make this in knit fabric, and am perusing all the Cashmerette Club discussion boards (where much of the pattern design team does lurk) for pointers on alternate materials and such, and I'll compile what I learn and post it here don't worry. (The number one thing is that if you make it in knits, size down one cup size. The number two thing is that if you make it with a fabric that stretches, match the stretch between the outer and lining fabric, it HAS to be the same. And example one is a fellow-commenter told me she made the whole thing in powermesh, sized down one cup size as per recommendation, and it worked perfectly. So we have that as a datapoint.)

(I don't love powermesh for its own merits but I cannot deny, it recovers perfectly, until it doesn't and you throw the bra out, so from a functional standpoint, it's The Thing to use. I'm taking apart old bras for notions and that's the thing I see-- when the powermesh went, I had to stop wearing that bra. But most of them, I busted the underwire channeling or the hooks first. Because they were DDs and I was a J, mostly, but. Hey. Yeah some other time I'll write a post about my horrible struggles with bras and how long I spent with everyone telling me it wasn't possible to be more than a DD and i must be having a body wrong somehow.)

ANYhoo.

I had to stop to make dinner after attaching the neckband elastic and center gore. So at some point today I will venture back down and keep working. The next step is the underarm elastic, and then the straps, and then the hook and eye closure, and then it's done. So I'm pretty close really, but my cat just got into my lap so I won't be headed down there imminently, LOL.

cat tax:

[image description: a white lady in a chair heavily overshadowed by a small gray cat with a white chest patch in the foreground looking extremely smug]

She's helping me post.

[l1ft-l1ft1ng-l1ft3d]

What I l1ft3d 5/1/2023 - 5/31/2023

B@rn3s & N0bl3:

- 6 books (5/1/2023)

- PaperSource Mountain tote bag

- 5 books (5/6/2023)

- B&N canvas tote bag (teal)

- ShedRain Windjammer umbrella

- 6 books (5/11/2023)

- 3 books (5/16/2023)

- 8 books (5/18/2023)

- Out of Print Eric Carle Hungry Caterpillar tote bag

- 4 books (5/19/2023)

- Moomin tote bag

- Keep Calm and Read On bookmark

- 3 books (5/22/2023)

- Fjallraven backpack

- 8 books (5/26/2023)

- B&N canvas tote (gray)

- 4 books (5/30/2023)

¢V$:

- CeraVe Renewing SA Cleanser

- Billie Whipped Shave Cream

- Kitsch The Satin Pillowcase (Ivory)

- CeraVe Acne Foaming Cream Cleanser

- Cottonelle Flushable Wipes

D1ck'$ $p0rt1ng G00d$:

- Nike sportswear crewneck pullover sweatshirt (yellow)

- Nike Sportswear embroidered logo t-shirt (black)

- Nike Sportswear athletic shorts w/large elastic band (chartreuse)

- Nike Sportswear athletic shorts (blue)

- 2 Nike Sportswear embroidered logo t-shirt (guava, gray)

- Nike Sportswear athletic shorts (burnt orange)

- Nike Sportswear cotton shorts (gray)

- Hydroflask 24 oz. bottle w/sip lid (pastel aqua)

- Nike Sportswear crewneck pullover sweatshirt (black)

- Nike athletic shorts w/large elastic band (gray)

- 49 brand Giants pullover hoodie sweatshirt (dark gray)

- Nike Sportswear crewneck pullover sweatshirt (gray)

- Nike athletic shorts (mauve)

- Nike Sportswear graphic logo oversized t-shirt (olive)

- Adidas crewneck pullover sweatshirt w/elastic bottom hem detail (charcoal)

- Calia polo neck pullover sweatshirt (blue)

- Calia short sleeve t-shirt (gray)

- Calia sleeveless t-shirt (white) 71

- 2 pairs Calia athletic shorts (tomato bisque, goldenrod)

- Nike Sportswear crewneck graphic logo pullover sweatshirt (ivory + aqua)

- Nike DriFit athletic shorts (black)

- Calia polo neck pullover sweatshirt (olive)

- Stanley 40 oz The Flowstate Quencher H2.0 Tumbler (Tigerlily)

