#i need more sweater vests......

[autobahnmp3]

what’s your favourite outfit that you have? and what’s your go-to outfit when you are just going out for some quick errands?

my go to outfit is always some slacks a t-shirt and a sweater (i have favourites ofc and then home sweaters that I don't wear out) and the black coat i got on sale one year abd it's been a staple ever since. (it's thin but with a thick sweater it's ok in the winter) and i also have a black sweater vest with a bold red text embroidery? that's been my fave recently

my fave outfit actually might be my sweater vest paired with black slacks and black platform boots. (and a black coat that is too thin for the winter 😔) i wish i had a black turtleneck to put under the vest tho i think that would complete the look

[icterid-rubus]

A complete panic knit for my friend. I started to think about what would happen if we had another 18° winter and so pumped out this hardy, if unpractical, sweater. It’s non-superwash wool, but I figure it’s better to have as an option on a really cold day than not. I finished it off with some little bone buttons that I love so much.

[hallowclave]

First pass at designs for a WxS soul eater au (more info here)

[akindredskillet]

they are special to me !!

[cinewhore]

Dedicating this weekend to fall-ifying my apartment and wardrobe so help me god

[foxcassius]

also i think i planned out all the sweaters i want to make next year. at the very least, i have 8 planned. 6 for me 1 for jenni and 1 for jiwon

[misfitfashion]

not gonna lie I'm very sad I didn't make any of my Halloween-aesthetic outfits into real outfits last year. SO. I'm gonna do some cutesy lovecore-mixed-with-other-stuff fits for Valentine's Day/February in general. I have eight (8) whole ideas so hopefully I can get at least one of em realized by the end of the month. Maybe my first photo post will be a Valentine's outfit! I can dream....

[tabslabs]

Me & my mom: listening to jazz My mom: it’s kinda neat how your great grandma met her husband at a dance club Me, who has known this fact since I was 5, just now realizing that dance clubs in nyc in the late 30s were playing jazz when they met: huh.. yea

[piplupod]

i think the government should give me a free supply of yarn

[chintzwife]

i bought a skein of merino wool yarn for an in-progress project but it turned out not to match the existing yarn SO now I have fancy schmancy dark red yarn! but what do i use it for????????????????

[outdatedprometheus]

Hey. If any of my followers are Jewish. 1. Happy Hanukkah. 2. Begging for help. I'm not but my sister is and she invited my family to go to her synagogue's Hanukkah service tonight. Did not occur to me to ask what the fuck to wear. On the one hand. Church clothes? But also we were raised Catholic and I'm not sure if what I would consider church clothes is too much yaknow? I'm probably way overthinking this but like. Autism, social rules, etc.

[illdothehotvoice]

Cosplay is such an expensive hobby and i don't go to enough cons or post any pictures online why do i do this to myself i just really like sewing sdhgjkfdnh

[luveline]

spencer x reader where she kisses his forehead and he’s 🥹🥹

“Spencer, are you dead?” 

Spencer ignores your question by accident. Heavy head in hand, he’s slowly sinking closer and closer to the hotel breakfast table to rest. His neck twinges with the effort it takes to stay up. 

“Spencer,” you say more sharply. 

His eyes track like the air is honey. He settles on your sluggishly while offering no greeting, tiredness pulling at him. “My eyes hurt,” he offers. 

“Make you some tea.” 

“Um, okay.” He’s disappointed when you leave, then dozing, face pressed to his desk as itchy eyes press along lids. It feels as though his eyelashes have turned inward. 

You return with a cup. Spencer grabs it blindly, lifts his head to squint one eye open. “What?” he asks. 

There isn’t tea in the cup. There are tea bags, two of them, wetted and leaking tan beige along the white china of the mug. Distinctly no tea. You must be tired too. 

“They’re for your eyes, Spence. They’ll make your eyes hurt less. The caffeine restricts your blood vessels to calm the inflammation, and the tea itself soothes sore skin.” 

“How do you know that?” he asks. 

You rest a hand on his shoulder. “I read about it in a book of modern home remedies. It really works. Here, can you tip your head back?” 

