#color contrast PEAK

[scribblenator]

sequel to yesterdays post cuz I FOUND OUT THERES A DOG GUITAR MADE BY THE SAME COMPANY AS THE CAT KEYBOARD

[twizzlysticks]

Purecacao my beloved 🫶

(Alt without stolen crk background under cut lol)

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

yeehaw

transcript:

JENNIFER: Don't get me wrong, this dress is nice and all, but- JENNIFER: ...it'll be real hard running around and stuff in it, don't you think? JENNIFER: Especially with. Whatever this is. (ass cage??) MARTY: I, uh... MARTY: Yeah, huh. MARTY: How- JENNIFER: (noticing the pants Marty's holding) Bingo. JENNIFER: Sorry, Marty, gonna hafta borrow this- MARTY: Wha- Hey!

everyone was making such good jennifer in 1885 posts so i nicked a couple for the gist of this one

[paper-possum-party-pal]

This is Ki!

She is an oc I made for Legend of Zelda. She’s a traveler that sells the wares that she’s gathered. As a game character, she’s meant to be an npc similar to Beetle that pops up selling food, spells, crafting items, and an important item for progressing the story. I mostly see her being in a breath of the wild/tears of the kingdom like game. In some locations at certain times, you’d be able to sit with her at her camp/shop and have a meal together to recover health. You’d either find her stopped at towns with other shops or in remote locations far away from those towns. I intitially wanted to make her a minish, but she’s more of her own separate thing. She’s super small, a little over 3 ft in height, as is the rest of her race. Her hometown would probably be similar to the korok forest, hard to get into, isolated, and with small structures.

[cynicjovial]

A twist to their outfits :]

If red and teal aren't going to be splat 4 colors I'm going to be sad

[martiniblues]

CUPIDS CHOKEHOLD , spencer reid

pairing boyfriend!spencer x fem!reader

synopsis you decide to visit spencer during his lunch break. unbeknownst to you, the team has been waiting for your arrival since they found out about you and spencer’s relationship.

genre fluff, reader is described with a cheugy/funky kind of style, and just overall teasing from the team lol.

standing in the mirrored elevator, you took in your appearance one last time. your patterned tights, babydoll dress, denim jacket, and colorful accessories were nothing out of the ordinary for you.  you took pride in your sense of fashion, not caring how others perceived you. 

spencer made it known to you almost daily how much he adored the way you styled yourself. your whimsical and girly attire added the perfect contrast to his “grandpa attire” as you liked to call it. 

returning your tube of lipgloss to its desired spot, you heard the faint ding of the elevator, alerting you of your arrival. you took a deep breath before walking up to the secretary at the counter. the building was sleek and shiny, only emphasizing your appearance. 

the brunette welcomed you, asking for your id before you heard your name being called by an all too familiar voice. “she’s with me; actually, no need to call in or anything.” spencer grabbed the visitors badge and clipped it to the pocket of your jacket before looking at you. 

“hey spence,” you giggled, adjusting his glasses that had gone askew from his evident rush to get to you. he blushed as you slid your hand to the side of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek softly. 

he grabbed your hand and led you into what you deemed to be the “bullpen” spencer had mentioned to you before. your boots clicked on the ground, muffled by the sounds of the bau. 

many workers turned and looked, unfamiliar with your presence and even more shocked that you were with spencer. he looked at you, noticing your wondering eyes. “it’s a little hectic right now, sorry.” he pulled you into his cubicle, already having a chair ready for you. 

“its actually really cool seeing this place for the first time. it really is like the tv shows.” he almost laughed at your childlike awe, reaching over to roll your chair closer to his own. satisfied with your positioning, spencer moved a few folders and notebooks from his desk to make room for your shared food. 

you could only get one bite in before a presence appeared behind you. “you invited mrs. genius here, and you didn’t tell anyone?” two hands came to grab spencer by his shoulders, causing him to jump slightly. 

the man smiled at you with possibly the whitest teeth you had ever seen. his broad shoulders, stature, and dark skin made him almost god-like. “morgan-“ spencer began before another head peaked around him.

“the woman, the myth, the legend!” the shorter blonde woman gasped, walking over to you. spinning your chair so that you were facing her entirely, her eyes lit up. “you are literally the cutest thing i have ever seen. boy wonder, why haven’t you brought her in sooner?” the nickname made you laugh, looking at spencer to see the embarrassed look on his face. 

“morgan and garcia, back off before you scare the poor girl away.” a dark-haired woman leaned against the desk behind you. soon after, another blonde and two older men crowed around you. 

they waited eagerly as spencer introduced you, looking between you two as if this were the best thing they had ever seen. “it’s nice to meet you all. spence has told me so much about you guys.” you rose from your seat, shaking their hands so as not to come off as unprofessional in such a serious building. 

even if it contradicted their previous actions…

“she even has a nickname for him, oh derek hold me before i pass out from the beauty of young love.” penelope held her hand to her heart, leaning into the man beside her as he rolled his eyes from her antics. 

“she was nearly this dramatic when she noticed the picture spencer put up of you on his desk.” rossi pointed at the item you had failed to notice as you arrived. 

tucked beside his computer, a small black and white photobooth strip stared back at you. memories of the early bits of your relationship flooded your mind.

you smiled lightly at the last panel, remembering how nervous you had been to kiss spencer on camera. he looked up at you, mirroring your expression.

the team continued to interrogate you, asking about where the two of you met, your first date, who asked out who first, almost as if they were profiling you. 

spencer sighed at the realization, clearly annoyed at your alone time being interrupted. you noticed, sitting back down beside him and looking at him to reassure him that you were fine. 

“glad to see she really likes him and wasn’t paid.” emily nodded towards spencer’s cheek. a light pink kiss mark adorned his skin, making the rest of the team snicker before he wiped it off with the back of his hand. 

“are you guys trying to scare her away?” spencer whined, feeling like a boy introducing his first girlfriend to his embarrassing family. 

“come on, reid, we’re only messing with you.” jj perched her hand on her hip, smiling at you warmly. “we’ll let you guys be for now, but don’t leave too soon. we have to give her a tour!” penelope insisted, turning to the group as they all shook their heads in agreement. 

“that’d be nice, thank you.” you replied before turning back to your boyfriend. “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” spencer mumbled, leaning into your side.

you ruffled his hair, “i see why you talk about them so much. they clearly care about you a lot.” you looked over your shoulder, catching them spying from one of the conference rooms. 

smirking you turned back to spencer, kissing his cheek once more before you continued to eat and talk about what you’d plan to do after he got off work. 

after you finished your mostly uninterrupted lunch, you were swept away by penelope as she gave you your promised tour. showing you everyone’s office, the break room, multiple conference rooms, and even the dingy locker room in the very back.

after one tight hug from morgan, a promise for a girls night from penelope, some teasing from jj and emily, and more typical goodbyes from hotch and rossi, you were finally walking back to your car.

you expected spencer to just walk you back to the elevator, but your face quickly lit up when he stepped inside, pulling you flush against him and pressing a button to make the doors close.

“finally have you alone.” he mumbled before crashing his lips to yours. you gasped at his sudden boldness, highly due to the lack of curious eyes, and moved your hands to rest behind his neck.

his hands went under your jacket, yearning to be close to you but having enough sense to not pull anything too risky. “i’ve been wanting to do that since you’ve got here.” he pulled away shortly before the ding of the elevator announced your arrival.

you just grabbed his hand and pulled him along side you. “they were really sweet, spence. i’m happy you work with people that are so much like a family.” as you made it to your car you turned around, your back leaning against your trunk as spencer came to stand in-front of you.