- 47 Giants long sleeve baseball shirt

- Calia polo neck pullover sweatshirt (florescent yellow)

- Calia straight leg crop sweatpants (gray)

- Stanley 30 oz Ice Flow Tumbler with Flip Straw (lime + forest green)

- Nike Sportswear crewneck sweatshirt (yellow)

- Nike bike shorts (black)

H0bby L0bby:

- 2 X-Acto knives (regular + small)

H0m3 G00ds:

- Yeti Rambler Colster Can Insulator

J.C. P3nn3y:

- Levi's Shaping Capri jeans

- Wrangler graphic logo t-shirt (light blue)

- Adidas Cloudfoam tennis shoes (rainbow)

- Levi's 501 Cut-Off Short (dark denim)

- Levi's crewneck embroidered logo pullover sweatshirt (pastel pink)

- ANA sleeveless sundress (olive + white tropical flowers)

- ANA button-down polo neck sundress (olive)

- ANA spaghetti strap dress (olive floral)

- ANA shift dress (black)

- Levi's denim button down shirt (med. blue)

- Levi's 501 cut off shorts

- 2 Levi's graphic t-shirts (black, white)

M@cy's:

- Kipling mini crossbody bag (cherry red)

- Kipling backpack (med., gray)

- Kipling mini backpack (black w/raindrops)

- Calvin Klein Performance full zip hoodie (electric green)

- Kipling medium over the shoulder purse (gray)

- Kipling minimalist wallet (army green pattern)

- Levi's 501 shorts (med. length/med. blue denim)

- Calvin Klein Performance full-zip hoodie sweatshirt (stone gray)

- Kipling backpack (cherry red)

- 2 Guess wallets (black - large + small)

- Levi's 501 cut off shorts (black)

- And Now This ruched peasant blouse (black)

- Levi's Shaping Skinny Jeans

- Levi's denim overall dress

- Levi's cropped peasant blouse (blue + green plaid)

- Calvin Klein Performance full-zip sweatshirt (black)

- 2 Calvin Klein Performance cropped straight leg sweat pants (black, heather gray)

- 2 And Now This tank tops (white, cocoa)

Levi's button down denim shirt (light, distressed)

- Levi's spaghetti strap sundress (checkers)

- Ralph Lauren short pajama set (white w/floral)

- Calvin Klein Performance full-zip hoodie (ivory)

- Wacoal convertible bra (black)

- Calvin Klein Performance full zip hoodie (dark heather gray)

- Calvin Klein Performance full-zip hoodie (sky blue)

- Levi's graphic logo t-shirt (black)

- Levi's button-down short sleeve shirt (green + white stripes)

- Levi's High-Waisted Mom Jeans (med. denim)

- Calvin Klein Performance logo hoodie (heather gray)

- And Now This short sleeve bodysuit (pastel blue)

M@r1n@ M@rk3tpl@ce:

- Burt's Bees Aloe & Coconut Oil After Sun Soother

0ff1c3 D3p0t:

- Pilot Dr. Grip Frosted Ball Point Pen

- Pilot Dr. Grip Ball Point Pen Refills (2-ct)

$pr0ut$:

- Badger Organic Cuticle Care

- Pacifica Silver Moon Parfum

- Hello Antiplaque + Whitening Toothpaste Tablets

- 3 Pacifica Parfums (Island Vanilla, Tuscan Blood Orange, Persian Rose)

- Zum Mist Aromatherapy Room + Body Spray (Frankincense & Myrrh)

- Olika refillable spray moisturizing hand sanitizer

- Olika hand sanitizer refill

- Pacifica perfume (French Lilac)

- Zum Mist Aromatherapy Room + Body Spray (Patchouli)

- Humble Natural Deodorant (Palo Santo & Frankincense)

$t@rbuck$:

- Sign language art Starbucks mug

- Yosemite Pin Drop Collection Starbucks Mug

T@rg3t:

- Vornado Whole Room Air Circulator (w/interchangeable base plate discs)

- Vornado Whole Room Air Circulator

- Owala Free Sip water bottle (24 oz - tangerine)