Spencer is very, very tired, but your voice is nice, your fingertips gentle against his neck, so he tips his head back. He doesn’t know how terrible he looks, having forgotten his untucked shirt, his rumpled sweater vest, his hair sticking up all over the place. 

“Close your eyes,” you murmur. 

Spencer shuts them. 

���It’s cold,” you warn, “but it’ll feel nice.” 

Spencer doesn’t care. He waits for you to move. The tea bags you place on his closed eyes feel cold and at first they sting just a touch, perhaps tea finding its way through his lashes, and he can’t confess to noticing a difference in soreness. 

“Hey… what’s this? It looks like it hurts?” you ask, drawing a short line over the side of the bridge of his nose. There’s an indent there that feels like a bruise.

“I fell asleep at my desk with my glasses on,” he says. “They dug in.” 

“You were up late, I’m guessing. Maybe you should go back to the room.” 

“No, I can’t. I’ll be okay. Thank you for the… tea.” 

Your hand rests tentatively against his cheek. He can’t open his eyes to see what you're feeling, and he doesn’t need to. There’s emotion to be felt in your slow strokes, how your thumb rests along his jaw as your nail scratches to the top of his ear, then behind the shell of it. It’s intimate enough to summon a different kind of tiredness. Exhaustion swapped for content. He could sleep in the curve of your palm all day. 

“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’m gonna take them off for a second to check the damage.” 

You take them. Your breath draws near. 

A warmth presses to his forehead atop his left eyebrow. Spencer doesn’t know what it is until your nose graces just above it, and your lips part —it’s a kiss. You’re kissing him sweetly, your fingers sewing through his hair. 

He peels his sore eyes open to look at you. You lean back as unhurried as you’d ferried forward, your hand cradling the nape of his neck. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask. 

Spencer stares up at you. In that moment, tired, aching, and balmed, he’s completely in love with you. You must see a little of it, your lips parting again in an unnamed emotion. It’s sheer luck that you’re the only one awake with him, because if any of his teammates saw the way he was looking at you they’d never let him forget it. And, he gets to see your reaction. Your partial smile. 

“Did that help?” you ask. 

You must mean the tea. “I feel better.” 

“Yeah? Do you…” Your voice turns to cashmere, a thread of bemusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Would another one be okay?” 

Spencer can only nod as you wrap your arms around him and position your mouth at the soft skin where his hair meets his forehead. When you kiss him again, his eyes flutter shut. 

“You really need some help with your insomnia,” you murmur. 

Spencer wonders if maybe you’d want to be that help. You must have melatonin in your kisses.

[bookishsiren]

the mid 20s transmasc experience is thinking you had a crush on your music teacher in highschool but realizing a decade later that you really just wanted his fashion sense

[factual-fantasy]

!!PLEASE READ END MESSAGE BEFORE REBLOGGING!!

So guess who got a big break from their projects and was also informed about Clowns boundaries? <XD Me!!

I was super cautious to draw fanart of these characters at first.. But after getting some informative comments (thank you guys!) and thinking it though.. I don't think any of my artwork would cross a line. So here I am! And BOY do I have a lot of experimenting to do on these partial redesigns.

I'm sure you've noticed Sally is bright blue and very spikey. I was going for a young blue star look, but now that I'm looking at it.. ehh,, blue might not be her color, idk. Also her cool glow effect took so long to draw that I only drew it on 1 canvas. So definitely gotta think of a better way to draw her glow.. Barnaby needs some work too. I don't like how his fur patches came out. They look spray painted on.. Also Frank's vest and Sally's sweater took AGES to draw. I either need to find a faster way to draw them or just redesign them all together. Same with Poppys feathers, they took forever to color-- aaaa

ANYWAY, you guys get the point XDD First time drawing these guys to the fullest and my interpretations need some work. But I hope you like these drawings none the less!

Also important note!!

To avoid any potential drama or uncomfy stuff, please only tag this post as the individual characters, and "Welcome home arg" No other tags of any kind. No ships, canon or not- No exceptions. Just avoid any and all potential problems by tagging simply. Individual characters and the series name. This would be very much appreciated and would encourage me to come back and draw more Welcome Home stuff. Thanks you guys! <:)

[reidmarieprentiss]

The Profile of Attraction

Summary: Spencer tries to give you a profile at a club, you think he's the unsub.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: being at a club, reader wears a dress

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: just thinking about when this happened on the show lolol

main masterlist

The pulsating lights of the club made it hard to focus, and the blaring music didn’t help either. You were still standing at the bar, sipping your drink when a tall man approached you, his demeanor commanding your attention. He had an air of authority, and despite the casual setting, you could tell he was someone serious.