“they’re nosey like one, for sure.” he joked, bringing his hand to rest on your hip once again. you sighed before reaching up to kiss him one last time. “i’ll see you tonight.” you promised, squeezing his hand before it left yours in his return to work.

before you got in your car, you turned around looking up to see six familiar faces looking right back at you.

just something i thought of off a whim because i saw an edit of the bau to 400 lux by lorde and got SOOOOO emotional. like thats my family fr!!!! hope you enjoyed<333

[flowersforbucky]

lacy

bucky barnes x reader

i don't usually write short drabbles for bucky but i miss him and thought i'd put this little thought into words to get out of a bit of a writing slump that i've been in ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ happy valentine's day, babies

summary: bucky doesn't remember undergarments having so much fucking lace in the forties. but he thinks he can get used to it.

warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, adult themes, sensuality and implied smut, language, reader is afab, sweet teasing and banter, tfatws era

word count: 770+

bucky barnes masterlist

“What? Was lingerie not a thing back in the forties?”

Bucky watches from his position on the bed as you unzip your cocktail dress, the fabric falling from your shoulders and to the floor around your feet. He lays back against the headboard, his hands crossed behind his head. His eyes roam from the strappy heels that you have yet to shed and up your legs until his eyes settle on the black lace thigh holster that connects to a garter belt and matching panties.

You remove the small pistol from the holster, placing it on the dresser beside you before stepping away from the pool of burgundy colored satin at your feet. You crawl onto the bed, the peaks of your breasts threatening to spill out of your bra. You look up at him with a raised brow, still awaiting an answer to your question.

“It was,” he hums. “Can’t say I ever saw anything quite like this, though.”

He’s never seen anything quite like you is what he’s really thinking, but he bites his tongue. His feelings for you are far from being a secret, but he sometimes worries that if he truly spoke his mind every time he thought about how attractive he finds you, he’d never shut up.

His words are still true, though. He’d seen plenty of silk nightgowns and camisoles, but this – the intricate floral embroidery, the lace-lined edges of the cups of your bra, and the way the tight material accentuates every one of your curves just right – this is new territory for him.

“Never?” you quip. You crawl over him, positioning yourself across his lap. His hands come to rest on either side of your hips, the contrasting warmth of flesh and iciness of vibranium eliciting goosebumps across your exposed skin. “Not even online?”

He digs the tips of his fingers into the meat of your hips with the faintest amount of pressure. He doesn’t miss the way it makes you squirm, your clothed center nudging against the growing bulge concealed by his jeans.

“Online?” He huffs a laugh. “I think you’re forgetting that I have a flip phone.”

“Would it convince you to finally get a smartphone if I said I’d send you pictures of me wearing shit like this?”

He laughs, confident that you’d do just that. Considering the fact that you had been teasing him during a mission just a few hours prior, he doesn’t doubt for a second that you’d be more than happy to utilize technology to make him flustered.

“Tempting,” he admits. He dips a metal finger under the waistband of your panties, toying with it before lightly popping it against your skin. “But I have a hard time believing that pictures could do the real thing justice.”

You roll your eyes, playfully poking him in a spot between his ribs that you know to be ticklish. “You’re no fun.”

As swiftly as he can, he flips you so that you’re now pinned between him and the mattress. You look up at him with wide eyes, taken off guard by the sudden change in positions. Still, you automatically spread your legs enough for him to lay between them. He hovers above you, his gaze trailing from the mounds of your breast that peak out from the confines of the lacy bra and up to your lips.

He sits back on his knees, pulling your thigh back so he can grab one of your feet in his hands. He slowly slips the high heel off, not taking his eyes off of you as he tosses it behind him on the bed. He repeats the motion with your other foot, and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“I'm no fun, huh? Does that mean you don’t want to sit on my face?”

Teasing you a little won’t hurt, he supposes. You’re normally the one dishing it out, and he’s normally the one blushing like a school girl – but he’s got to admit, he likes the way you’re looking at him right now. His heightened senses pick up on the familiar scent of your arousal and your quickened heart rate. He doesn’t need you to vocalize how you’re feeling or what you want; your body gives you away.

“Are you gonna take all of this off of me, or am I gonna have to?”

Your voice is teasing, but Bucky doesn’t miss the edge of impatience that slips through. He chuckles, taking one last, long look at the frilly undergarments. He likes them a lot, he can’t deny it – but he likes you without them even more.

recent bucky fics

all's well that ends well to end up with you - bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together

starry eyed - reader gets a gift from her secret santa

[parviocula]

Not me with 3 different versions of how I want her eyes 

[cloudyluun]

Polished in Love

Summary: When Y/N, a passionate nail artist, first paints her boyfriend Harry Styles’ nails, she doesn’t expect it to become their thing. But Harry, ever the devoted and supportive boyfriend, falls in love with the ritual, and with her talent. Soon, he’s booking actual appointments at her salon, showing off her designs to the world, and, in classic Harry fashion, scheming something in secret. When he finally reveals his surprise—a nail polish collection inspired entirely by her, Y/N realizes that love, much like a good manicure, is all about the little details.

A/N: If you’ve ever dreamed of being in a soft, fluffy relationship where your partner is your biggest fan (and also happens to be Harry Styles), then welcome! This little story is my love letter to all things cozy, romantic, and slightly ridiculous—because let’s be honest, Harry being obsessed with getting his nails done is peak adorable. Expect lots of heart-eyes, some happy tears, and a man who is completely and utterly whipped. Hope it makes you smile! Based on this request!

Word Count: 4,3k

Warnings: 

Extreme levels of fluff (proceed with caution if you're allergic to sweetness)

Harry Styles being the softest, most supportive boyfriend ever

Excessive nail polish talk (you might leave wanting to paint your nails)

Emotional tears caused by overwhelming cuteness

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

It starts on a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind where the sun filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks, dust motes swirling lazily in the warm glow. Y/N is perched on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, a tiny brush held delicately between her fingers as she finishes the last touches of a new design on her own nails. The scent of fresh polish lingers in the air, mingling with the faint traces of Harry’s cologne as he lounges beside her, his head tipped against the back of the couch, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

She catches him watching her out of the corner of her eye—curious, maybe even a little intrigued. It’s not the first time she’s caught him looking like that when she works. There’s something in the way she loses herself in her craft, how steady and precise her hands are, that seems to mesmerize him.

Y/N grins, setting her polish bottle down with a little clink. “You wanna try?”

Harry blinks, his gaze flickering up to meet hers. “Try what?”

“Nail polish.” She wiggles her fingers, flashing the delicate design she just finished. “I think you’d look great with some color.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “D’you now?”

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, playful and enticing. “Let me do your nails.”

There’s a beat of silence. Harry tips his head to the side, eyeing her like he’s trying to decipher her true intentions. He’s not against it—he’s worn rings, pearls, mesh tops, even feather boas—but this? Letting her sit and paint his nails like they’re at some childhood sleepover? He exhales a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb along the inside of his palm.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Y/N raises a brow, then reaches for his hand without waiting for permission. His fingers are warm beneath hers, calloused in places from years of playing guitar, strong yet gentle. She brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, noting the contrast between his larger fingers and her smaller ones.

Harry watches, amused but not resisting, as she starts rifling through her collection, muttering to herself about what color would suit him best. He lets her have her fun, stretching his arm across the couch cushions, and before long, she’s settled in, fully focused as she uncaps a bottle of deep navy blue polish.

“Alright, superstar,” she murmurs, dipping the brush into the bottle. “Try not to move.”

He scoffs again, but there’s something in his expression—fondness, amusement, maybe even the tiniest bit of anticipation. He lets her guide his hand onto her thigh for stability, and the first stroke of polish glides smoothly across his thumbnail.

Harry is quiet as she works. The soft strokes of the brush, the way her fingers gently adjust his own, the faint smell of acetone and floral-scented cuticle oil—it all lulls him into something warm and comfortable. He watches her intently, observing the slight furrow in her brow as she focuses, the way she occasionally chews her bottom lip when she’s being extra careful.

“This is kind of nice,” he admits after a moment.

Y/N looks up, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “Told you.”

By the time she finishes the last coat, Harry is fully relaxed against the couch, his fingers resting easily in hers as she blows gently on them to help them dry faster. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, his lips pursed in thought.