- Reusable silicone menstrual disc

- Fine'ry Sun-Phoria body mist

- Olive & June The Poppy mani tool

- Owala Free Sip water bottle (24 oz - plum)

- Fine'ry I'm A Musk Eau de Parfum

- Fine'ry Magnetic Candy body mist

- Differin Dark Spot Correcting Serum

- 2 Casaluna sateen standard pillowcases

- EOS tropical summer lip balm (set of 4)

- Being Frenshe Awaken & Uplift Citrus Amber Glow On Perfume Oil

- American Tourister hard side checkered carry-on rolling suitcase

Ült@:

- The Body Shop Moringa Body Butter (6.75 oz)

- Lanolips 101 Ointment Multipurpose Superbalm

- Drunk Elephant Virgin Marula Luxury Facial Oil

- Byoma Brightening Serum

- Briogeo B. Well Organic + Australian 100% Tea Tree Oil

- Dr. PawPaw Lip Scrub & Lip Balm Duo

- Essie On a Roll Apricot Cuticle Oil

- O.P.I. Nail Lacquer (Yank My Doodle)

- L'Occitane En Provence Ultra Rich Body Cream

- Drunk Elephant Protini Polypeptide Cream

- Origins Ginzing Refreshing Eye Cream (Original)

- Hero Force Shield Superfuel Serum Stick

- Lanolips Lip Water (Watermelon)

- Lanolips 101 Ointment Fruities Trio

- Drunk Elephant C-Tango Multivitamin Eye Cream

- Cosrx Advanced Snail 96 Mucin Power Essence

- Briogeo Farewell Frizz Rosarco Milk Leave-In Conditioning Spray

- Briogeo Farewell Frizz Smoothing Conditioner

- Kenra Platinum Blow Dry Spray (6 fl. oz.)

- Bumble and Bumble BB Hairdresser's Invisible Oil

- Mario Badescu Skin Care Drying Lotion

- Soap & Glory Hand Food Intensive Hand Balm (Original Pink)

W@lm@rt:

- 2 Prep Solutions Silicone Grease Keeper & Strainer

- Cottonelle Flushable Wipes (2-pk)

Total: 197 items

[tarzinnia]

Surface Tension

This is for @littlewhispersofsolitude OTP Prompt: Kisses

"Kissing each other as tears well in their eyes because they're not sure if/when they'll see each other again. Wrapping their arms around each other, pulling them closer to feel every bit of them in case it's the last time they get to."

A/N: I hope I credited the prompt properly. Please correct me if I need to change how I did that.

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC or Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Angst maybe?

She was sitting on a small blue blanket near a tree; it wasn't their tree since this was Central Park. Their tree, where they usually shared lunch, was in a park in Queens, much closer to each of their apartments but she had asked to meet him here, near her office. She said she needed to finish this project before she left tomorrow but he knew it was to keep the moment impersonal somehow. Easier.

As if anything was easy.

As if anything was.

As if anything.

As if.

He didn't approach her. Not yet.

She hadn't started searching for him amongst the people dotted here and there like a painting by Seurat. People walking, lounging on the grass, tossing a frisbee.

She was motionless, however, her face turned slightly away. His eyes followed her gaze to a brown-haired young man and a slender woman each holding the hand of a small boy between them, lifting the child up every so often and swinging him, his bare arms taut while his little legs bicycled through the air.

He didn't care to examine the emotion that descended from his throat and twisted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at the vignette displayed on the grassy lawn. Him watching her watching them. What could be. Whatever there is. Whatever...

As if.

Her raised arm indicated she had spotted him and he strolled over to the tree that wasn't theirs.

"Hi."

"Hi." She was smiling at him but her eyes were not. The word inscrutable came to mind but he didn't normally use fancy words like that.

"I bought sandwiches, I hope that's okay?" She gestured at the paper sack from a deli near her workplace and pulled two water bottles from her ever present tote with I read banned books emblazoned on the side. He gave her that tote last October, when they sat under their tree, its bare arms reaching up. Reaching out. As if.