“Excuse me,” he said, leaning in closer so you could hear him. “I need to ask if you’ve seen someone. Tall guy, kinda lanky, doesn’t really look like he belongs in a place like this. Probably acting a little out of place, maybe observing more than participating?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to piece it together, but before you could respond, the man added, “I’m Derek Morgan. I’m with the FBI.”

Your eyes widened at that. The FBI? What kind of trouble was happening here?

“Um, actually, yeah,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the back of the room. “I was literally just talking to someone who fits that description a minute ago. He was being really weird, talking about how out of place everyone looked, making these, like, really specific observations.”

Morgan’s expression shifted slightly, his previously casual demeanor now replaced by a more urgent tone. "Can you show me?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room with growing intensity.

"Yeah, of course," you replied, your concern deepening. The uncomfortable feeling you’d had while talking to that man earlier now seemed more significant. You led Derek through the crowd, weaving between people dancing and chatting, trying to pinpoint where you had last seen him. Your heart pounded a little faster as you approached the area, your nerves heightened by the seriousness of the situation.

“There!” you finally said, spotting the man who had given you the creeps. He was standing awkwardly near the bar, wearing a sweater vest, completely out of place in the pulsating, lively atmosphere of the club.

Derek’s eyes zeroed in on the man, and without hesitation, he moved quickly, his expression focused and anxious, ready to make an arrest. But then, he paused abruptly, seeing the direction you were pointing in. He shot you a puzzled look. "Wait, sweetheart, can you be more specific?"

You nodded firmly, pointing again. "That one! The guy in the sweater vest."

Morgan's lips twitched, barely containing a laugh as he realized who you were referring to. He glanced at you, amusement dancing in his eyes, but he managed to keep it together. "Alright, come on." He guided you over as he approached the man, clearly trying to maintain his composure.

"Hey, man," Morgan called out as you both neared the guy in question. "This lady says you were freaking her out."

The man spun around immediately, his eyes wide with panic and hands raised in a gesture of apology. He looked utterly mortified. "What? I’m so sorry! I was just trying to give you the profile," he blurted out, his face flushed.

That was when Morgan lost it. He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, doubling over slightly as he slapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. "She thought you were the unsub, Reid!"

"The what?" you asked, feeling completely lost as you looked between the two men.

Still chuckling, Derek took a moment to catch his breath before turning back to you. "The unsub. It’s what we call the unknown subject of an investigation—the bad guy. But turns out, this guy," he gestured to Spencer, "is not the criminal you’re looking for. He’s just an FBI agent with a bit of a… let’s say, unique approach."

Spencer stood there, still red-faced, looking both embarrassed and apologetic. "I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just, uh, trying to give you the profile."

You couldn’t help but laugh, though you were still a little embarrassed yourself. "So, you’re with the FBI too?"

Spencer nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I didn’t mean to come off... creepy."

Morgan laughed harder, shaking his head. "Man, you’ve gotta work on your delivery, Reid."

You couldn’t help but join in the laughter, realizing how absurd the whole situation was. "Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about you being a serial killer then."

Spencer cracked a small, awkward smile, clearly relieved. "No, definitely not."

Derek noticed the way Spencer’s eyes glazed over, the telltale sign that only ever appeared when he was around someone he found particularly striking. Sensing an opportunity, Derek decided to throw him a bone, a playful grin forming on his face. “Alright… why don’t you try giving the profile again,” he said with a wink, “and I’ll go talk to more people, see what I can find out.”

Before Spencer could respond, Derek patted him on the back and walked off, leaving the two of you standing there. You glanced at Spencer, who looked momentarily flustered as if he didn’t expect to be left alone so quickly. He cleared his throat, shuffling on his feet awkwardly.

“Why did you think I was the unsub?” Spencer asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and lingering embarrassment. He peered at you, still a little baffled but trying to understand how you’d come to that conclusion.