“Alright,” he says finally, lifting his hand to inspect her work. “This is actually pretty sick.”

Y/N beams. “See? You were meant to be my favorite client.”

Harry laughs, low and warm, before pulling her in for a quick, lazy kiss. His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but they mold perfectly against hers.

That night, when he leaves her apartment, he doesn’t remove the polish.

The habit sneaks up on them quietly, unintentionally. At first, it’s just a joke—something lighthearted and fun, a cute little activity that makes Y/N laugh and lets Harry indulge in something he never really considered before. But then, it turns into more.

After long days at the studio or on the road, he finds himself gravitating toward her little salon space, dropping into his usual seat with a sigh.

“Rough day?” she asks, tilting her head as she starts gathering supplies.

He nods, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah.”

And that’s that.

She doesn’t need to say much—just gets to work, painting his nails while he rests his head against the couch cushions, humming softly to whatever playlist she has on in the background. Sometimes, they chat; other times, they sit in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

One evening, after she finishes painting a delicate celestial design on his nails, Harry glances down at his hands with a lazy smile.

“I’m keepin’ these on.”

Y/N looks up from putting away her polishes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, running his thumb over the dried design. “Gonna show ‘em off.”

She doesn’t think much of it until the next day, when Twitter explodes with pictures of him at an event, hands adorned in her handiwork. The designs are small but intricate—tiny constellations, a few scattered stars, all meticulously painted in gold against a dark blue base. Fans go absolutely feral over it.

“Okay, but who did his nails???” one tweet reads, with thousands of likes beneath it.

It doesn’t take long for someone to find the answer.

“My girlfriend did them,” Harry says nonchalantly in an interview a few days later, flexing his fingers slightly as the interviewer compliments the look. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

And just like that, the world takes notice.

Y/N doesn’t even realize it at first. She’s busy at work, carefully painting a client’s nails when her phone starts buzzing insistently in her pocket. She ignores it, assuming it’s just her group chat blowing up over some drama. But when she finally takes a break and checks her notifications, her screen is flooded.

Harry’s latest interview clip has gone viral.

The video is everywhere—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. Fans are gushing over his nails, zooming in on the intricate details she’d painstakingly painted just days ago. The internet is obsessed, not just with Harry’s latest look, but with the fact that she did them.

Her DMs are a mess. There are requests for appointments, compliments from strangers, and even a few messages from beauty influencers asking where she gets her inspiration. Y/N stares at her phone, overwhelmed, before calling the only person who could’ve caused this.

“Harry,” she says the moment he picks up, voice caught between exasperation and amusement. “What did you do?”

He chuckles softly. “I just told the truth, love.”

Y/N can practically hear the grin in his voice.

From that moment on, painting his nails isn’t just something they do in the privacy of her apartment. It becomes their thing, a little ritual of care and closeness.

Harry, ever the extra and devoted boyfriend, takes it one step further.

At first, he still lets her do his nails at home—lounging on her couch, feet propped up on her coffee table, stealing kisses between coats. But then he starts showing up at her studio. Unannounced. Like he’s just another client.

The first time, it’s almost comical.

Y/N is midway through buffing a regular client’s nails when the bell over her studio door chimes. She barely glances up—until she hears an unmistakable voice greeting her receptionist.

“Afternoon, love. I believe I have an appointment?”

She snaps her head up so fast she nearly knocks over her polish display.

Harry stands there, casually dressed in a loose jumper and beanie, dimples on full display as he flashes her an innocent smile.

He waves his fingers at her. “Figured it’s about time I booked a proper session, don’t you think?”

Her client, wide-eyed, looks between them. “Wait. Is that—?”

Y/N groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Harry, you don’t need an appointment. You could’ve just come over.”

“And deprive you of a paying customer?” he teases. “Absolutely not.”

That’s how it starts.

Harry starts officially booking nail appointments—never mind that Y/N refuses to charge him. He insists on getting the full salon experience.

And of course, he never comes empty-handed.

Sometimes, he brings her favorite coffee, balancing two cups with practiced ease. Other times, it’s a fresh bouquet of flowers, a new shade of nail polish he found, or pastries he claims he baked himself (though she’s convinced his private chef helped).

One time, he walks in carrying a ridiculous heart-shaped box of chocolates, looking so smug about it that she can’t even pretend to be annoyed.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she plucks a chocolate from the box. “You really don’t have to bribe me to do your nails, y’know.”

He hums, settling into her chair. “Can’t a man spoil his favorite nail tech?”

Y/N huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re the only client who gets this treatment.”

Harry just grins, completely unbothered.

At some point, he starts referring to a specific chair in her studio as his.

“Oi!” he calls out one day when he walks in and finds another client sitting in it. “That’s my chair.”

Y/N chokes on her laughter.

Her client, startled, looks up. “Wait—what?”

Harry gestures toward the seat with mock seriousness. “That’s Harry’s Throne. Reserved for me.”

Y/N groans, facepalming. “Harry, stop.”

But it’s too late. The nickname sticks.

From that day forward, whenever he comes in for an appointment, her staff jokingly refers to it as his throne. He leans into it shamelessly, draping himself dramatically over the chair whenever he sits down.

“Ready for your royal treatment, your highness?” Y/N teases one day as she sets up her tools.

Harry smirks. “Always.”

And honestly? He loves it.

Not just the pampering, but the way she focuses when she works—her brow furrowing in concentration, the way she tilts his hands just so, the gentle touch of her fingers against his skin.

Sometimes, he hums softly while she paints, some unfinished melody floating in the air. Sometimes, he watches her intently, admiration clear in his gaze.

Other times, he just reaches out, squeezing her hand for no reason at all.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N murmurs one day, not looking up from where she’s carefully adding tiny details to his nails.

Harry doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can’t help it. My girl’s an artist.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, but she hides her smile.

Harry is, without a doubt, her most dramatic—and devoted—client.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It starts off subtly.

At first, Y/N doesn’t think much of it—Harry’s always been the curious type. He asks random questions all the time, sometimes just to hear her talk, sometimes because he’s genuinely interested in whatever she’s passionate about.

But then the questions start getting oddly… specific.

They’re all about nails.

“What’s your favorite nail polish finish?”

Y/N pauses mid-brushstroke, glancing up at him. “What?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at the glossy black polish she’s carefully applying to his nails. “Just wondering. Do you like matte? Glossy? Maybe something with a little shimmer?”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “I mean… it depends on the vibe. But I usually go for a high-shine finish. Why?”

He grins. “No reason.”

The next time, it’s even weirder.

“What ingredients should a really good polish have?”

Y/N stops filing his nails, giving him a long, unimpressed stare. “Are you planning to start making your own, or…?”

Harry just laughs, but he doesn’t answer.

And then, a few days later:

“If you could design your own collection, what colors would you pick?”

Y/N puts her tools down.

“Okay. What is going on?” she demands, crossing her arms.

Harry looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Too innocent. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been asking so many questions about nail polish,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And not just casual questions—like, very specific, detailed ones.” She tilts her head. “Are you planning on opening a rival salon? Should I be worried?”

Harry smirks, leaning back in his chair—Harry’s Throne, as he insists on calling it. “Maybe I just want to be well-informed about my girlfriend’s industry.”

Y/N scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Can’t a man ask questions without being interrogated?”

“No, Harry. No, he cannot.”

Harry just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

Y/N studies him, trying to piece it together. She knows him too well. He’s up to something—she can tell from the way his dimples keep threatening to show, the way he’s biting his lip like he’s holding back a secret.

But no matter how much she pries, he won’t crack.

He just sits there, letting her work, humming under his breath like he doesn’t have some mystery scheme in the works.

And Y/N, for all her determination, has no choice but to let it slide.

For now.

Y/N doesn’t realize it at first.