He didn't want to sit near this tree. He didn't want to sit and catch the scent of her perfume. To sit and watch her delicate fingers brush her hair from her eyes as the breeze blew wisps about her face. To sit and see her wistful smile as she watched him eat. Reaching out with her fingers to brush a crumb off his cheek. As if.

They ate in silence. The words were knotted in the tangles and twists of a timeline that began at their tree and ended at the tree that wasn't theirs. They sat together, watching as the couple with the little boy tossed a kite in the air. Watching as it danced clear of the open arms of nearby trees, reaching for the sky. As if.

Him watching her watching them. Until she caught his eye and cleared her throat, and began to gather their empty wrappers and napkins, sweeping them into the tote. Inscrutable, he thought.

His hand closed around the pink bottle in his pocket and he slowly withdrew his hand, turning away slightly so she couldn't see as he set the bottle on the blanket and twisted off the lid. Two wands. After the very first time at their tree he added the second one just for her.

He turned toward her, drawing a wand out and lifting it to his lips so that the bubbles came around them like a cloud. Floating towards her, floating into open arms reaching towards his, floating towards the sky. As if.

"Peter." Her voice caught on his name. Her arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly while the bubbles floated around them and above them and vanished one by one.

She kissed him as if afraid the memories would vanish like bubbles. She kissed him as if their arms would forever be empty, she kissed him as if it were the easiest thing in the world to love him.

She kissed him as if she would never see him again.

As if.

"I'm coming back, Peter. I love you. You know that. I promise I'm coming back."

He looked at her face, no longer inscrutable; reaching out with love.

As if it were a kite, his heart lifted toward the sky. As if.

END

[chilewithcarnage]

seeing these pink tote lid moment tiktoks...let me kill your parents baby. please let me murder your parents ruthlessly & violently.

[kylo-wrecked]

[Bathing injured music!Ben]

⁸⁾

⁹⁾ climbing into the bath/shower with them, more for the physical comfort than practicality

-

They don't expect Ben to eat in front of them, but hey, they come by their nature the hard way. Jake unpacked Grant's reusable tote first - tuna salad with an extra heaping of real friggin mayonnaise for the fridge, squashed cloudy challah, and Jewish penicillin tightly contained. If it gets tossed, it's not like he's gonna know and he ain't gonna tell Nedda.

Left eye serious, right eye swollen shut, Jake checks Ben's injuries, skimming off the top of Marc's memory. "Sore? Us too."

They, Steven-and-Jake (easier than Steven worriedly pacing) get the water going, climbing in after Ben. Red-purple hands scrub black dog hair, mix of them grinning as muscles read enjoyment, ease. “so Mr Surly and Serious likes having his hair washed for him, hm? don’t worry, i’ll keep your secret.”

As bathing continues, Jake steps back, leaving Steven to flick mustache onto the mat, soaking quietly, holding Ben close.

{ 🫀 You broke and bought:// Music!Ben:/ accepting }

The sun doesn't have to go down on the day the way it does, spraying its blood all over the Meatpacking District's luxury Belgian blocks, but Ben is Ben, and Jake can't shut up. Before Ben even starts, as a Jersey lawyer put it, another one of his 'little fires'—boom. Someone else throws the Molotov and gives Jake-Steven red hands, a plum for an eye. And Ben—

He feels sorry about the cab (~whose repairs he's paid for, whether They like it or not~). Not sorry about going full moon inside. Uncognizant of how Steven-Jake fights to transport his broad jumble of limbs, bones, and contusions into the bathroom.

Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the meatbag of the year, the hour, the minute. He's survived his expiration date, and he's not eating tuna. 

No hospitals. No tuna. No 'thank you' apart from his stiff-and-lax muscles' cooperation with lowering him into the bath. His sharp eyes are sheathed, at rest beneath their lids as They work Their fingers into his scalp. Wet cat with his ears flicked back. 

"Mr. Surly and Serious—" 

Gives up. Mr. Surly and Serious licks the metal off his teeth. Blood that prevails after a bad moon. Sun. Fucking a. 

Mr. Surly and Serious lets himself sink further into steam and soap-pearls filling the only tub in New York big enough to fit the two of them and change. Mr. Surly and Serious even lets his head tip back a little while Jake-Steven rinses his black dog hair clean; enjoy the private show, you half-bastard. 