You laughed softly, shaking your head, suddenly feeling a bit silly about it all. “I don’t know! You were just… standing there, kind of observing people without really interacting, and when you came over to me and started analyzing everyone, it just felt really... weird,” you admitted, feeling the flush rise to your cheeks. “I guess I got a little freaked out.”

Spencer blinked, and for a moment, his analytical brain kicked in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He looked genuinely apologetic, shifting his weight. “I was just profiling the crowd. I do it out of habit, honestly. I should’ve realized how it might come across.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, really. It’s just not everyday you meet an FBI agent at a club giving a profile on random people.”

Spencer smiled awkwardly, clearly relieved that you weren’t holding it against him. “I suppose it’s not the most typical introduction.”

You tilted your head, curious now that the initial misunderstanding had passed. “So, what was the profile you were giving me? You started but then… well, things got sidetracked.”

Spencer perked up at that, his eyes lighting up as he shifted into his more comfortable mode—explaining things. “Well, based on the way people are interacting here, you can tell who’s a regular and who’s not. For instance, you don’t seem like someone who comes to clubs often—your drink choice suggests you were looking for something familiar and safe, which indicates you might feel slightly out of place here.” He paused, glancing at your expression to make sure he wasn’t overstepping again.

You nodded, amused. “Okay, not bad. Go on.”

Spencer adjusted his sweater vest slightly, taking your encouragement as permission to continue. “And the way you were standing when I first approached, you were slightly turned away from the crowd, keeping an eye on the exit. It suggested you were a bit anxious, maybe uncomfortable with the environment.”

You blinked, impressed by how accurate his observations were. “Wow, you really don’t miss much, do you?”

He smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s kind of my job.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I really didn’t mean to scare you, though. I just... tend to see patterns in everything, even in social settings like this.”

You found yourself warming up to his awkward charm. “Well, next time, maybe lead with something a little less intense, like… ‘Hi, I’m ….’” You teased lightly.

Spencer chuckled softly, his gaze meeting yours with more confidence now. “Spencer. Noted. I’ll work on my introductions.”

"Spencer," you grinned, your voice taking on a playful tone, "Can I get your number? You know, in case I find myself in any trouble?"

Spencer felt the air shift around him, and his mouth suddenly went dry as he realized the flirtation in your voice. His mind raced to come up with a response, but then his eyes fell, almost involuntarily, to your dress. The fabric clung to you, sheer in just the right places, accentuating the lines of your figure. The asymmetry of the hemline added a touch of elegance, while the sheerness of the material hinted at something far more daring.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. His brain was calculating, running through statistics and social cues, but nothing was helping him navigate this unexpected situation.

"I, uh…" Spencer stammered, clearly flustered. "You—you'd probably be safer not relying on me for protection." He managed a nervous laugh, though his eyes quickly darted back up to your face, struggling not to get distracted again by the provocative dress you were wearing.

You tilted your head, your grin widening. "Oh, I don't know, Spencer," you teased. "Something tells me you'd be more helpful than you're letting on." You let the words hang in the air, your gaze holding his as you patiently awaited his next move.

Spencer's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well... in case of any trouble, I suppose you could use a direct line," he finally said, fumbling with his phone as he handed it over to you, trying not to think too hard about how flustered he'd become.

“And I’ll be able to reach you this way?” you asked, your fingers brushing against his as you took the phone from his hand. There was a playful challenge in your voice, one that had Spencer nearly frozen in place.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, you will,” he replied, his voice slightly strained but still soft. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if he were trying to process the situation, but his thoughts were clearly scattered.

“Great,” you said, your lips curving into a smile that held the promise of mischief. You tapped in your number and handed the phone back to him, your fingers again briefly grazing his. “I’ll be calling, Spencer.”

His name on your lips seemed to hang in the air, and Spencer, despite his usually sharp and quick mind, could only manage a nod, his heart racing in his chest. He watched you with wide eyes, both intrigued and unnerved by the way you carried yourself with such ease, your confidence weaving a spell that left him slightly off balance.

As you turned to walk away, your dress catching the light just right, Spencer stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, already wondering what he’d say if and when you did decide to call.

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