Sure, she notices when Harry starts posting more pictures of his nails. Sometimes it’s a casual Instagram story—his hand resting against the steering wheel, rings gleaming, nails freshly painted. Other times, it’s a candid shot of him mid-performance, microphone in one hand, the other adorned with intricate designs that Y/N had carefully painted herself.

But it’s not until a week after she finishes a particularly detailed set—deep emerald green with delicate gold accents—that she wakes up to something different.

Her phone is blowing up.

It’s not just the usual notifications. It’s thousands of them. Tags, mentions, DMs flooding in faster than she can process.

Her stomach flips as she clicks into Twitter (or whatever the app is calling itself these days).

And there it is.

A tweet—no, several tweets—from popular beauty bloggers, fashion accounts, and actual magazines, all talking about her.

“Harry Styles’ latest manicure is an art piece. The woman behind it? The insanely talented Y/N, who runs a small studio in London. We need to talk about her work.”

She blinks. Scrolls down.

Another tweet:

“Y/N’s nail artistry is insane. Look at the details on this design. Someone get this woman a brand deal IMMEDIATELY.”

And then, a TikTok—one of many—where a beauty influencer is attempting to recreate the very design Y/N had painted on Harry’s nails just days ago.

“Alright, so today we’re trying to do THE Harry Styles nails—yes, the ones by Y/N. No promises mine will be as good as hers because, like, have you seen her work??”

Y/N’s jaw drops.

It’s not just one person. It’s everywhere. People attempting to recreate her designs, tagging her, gushing over her work.

And just like that, her little nail studio—the cozy, quiet place she’s built with so much love—is suddenly the hottest spot in the industry.

Her phone rings, startling her out of her daze.

Harry.

She answers immediately. “Did you see this?”

“I did.” He sounds entirely too smug, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Kinda amazing, innit?”

Y/N lets out a shaky laugh. “I—I don’t even know what to say. It’s… overwhelming.”

“Yeah?” His voice softens. “Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?”

She swallows, looking at the endless flood of notifications. “I mean… good, I think? Just… a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence, then:

“See, love? You’re brilliant.”

Her heart clenches.

It’s such a simple statement, yet the way he says it—so full of quiet certainty, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world—makes her throat tighten.

She bites her lip. “You really think so?”

Harry scoffs. “I know so.”

And, okay. Maybe the attention is a lot to process. But with Harry in her corner, she feels like she can handle anything.

And she’s going to have to—because things are about to get even bigger.

Her studio is fully booked within days.

Appointments she would have normally spaced out over months are now being snatched up in seconds. Celebrities—actual A-listers—start reaching out to her, inquiring about appointments, collaborations, anything to get a piece of her work.

And through it all, Harry remains her most loyal, most devoted client.

“Hope you’re still making time for me, love,” he teases one night, winking as he drops off her favorite coffee.

Y/N laughs, squeezing his hand. “You’ll always have a spot in my chair.”

Harry grins, his fingers curling around hers, warm and steady. “Good. Would hate to think fame’s gotten to your head.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging his arm. “Oh, please.”

But she doesn’t miss the way he’s looking at her. Fond. Proud. Like he’s known all along that this moment—her success, her recognition—was inevitable. And somehow, that’s even more overwhelming than the notifications still buzzing in her pocket.

--

A few days later, Harry texts her out of nowhere.

H: Pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

Y/N frowns at the message, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

Y/N: Excuse me? Am I normally walking around looking like a gremlin?

H: No, you always look perfect. But tonight is special.

That makes her pause. Special?

Harry isn’t the type to get cryptic—not unless he’s planning something.

And judging by the way he shows up at her place that evening, hair perfectly styled, rings glinting in the golden glow of the setting sun, dimples fully engaged, he’s definitely planning something.

“Okay,” she says slowly, sliding into the passenger seat of his car. “What’s going on?”

Harry just smirks, shifting gears as he pulls onto the road. “Patience, love.”

Y/N groans, throwing her head back against the seat dramatically. “You know I have none of that.”

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “It’s worth the wait.”

She grumbles but lets it go, letting the warm hum of the radio fill the space between them as they drive.

He takes her to one of their favorite little restaurants—small, cozy, the kind of place where no one bothers them. It’s tucked away from the chaos of London, all dim lighting and soft music, the scent of fresh bread and wine hanging in the air.

And yet… he’s nervous.

Harry never gets nervous.

But she can tell—by the way his knee bounces slightly under the table, by how he keeps fiddling with his rings, by the way he’s not eating, which is the biggest red flag of all.

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried. Are you dying? Did you commit a crime? Blink twice if you need me to hide a body.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, love.”

“What?” she says innocently. “You’re acting weird.”

He exhales, rolling his lips together before finally—finally—meeting her eyes.

And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, sliding it across the table.

Y/N stares at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the box.

“…I swear to God if this is an engagement ring and you’re proposing to me in the middle of a risotto course—”

“It’s not that,” Harry interrupts, laughing, cheeks pink. “Just—open it.”

She eyes him warily, then flips open the lid.

Inside, nestled against the black velvet lining, are three bottles of nail polish.

Not just any nail polish.

Her colors.

She recognizes them instantly. The deep emerald green, the soft blush pink, the inky midnight blue—all shades she’s used on him before, all shades that have become his favorites.

She blinks. Her heart stutters. “Harry, what…?”

He leans forward, hands clasped together on the table. “I’ve been working on something,” he says softly. “For a while now.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

He takes a breath, like he’s really nervous now, like the words are heavy in his mouth.

“I’m launching a brand, called Pleasing.” he finally says. “Beauty, lifestyle, all of it. And the first collection?” He nods toward the box, a small, almost shy smile on his lips. “Nail polishes. Inspired by you.”

Y/N’s breath catches.

She looks at the bottles again, hands slightly unsteady as she picks one up.

It’s not just the colors. It’s the details—the names on the labels.

💚 Green like your eyes 💖 Blush when I call you mine 💙 Midnight Hums

Her throat tightens.

She flicks her gaze back to him. “Harry…”

He reaches for her hand, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “Because you love nails,” he says, voice low, steady. “And I love you.”

Y/N’s heart shatters.

Not in a bad way. In the best way. In the I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-this-level-of-love way.

Because he did this. For her.

Her vision blurs slightly. “You—you made these for me?”

Harry chuckles softly, squeezing her fingers. “’Course I did, love. Everything about them—the colors, the branding, even the formulas—I made sure they were exactly how you’d want them.”

Y/N stares at him, completely overwhelmed.

She blinks rapidly, trying to process everything—how he’s been working on this in secret, how every little detail screams her, how this isn’t just some business move for him, but something deeply, intimately thoughtful.

And then her vision blurs again.

“Oh,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Oh, no.”

Harry’s brows lift in alarm. “No?”

She lets out a watery laugh, swiping at her eyes. “No as in—God, I’m gonna cry.”

And she does.

Right there in the middle of their cozy little dinner, with candles flickering around them, with the soft murmur of other diners in the background, she completely breaks down.

Happy tears, grateful tears—tears that carry all the emotions she can’t quite put into words.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He reaches across the table, thumb brushing gently under her eyes, wiping away the warm, glistening trails down her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to make you cry, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She sniffles, smiling weakly. “You always make me cry. You’re disgustingly sweet, it’s offensive.”

He grins, dimples deep and warm. “That’s a bit rude, considering I just launched an entire line of nail polish inspired by you.”

Y/N lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, shaking her head. “Exactly.”

Harry chuckles, leaning back, then suddenly reaches into his pocket again. “Well, since I’ve already got you crying—” He pulls out a single bottle of polish, holding it up with a boyish glint in his eyes. “So, love, what color are you painting my nails tonight?”

Y/N sniffs, still laughing through the last of her tears. “You—you brought a bottle?”

He shrugs. “Was hopeful.”

And God, she loves him so much she aches with it.

Without thinking, she grabs the bottle from his hand, twisting it open. “Give me your hand.”

Harry’s grin widens, and he immediately obeys, stretching his fingers out across the table.