Gradually, between suds, fingers, and overlapping limbs, Jake's pink washes out into a pure blue and Ben settles against the rhythm of that hard-carved chest returned to Steven.

He would laugh at the mustache flopped on a heated tile, but the image isn't funny ha-ha. It's funny in a way he can't place. And his ribs hurt.

"Steven."

Water laps arms folded around arms, overlapping knees. Ben trawls his finger-pads through bath water and along the undersides of Steven's thighs. Water joins them; they're almost as one.

"Quit worrying, will you?" he grumbles, tucking his skull under Steven's chin. "You'll give 'Mr. Surly and Serious' a headache." 

Steven. 

…Jake. 

Thank you.

@silverjetsystm

[keshetchai]

Fountain pen ink bottle: $4 /ea

pocket sized sketchbooks or notebooks $2 (yellow & brown strathmore drawing/sketch are bundled together for $2)

The three larger sketchbooks are all $5 /ea

various mini canvas packs $3 / ea

acrylic paint pad $8 BNNU

mixed media toned paper pad $6

gel print and roller $8

tortilla pencil roll $2

cheapie brushes bundle (seriously these are CHEAP brushes, they aren't good quality. they're meant for watercolor or acrylic, and I keep cheapies on hand for things like applying masking glue, gesso, spattering, yknow...there's all kinds of reasons why you want sort of terrible brushes. the handles can mix stuff. any time you might end up destroying the good brushes, these are the sacrificial lambs!) $3 for all of them.

brushes box $14 BNNU

brush washer, paint keys (bundle), sanding sponges, letters stencil, clip-on cups to hold medium -- $3 /ea

golden open acrylics set BN swatched and tested like once, got some oil paints on tube but otherwise great. this is the traditional colors set of 6. $30

palette paper (white) BNNU $8

soho, grumbacher, & turner watercolor bundle: $15

marie's gouaches bundle and storage box I had them in $6

Lukas gouache bundle $25

QOR watercolor (remaining paint in squeezed out tubes (1 tube missing), and the paint poured out into a funky pink pill box with a cool skeleton on the front and washi tape decoration. the watercolors left to dry in the pill box rewet nicely. $15

union square watercolor pad $6

Filofax Original A5 size organizer in Dark Aqua WITH loads of interior pages - some bought from an online etsy shop (in rainbow colors, "QUESTS" instead of "to-do lists" and "heart" boxes, plus regular white or colored lined papers as well. it's stuffed full!) No actual calendar pages but does have numbered dividers with tabs. $130

pencils box $2

that white palette $3

art supply carrier tote bag thingy $10. it does have like, graphite, pastel smudging on the insides and all of that, but honestly you're just going to add more, right?

NOTE ON GOUACHES AND WATERCOLORS:

I will not do returns for dried gouache or watercolor in the tubes. Some of them will need to be reworked! (like I can hear one of the marie's gouaches rattling inside the tube, lol)

The fix to a dried out or drying out watercolor/gouache is incredibly simple: add water. You can cut open the tube to act as a cup, or cut them open and pour them out into a plastic paint cub or reused glass/plastic cup with lid. or right into a palette. add just enough water to fully soak the dried paint. wait a few days for it to soften up. add more water as necessary. if it's still a bit thick, you can add a drop of plain glycerin to the paint and mix it in to help it retain the moisture it's soaking in. this will also make it easier to rewet as you go on.

I will say the lukas gouaches all appear squishy still in tubes, the acrylics are perfect, and the sohos/turner seem mostly fine, but there's some they may need re-constituting and the marie's may have some dry ones as well. lastly, the QOR's don't have much left actually inside the tubes, so you might want to cut the tubes open anyways to paint directly from. they're nice paints tho, and i of course am bundling with where i poured all the paint into.

also: sorry the lighting is weirdly yellowy. I laid out a white curtain that I am not currently using to try and take pictures on and it's just...this whole house has terrible lighting in every room lol. i promise you those curtains are white.

these can't be shipped media mail, so just keep that in mind!