They’re surrounded by warm candlelight, by the soft hum of quiet conversations, by the smallest flicker of fairy lights strung along the restaurant’s windows. It’s intimate, private, theirs.

She works with slow, careful strokes, the same way she always does. Harry watches her, his gaze unwavering, soft as ever.

And when she glances up, meeting his eyes—she swears he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world.

From that night on, Y/N isn’t just Harry’s favorite nail tech—she’s his muse.

She becomes part of the Pleasing process, helping him pick new colors, testing formulas, brainstorming ideas over coffee and late-night chats.

Her little studio, once a quiet hidden gem, now has a months-long waitlist. But no matter how busy things get, she never gives up her chair—never stops doing what she loves.

And Harry?

Harry never lets anyone else touch his nails.

It becomes their thing, a quiet tradition.

Before every event, every launch, every moment—she’s there, polish brush in hand, fingers steady as she paints his nails, grounding him the way she always has.

Even when life gets chaotic, when they’re traveling, when he’s on tour and she’s juggling her own work, they find moments for it.

Sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed, half-dressed for the next show. Curled up on a couch after a long day, with Netflix playing in the background. Backstage before a performance, where the only thing keeping him still is her touch.

And it’s not just about the polish.

It’s about love. About care. About the way it all started, with one perfect manicure.

And, if Harry has it his way, it’ll never end.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28

[writers-potion]

Could you give any advice for "descriptive" writing of any scene or action scenes or mapping out the scenery (Mountains, forests, streets etc) - i believe this is a struggle for Non-English speaking writers due to lack of vast vocabulary.

Common Scenery Description Tips

Vocabulary is clearly an important part of description, but it doesn’t have to be a limit. The most important thing about description in fiction is picking the right details to mention:

How does the details add to the mood of the story? A mountain ridge will be dark, gray and foggy if the overall mood is meant to be mysterious/brooding. In contrast, a mountain can be brilliantly snow-capped, lush green and “smiling down” upon the character if they’re out for a light stroll.

How are the contrasts/complementary aspects being brought out?

Are you using the five senses? You can even combine the senses, ie. blue ringing of the church bells

(If you have the POV character) what 

Some other tips for setting description:

Use similes and metaphors. Creative figures of speech always get my attention as a reader. 

Mention story-specific elements. For example, “The sky was the shade of Zoes’ eyes” or “the mountains looked like a group of trolls sleeping on one another” 

Be concise. Today’s readers don’t want to read paragraphs and paragraphs about one landscape. Outline the larger elements in the scene, their location and general mood. Add some details, then move on. 

If the same location appears multiple times, differentiate the description little by little as you write, instead of trying to lay out one scene in too much detail at once. 

That said, here are some helpful words/phrases:

Forests/Mountains

Color: bone-white, phantom-white, hazy gray

Sound: rumbling, booming grumbling, bellowing clapping, trundling, growling, thundering

Shape: crinkled, crumpled, knotted, grizzled, rumpled, wrinkled, craggy, jagged, gnarled, rugose  

Action: sky-punching/stabbing/piercing/spearing, heaven-touching/kissing, snow-cloaked/hooded/wreathed/festooned

Sloping sides, sharp/rounded ridges, high point/peak/summit

Majestic, gargantuan humbling, vast, massive, titanic, towering, monumental, mighty, vast, humbling

Mountains having faces, etc. 

Seas

Color: blue-green, crystal-clear crystalline, emerald, frothy, hazy, glistening, pristine, turquoise

Size: boundless, abyssal, fathomless, unconquerable, vast, wondrous

Sound: billowing, blustering, bombastic

Action: boisterous, agitated, angry, biting, breaking, brazen. Churning, bubbling, changing, brooding, calm, convulsing, enticing erratic, fierce, tempestuous, turbulent, undulating

Alluring, blissful, betwitching, breezy, captivating, chaotic, chilly, elemental, disorienting

Deserts

Sight: A landscape of sand, flat, harsh sunlight, cacti, tumbleweeds, dust devils, cracked land, crumbing rock, sandstone, canyons, wind-worn rock formations, tracks, dead grasses, vibrant desert blooms (after rainfall), flash flooding, dry creek

Sounds: Wind (whistling, howling, piping, tearing, weaving, winding, gusting), birds cawing, flapping, squawking, the fluttering shift of feasting birds, screeching eagles, the sound of one’s own steps, heavy silence, baying wild dogs

Smell: Arid air, dust, one’s own sweat and body odor, dry baked earth, carrion

Touch: Torrid heat, sweat, cutting wind, cracked lips, freezing cold (night) hard packed ground, rocks, gritty sand, shivering, swiping away dirt and sweat, pain from split lips and dehydration, numbness in legs, heat/pain from sun stroke, clothes…

Taste: Grit, dust, dry mouth & tongue, warm flat canteen water, copper taste in mouth, bitter taste of insects for eating, stringy wild game (hares, rats) the tough saltiness of hardtack, biscuits or jerky, an insatiable thirst or hunger

Streets

Dusty, fume-filled, foul, sumptuous, broad, bucolic, decayed, mournful, seemingly endless, empty, unpaved, lifeless, dreadfully genteel, muddy, nondescript, residential/retail

Bleach, flimsy, silent, narrow, crooked, furrowed, smoggy, commonplace, tumbledown, treeless, shady

The blacktop streets absorb the spring sunshine as if intent upon sending heaven's warmth back through my soles.

The streets absorbed the emotions in the air, the city as the steady and reassuring mother.

The streets were a marriage of sounds, from bicycle wheels to chattering.

In the refreshing light of early daytime, the streets had the hues of artistic dreamtime, soft yet bold pastels.

Cobbled streets flowed as happy rivers in sunlight.

Parties

Some extra tips for locations like parties, where lots of action is going around practically everywhere:

Focus on the important characters - where they are, who they’re with. 

Provide some overall description of the structure of the party scene (a pool, a two-storey house with yard?), then move on to details. 

Don’t try to describe everything. 

whirlwind of laughter and music, a symphony of joyous chaos.

It was a gathering that shimmered with the glow of twinkling lights and echoed with the rhythm of dancing feet.

The air was alive with excitement, buzzing with conversations and the clink of glasses.

Every corner held a story waiting to unfold, a moment waiting to be captured in memory.

It was a tapestry of colors, a mosaic of faces, each adding their own brushstroke to the vibrant canvas of the night.

Laughter cascaded like a waterfall, infectious and unstoppable, filling the room with warmth.

The night was a carnival of senses, with aromas of delicious food mingling with the melodies that filled the air.

Time seemed to slip away in the whirl of the party, moments blending into each other like colors on a palette.

The energy of the crowd was electric, pulsing through the room like a heartbeat, binding everyone in a shared moment of celebration.

It was a celebration of life, where worries faded into the background, and the present moment was all that mattered.

[saltcxrcle]

white collared ✮ s. winchester

summary: you can't stop staring at sam in his priest getup

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester gn afab! reader

word count: 1.1K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', no mention of pronouns besides a "good girl", cursing, making out, sam in the priest outfit (yes thats a warning), dean being a menace as per usual, implied smut, kinda edited

a/n: got inspired from a edit of priest sam i saw on my feed and i wrote most of this in class and then in the library, so enjoy :p

enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

YOU WERE STARING. Scratch that. You were practically devouring Sam with your eyes as he came out of the motel bathroom, adjusting the clerical collar that was around his neck.

Your eyes followed Sam as he bustled around the motel room, barely registering that Dean had gone into the bathroom to change himself. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Sam, your mouth feeling dry as you swallowed thickly, trying to pull your gaze away from the taller Winchester. 

Christ almighty, how could someone look so good in a priest outfit?

You thought to yourself as Sam sat down at the table near the kitchenette in the room. Your eyes trailed up and down Sam’s broad figure from your spot on the bed. The black slacks were tight around his thighs, and you could only imagine how good his ass looked in those pants. 

The white clerical collar was starch white, contrasting the tanned skin at the hollow of Sam's throat. You bit your bottom lip as you saw Sam’s dexterous fingers pull at the collar, adjusting it before your eyes followed his hand as it fell back onto his thigh. 

A low chuckle coming from the man you were staring at snapped you out of your stupor, and you met Sam’s hazel eyes, filled with amusement. You could recognize the familiar look of desire that lingered in the greens and golds that colored his gaze. 

Sam’s plush lips were pulled into a sly smirk as he shook his head, a piece of his hair falling in his face as he did. “See something you like?” He asked, his tone teasing. 

You felt your cheeks fill with heat at being caught staring at Sam. But you tried playing it off, rolling your eyes as you sat up, making your way to the table he was sitting at, and resting your hip against the edge of it, looking to your left at him. Sam had to tilt his head up a bit to meet your eyes. 

It’s unfair how his height barely changes when he sits down. 

“Maybe I do.” You let your eyes trail over Sam’s body again before meeting his gaze again. 

Sam’s lips twitched before slowly rising in his seat, the chair scraping against the carpeted floor, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table as his face got closer to yours. Now, you had to crane your head back to make contact with his eyes. 

“This is doing something for you isn’t it?” He questioned, Sam’s head tilted slightly as the sly smirk turned into a grin. The white of his teeth almost distracted you from the devilish expression on his face as his eyes darkened and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to resist the urge to clench your thighs together at the lust filling his eyes as he stared at you, feeling heat pool in your core. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled as you broke the eye contact the two of you were sharing as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You heard another chuckle escape Sam’s lips. You listened to some shuffling and felt one of his fingers push your jaw to look at him. Sam was standing in front of you as he took your chin in between his index finger and thumb. His lips stretched into a lewd smirk as he leaned closer to you, his cologne filling your senses as you felt his breath fan over your face. 

“Who knew that you have a thing for priests?” 

You uncrossed your arms and scoffed at him before hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him closer to you. “I have a thing for you in this getup, not the other way around.” You clarified, your lips pulling into a half-smirk. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure?” 

“Shut up, you know how gorgeous you are.” You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s honestly unfair how good you look in anything.” 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Mhm, sure.” He rubbed his nose against yours before capturing your lips between his, pulling you into a fiery kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. You let out a low moan as you pulled him closer to you and felt his bulge grind against you. 

Sam always had this hold on you every time he placed his lips on yours. The only thing that was on your mind was always Sam. It was like there was a giant neon sign that flashed his name every time he touched you. 

Suddenly, Sam pulled himself away from you. What you didn’t realize as Sam was making out with you was that Dean had finished changing into his own priest getup and stepped out of the bathroom.

You heard him clear his throat, and you looked over at Dean. Though you would never admit it out loud or to anyone ever, Dean looked as good as Sam did in the white collar (but you had a bias towards your boyfriend because, well, he's your boyfriend).

Dean raised an eyebrow at the two of you. “You two done defiling each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sam shot a scowl at Dean's smirking face.  

“Nope." Dean said, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. "Next time don’t make out in the same room as me.” He came over to the table and smacked his hand onto Sam’s shoulder before brushing past him and left the motel room. 

You let out a small laugh as Sam’s face twisted into his bitch face before sighing. But a smile slowly appeared on his face at the sound of your laugh. 

He turned around to face you again. You looked at him with a smile. His smile got wider before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips. Sam pulled away, letting his forehead rest against yours. 

“You should probably get another room before we get back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?” 

The edges of Sam's' lips threatened to curl up before his face became serious.

"Because I have plans for you and I don't want to share this room with Dean."

"Oh?" A smirk grew on your face. "What kind of plans?" You asked coyly.

Sam let out a soft laugh before pulling back and cupping your face with his warm hand, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek softly.

"The kind of plans that require you to be on your knees repenting and confessing all the naughty thoughts that your mind conjured up about me ever since I came out of the bathroom."

The heat in your core grew brighter as you clenched your thighs together at the low rumble of Sam’s voice. 

“You understand?” You nodded dumbly at his words, and Sam pecked your lips. 

“Good girl.” Sam sent you another smirk before letting his hand fall from your face and exiting the room. 

You swallowed thickly as you stood frozen in your spot. “Well, fuck me.” You breathed out before leaving the room and getting another, just like Sam asked. 

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[pointyfruit]

Happy (late) Valentine's Day @miwachan2 💖💞

HheheheHAHAHA

I want to say right off the bat (Get it?) that your designs are peak and I knew I was going to have fun drawing them since the very beginning. Your DCAs are so prettyy!!

I didn't know anything about the story so I kind of just winged it (Okay, I'll stop). My thought process was, "Hmm vampire.. vampire..... vampire like blood mmm.. vampire give real beating heart? Nooo too gore! hmmm.. vampire fancyyy.. vampire CASTLE!!! COURTYARD!!"

I started with this ⤵️

I chose Moon first because I'm a Moon lober. He's my shine. It's my rock. It's my wife. I love himb.

The idea was for Moon and y/n to have a chat (or rather, y/n yaps and moon listens) while walking through a courtyard in the flower garden. The camera was placed so only the viewer can see Moon's face. He has softened for them quite a bit.

Your y/n looks like the oblivious type, so they are unaware of this. They look studious and like some sort of investigator/explorer, so they're yapping about something they learned or something new they found.

It is mid-day. I don't know what his situation is but the fact that it's a vampire and, well, it's Moon, I figured the light wouldn't feel so good. I gave him a maAaAgicAlll umbrella with a veil to proctect him from the sun and any other light. Fancy how Moon went out of it's way to spend time with y/n in such a condition. He can get hurt. He could've been safe and comfortable in the dark but he chose not to.. Hmm...

Unfortunately, it was discarded because I couldn't get the perspective to look right. Trying to fix it felt unnatural so I decided to start a new one.

However, I did decide the keep the fancy castle theme. You got all this.. c a s t l e . . . with all this space. Surely, there is a ballroom in there. Naturally, as you do, someone would dance in them. Make the vampire. Dance. With y/n... Yes.

I started with this ⤵️

I chose to use Eclipse this time. The OOOs and AWWEs as I looked across the ref sheet peaked when I got to them. They're just so GRAND! I love the stars and shape of their cape and- I really wanted to do something with them.

I wanted it to be dramatic, so I looked through ballroom references for inspiration. I started off by drawing everything in black and white so I could work on my values. ⤵️

Honestly, I wish I wasn't shy about making things dark and gloomy. If I could change anything, I would make some values darker and others lighter. More contrasting stuff.

I added a new layer and changed it to some sort of overlay so I could color in the original instead of making a new one. ⤵️

Lineart felt unnatural that day so I had to do the classic old "throw a blob of color on the canvas and refine it until it looks like the Mona Lisa" ...or painting.. is the more popular term for it...⤵️

I don't have a proper screenshot but you can probably see. Eclipse and y/n are just refined blobs of color. Lineart was an afterthought.

I wish I could say it's just my style, but I gave Clippy little spirals in their cape purely for my enrichment. I like shapes.

Thank you again for being so patient with me. I was worried and the milk and cookie helped a lot! I hope you have a nice day and good food comes your way! 💖💞

[peatbogbody]

oh yunho!

arguably the most enigmatic member of ATEEZ. as others have said, and as i have experienced personally, when you see him your first reaction is "well that certainly is an Idol." he looks like an idol, sounds like an idol. but the longer you look you start to go "....??? HUH?"

he's actually like the definition of hotness and proof it's not all about looks. like of course he's gorgeous but not like absurdly so or in the super striking, supermodel-esque way that certain other members are. but he's got a whole air that's just so effortlessly sexy.

in terms of his role in the group, he's stated himself that he's in charge of bringing the energy to the group, the "yunhogizer" as it were. i was thinking about this and decided i think it's less that he just *brings* energy (though he's very capable of doing that), but more that he has a big role in *setting* the energy level and color, and bringing diverse elements together. in this group, we have many members whose base energy/emotional intensity level they bring to any setting is very high. their "high energy" is chart-breaking and their "low energy" is still pretty intense and stimulating. joong, hwa, san, mingi and woo are all like this (not to say they're boring or one-track, they have many different levels and flavors they just very heavily lean to the more intense/darker side, ) whereas yeosang and jongho's main mode of operation is much mellower (yeosang can be intense and jongho has a lot of power but neither of them bring the kind of manic/demonic energy to music or performance the others do). but ys and jh are not only 2 against 5, they're also almost too contrasting with the other members, so that when paired directly against eachother it can be jarring.

yunho's like an egg binding the dough together. his strength is in his versatility. he can bring the energy and intensity when he needs to, which usually has the effect of sending the whole group's energy up to 11--see the dance breaks in Wonderland or WIN--but is also capable of heart-melting lightness and softness when he wants too--see the choruses in Light or the intro to Utopia. his voice may not be the most distinctive but it's just so pleasant to hear, like a warm hug.

And he can go anywhere in between, especially vocally, so he makes an excellent singer to put between members whose voices are extremely contrasting (when such contrast is not desired for impact). At some point I think I want to do a more in-depth vocal analysis so I won't get too granular here. But ok I'm going to keep going with the egg metaphor not sorry I'm a genius actually. You can beat him and incorporate him as a binding agent, separate him and use his yolk to add richness and flavor or whip him to stiff peaks to make a delicious fluffy cake or meringue. You get it. Yunho is quintessential in setting the tone of whatever ATEEZ is doing at a given moment.

now, off stage....well. on paper his assigned role is "puppy", and to the naked eye he can appear to be some combination of that and Some Guy. and that's not totally inaccurate. he is a verified Male Living Space Owner and ranked Valorant player whose default instagram post type is "boyfriend". but he has a certain je ne sais quoi to him that's hard to pin down. he carries a mischievous glint in his eyes at basically all times. he's suspiciously present in many of the most off-the-wall short-form content (bonus) on ateez's official accounts. he's also, apart from seonghwa, to my eyes the member most at home anytime gender-bending is called for--the boy eats girl group choreo for breakfast and has a blast doing it. but he's *also* capable of going full hype-house tiktokker mode when appropriate.

we love a man of mystery. i will continue to watch his activities closely.

not even touching the ?Catholicism i have zero context for that all i know is he does the crossy-thing in halazia?

yungiiiii! there is SO much to say about them but its too much for me to put in this post but lmk if yall ever feel like making a sandwich someday 😥

p.s. can i just say how pretty his bare-faced complexion is? that is all.

also HANDS i didn't include any pics bc i hit the limit and also i didnt want to kill anybody

next writeup will be about yeosang 🥰

[milkfordragons]

What does sex mean to Hannibal and Will? In light of the controversy about Hannigram and sexuality, here’s another exploration:

Hannibal, having endured a trauma so profound it surpassed his ability to truly heal, either chose or naturally inclined toward a deeply spiritual worldview, though not a religious one. Or rather, he is religious in the purest sense of the word but does not adhere to organized religion. Hannibal never questions the existence of God; he questions its methods, its moral compass. He challenges it, subtly equating himself to both God and Lucifer, the rebellious son who, instead of kneeling, recognizes his own divinity. He realizes he has similar powers and refuses submission, seeing himself as kinder, less cruel than the God he perceives. And if he dares to challenge God, it implies he feels its presence, most likely through tragedy, sensing an invisible force that moves the world with neither purpose nor mercy, only curiosity and grandeur. To Hannibal, God took his sister and parents the same way it brings down the churches he collects, a constant reminder of the irrelevance of violence in the grand scheme of things. The fact that he needs a reminder suggests that, given enough contemplation, he could even be convinced to stop killing.

Will, on the other hand, may not have that possibility. Hannibal does not kill out of compulsion but because it is simply within his nature. He can, so why not? Will, however, has a deeply repressed hunger for violence. He does not see it as natural, he sees it as monstrous, but the more one rejects something, the more it demands recognition. Will could never simply stop killing, nor could he suppress the desire without unraveling. His need for blood makes him like a werewolf: uncontrollable, tied to his temperament and emotions, a force that consumes him. Hannibal, by contrast, is poised, more like a classical vampire: capable of restraint, able to survive without human blood but never enslaved by it.

Sex and violence are entwined in the psyche, and the show depicts this flawlessly, most explicitly in the parallel sex scenes between Will/Margot and Hannibal/Alana. Will, at the peak of pleasure, envisions the Stagman, his symbolic representation of violence and loss of self, a force he outwardly attributes to Hannibal but ultimately comes from within himself. He climaxes with that connection. Nearly every time Will dreams of violence, his body reacts as though in the throes of orgasm, his nightmares are a mix of ecstasy and terror, a fusion of fear and pleasure. The visual innuendos are relentless, too: Will fantasizes about killing Hannibal, exalting in the blood that drenches his face. Imagery so overt that Bryan Fuller himself joked on Twitter: "Will Graham has Hannibal’s fluids all over his face. Gay Agenda!" Wich Hugh and Mads confirmed that Fuller was meticulous in every detail, down to the color of curtains, meaning everything was intentional.

From this, we can begin to understand what sex would mean to them. Not just how they engage with it in canon, but how they perceive it in the depths of their psyches.

For Hannibal, sex is spiritual. He may not engage in it that way in Hannibal, but one’s ideals do not always manifest in reality. The belief remains, waiting for the right vessel. For him, sex is an act of defiance, a rebellion against a God who took love from him. Through blood and death, he forges love, carving it from ruin. Sex with his soulmate would be the ultimate rebellion, proof that two forces can defy the will of God, can force themselves together against the winds of fate. Their union would annihilate everything divine creation has dictated, birthing something untouched by God’s amoral hands, something theirs, unmarked by destiny, defiant of time.

Will, in contrast, would see sex as necessity. A space where his madness can be contained, where his darkness can be explored without harming the world beyond himself and his partner. For Will, sex is paradox, a state where he is both angelic and demonic, divine and animal. He would rip through flesh to find the essence beneath, devouring it raw, yet also breathe as one with his lover, tracing scars with reverence, worshiping the core he seeks to elevate.

Together, they would create something new, something beyond themselves. Love and defiance, death and beauty. A force born of silk sheets soaked in blood, sanctified by the most sacred act of all: union. To see one another. To claim the other as part of oneself. Recognition.

[1-800-local-slut]

The Gift That Keeps Giving

Spencer gives you a gift, that almost seems a little bit more like a gift for himself. You're not complaining though.

Spencer Reid x Black! Bombshell! Reader!

Warnings: lingerie, Spencer is not a pervert (he swears!), mentions of sex, fluff, playful teasing but that's really it

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Spencer Reid is not a pervert. He's not some freak who watches you shower or breaks into your apartment or smells your clothes. He's your boyfriend of six months. You two have a normal, happy and healthy relationship.

You understand him, he understands you. And he tries to understand the insatiable urge you often have to climb him like a tree or ride him until he breaks. You can't really help yourself. And who is Spencer to say no to you? When you two come home from a long day of work and immediately tell him how long you've been waiting all day for him. You slide off your heels, then your stockings and your skirt and your roaming your hands all over him.

So why is he standing there in the Victoria Secret checkout line with six different sets of lingerie in his arms while he tried to avoid eye contact with everyone close by to him. His ears burned and his head throbbed from the smell of perfume in the store. Along with the seductive smell of the perfume he picked out for you.

It was just supposed to be a simple run for Valentine's Day. He picked up chocolates that he got you for your first date, a teddy bear with the same brown hair color as him, and an order for a massive bunch of roses.

No one even expected you two to get together. You are definitely (and no FBI agent should ever say this about a coworker) the most attractive woman in the American government. You knew it, pushing the boundaries against the dress codes at work. Slightly short skirts that hugged your hips, button up shirts that accentuated your curves, pant suits that elongated your legs. Different shapes of glasses to match your various outfits, square glasses for purple pantsuits, and a seductive personality to match that captured Spencer by the heart and never let go.

Spencer, who you loved so deeply that you showed him your vulnerable and sweet center. Your heart that loved reading, that loved sweets and cooking. Your passion for fashion, how much you adore architecture. Loving all parts of life, people from all walks of life. Even accepting Spencer and all his oddities because he accepted you.

How could Spencer not spoil you every now and again? The next stop was supposed to be the bookstore, to get you both a rare edition of a book on the history of Victorian fashion. A book that peaked your special interest. That Spencer has been in an intense bidding war for.

Yet on his way out, he saw that beautiful lingerie. He imagined how you would look, your butterfly locs styled elegantly on your head. Your dark skin would contrast so beautifully against the purely white lingerie. He imagined coming home one day, imagined sharing a home with you one day. Imagined seeing you in the fluffy robe he found that he grabbed without a second thought. Before he knew it, he was wandering through the store. Deals delivered delicious tingles to his debit card.

Who knew Victoria's Secret was so expensive? Spencer didn't. Not until he saw the total. He also didn't feel shame until he was on the checkout line holding massive amounts of what can barely be called clothing considering how little it was going to cover on your body. Eight items, minus six hundred dollars later, he was scampering to his car praying no one who knew him saw him buy all that lingerie.

It's one of those things Spencer really had no need to be embarrassed about. Spencer was buying lingerie for his girlfriend. Partially because he knew you'd fall over yourself in delight from the fabrics and patterns. Also, he just wanted to see you half naked. Or mostly naked with very little fabrics with elaborate designs covering yourself. It didn't matter. You were HIS girlfriend. HIS. He can buy you whatever he desires because guess what? You're HIS girlfriend.

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Spencer has been shot, a lot, but the feeling he felt right now had nothing on blood rushing out of a hole in his neck. His heart was about to pop out of his chest, his hairs stood up on his arms and his stomach churned. What if you hated it?

What if you took offense? How dare he assume that you would just wear lingerie because he asked you too? What if you assumed he was calling you easy?

The shower turned off, saving Spencer from drowning in his thoughts. The bag seemed to glare at spencer from the chair in your bedroom, under his jacket that he threw down once he came over. Burning a hole in his brain, chastising him for being a horndog.

He watched you step out of the bathroom, steam floating out and watching you intently.

"So, I was thinking, tomorrow night we can go see that ballet. I know you think Sleeping Beauty is a little lame, but I really love it, and I would be nice for us to get out. I can get us tickets tonight." You yapped immediately, admiring how beautiful you looked in your natural state. You found your way to your vanity, covered in a plain robe that substituted your regular silk robe that was in the wash. You picked up a vial that contained something creamy that you rubbed over your glowing skin. Still, his gaze was pulled back to the chair.

"Sounds great baby." His eyes still trained on the bag hidden under the brown coat.

"And then, this weekend if we're both off work, there's a place in Clifton Forge that has the most darling market this weekend. It's like a pop-up thing; they sell books and little trinkets. They also have knitted cats. I want a knitted cat by the way." You finished, rubbing cream under your eyes. In the mirror, he missed your sharp eyes catching his eyes locked on something that wasn't you.

His elbows rested on his knees, his voice hitched, and he stared with intent to burn a hole through your nice chair. He kept his eyes on it, like it was going to jump up and expose him. His brows furrowed; would he even be able to hide it from you? Okay, if he just lured you right into his arms, you wouldn't even pay attention to the chair.

And Spencer, so caught up in his thoughts didn't even notice what you were doing. He missed the look of concern, and before he knew it, you were making your way to the container of his sins. Well, the chair.

Your bottom hit the seat, then you felt it. Also heard the sound of the bag crinkle under your back. He was caught. His mouth was dry, his fingers sweaty. Immediately, he looked down at his socks in shame while you reached under your back. Squirming around, you reached for the foreign object stabbing you in the back.

Time slowed, while you pulled the bag out from behind you. The big bag with pink wrapping paper was pulled out and he was ousted. Where was a defense attorney when you needed one?

You held the bag, blinking slowly. First at the bag, then Spencer, back to the bag then to Spencer. Then, after a moment of cold and humiliating silence you spoke.

"Are you cheating on me?" Your voice slid out cold, like you were preparing to assault him with the bag.

"No!" He shot up from the bed defensively, immediately ready to confess. His legs automatically brought him to you, to assuage the fears clouding your mind. His entire body felt like he was being pricked with tiny needles, anxiety flooded his stomach like he needed to urgently go to the bathroom. He would say anything to make sure you knew that wasn't the case. Hell, he'd even say it was his. He would rather you believe that, than have you think he committed the unthinkable. What fool would ever cheat on you? Not Spencer.

"It's for you. I..." Taking a deep breath, he sighed and continued while you looked up at him with searching eyes.

"I was at the mall, and I walked past Victoria's Secret. I saw this one piece; I started thinking about you. One thing led to another and I... spent 600 dollars buying lingerie I wanted to see you wear." The last part, a shamed whisper. He lowered his head and shivered. A blank look stayed on your face, then was replaced by a wicked smile.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you drew closer to him, still holding the evil bag.

"What was that?" You asked, pushing your chest into him. His ears felt so hot. He took a step back and you followed until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and you were leaning over him.

"I wanted to see you in them." He swallowed thickly, while you lightly poked a finger into his cheek and messed around with him in your own little way of playing with him.

Your eyes softened and you gave him this smile that radiated pure flattery.

"You thought about me?" You asked, your voiced filled with joy at the idea of your boyfriend thinking of you. He nodded, his brown hair slipping a bit and you pushed the loose strand back into place.

"Well...I guess I can't stay mad." Playfully, you shrugged as if you were letting him go this time. You gave Spencer back his personal space, much to his relief. Until he noticed you heading back to the bathroom off your bedroom. Bag still in hand.

"Where are you going?" He asked while his heartbeat slowly returned to normal, and he could no longer hear the blood rushing through his ears.

"To try these on. I can't let you just waste 600 dollars." Then you slipped behind the door and along with you so did Spencer's fears of rejection. What was he even afraid of?

[marinersubmariner]

Detail crops from my latest art

And some talk about this AU:

The concept was that this is a canon divergence branching off after TFA (hence Ben-with-scar). One of the many scenarios I like to consider is if they had a full role reversal within the course of the story, so in the middle act Ben turns to the light side just as Rey falls to the dark side. I think of it like an extension of the "missed connections" tragedy of TLJ, where they get close and then bounce off each other again, but this time in opposite directions. Like wavelengths at different frequencies, crossing in the middle and then peaking apart. And then the extreme discordance of them swapping sides makes it that much more satisfying when they finally fully align.

I like reformed Ben so much, I like getting to him earlier in the story, I like the potential for dark Rey to be much more vicious than him (given her baseline murderous rage in "hero" mode), and Ben having already learned from that and drawing on his own experience to pull her back.

While I wouldn't want to trade out the Kef Bir ocean fight and there's no need for a redundant lava battle, I do love the hypothetical idea of them on Mustafar because the volcanic environment is so intense and operatic. Even though TROS technically uses Mustafar, it's wasted as such an unrecognizable throwaway, whereas I wanted it in a way that specifically related to Vader and actually visited the castle. And here I just think it's fun to play it up as an inversion of the snowy Starkiller Base setting—dark Ben and light Rey surrounded by ice, light Ben and dark Rey surrounded by fire.

Also… I'm addicted to atmospheric space Icelands (cf. Lah'mu). Speaking of which, yes I used the final scene of The Northman for reference. (sorry they're not naked)

If I had really committed to my preferred headcanon for post-Kylo Ben I would have given him a white saber, but I've come to associate Ben so strongly with the color blue that I can never pass that up. And aesthetically the contrast of the blue and red just looks cooler and more interesting. I like blue too much!!! Kyber healing will have to wait for another day.