contrast shorts

Every single tall person is totally okay with being made fun of for being tall. You ask how the weather is up there, and they just grin and go “Yeah hahah I’m tall.”

Every single short person is fueled by rage at their height. Make fun of them at your own peril. You ask how the weather is down there, and they instantly go from zero to “Bitch I will cut you.”


Take a moment and think about mermaids. Think about mermaid who live in the waters of Hawaii, with eyelashes made of sea-foam and tails the color of the sun. Think about mermaids sitting on the bottom of the ocean, watching the surfers above them in fascination and pointing out the patterns and designs on the bottom of their boards like children pointing out stars.

Think about mermaids in the Mediterranean being able to ‘speak human’ but they can only speak the dead languages. Think about Mediterranean mermaids still following old trade routes that ships from thousands of years followed to get from one place to the next.

Think about mermaids from the deep sea, odd colors illuminating off of their skin and tails. Think about them with skin nearly transparent and eerie smiles of teeth like needles and claws. Think about deep sea mermaids with bioluminescent tails three times the length of man.

Think about mermaids the size of whales, their upper body seeming like that of giant. Think about these mermaids swimming in large pods and helping out the smaller mermaids, fascinated by their loose, feathery tails in contrast to their relatively short stiff ones. Think about these mermaids trying to copy the smaller mermaid’s swimming patterns with quick flicks of their tails and instead sending a large splash at a nearby boat.

Think about mermaids in the tropics, with fancy fins that seem to ripple and blow in the current, creating illusions of movement to people above. Think about mermaids with fins that look like feathers who like to jump out of the water as if they’re flying before diving back into the sea in giggles. Think about topical mermaids with tails that reflect the colors of the sky and color the ocean with colors that people never thought the ocean could turn.

Think about mermaids in rivers who slither across the floor of the water like snakes and pinch at peoples toes like crayfish. Think about these mermaids living by huge waterfalls, the ones with dams built over them having long since been abandoned in favor for some other point of the river, even if it isn’t a traditional waterfall home. Think about river mermaids meeting with river spirits and nymphs and discussing daily events while listening to motorboats jet past above them.

Think about mermaids who live in creeks made from inland glacial melt in places like Glacier. Think about them sitting contentedly under a long thin waterfall, watching as cars march across the windy road far far above. Think about them writing messages on the cliff walls with the rocks from the bottom of their creeks. Think about them with short but pliable tails that they use to flit over rapids and jump playfully over bridges surpassing their domain.

Think about mermaids who live in streams of glacial melt in places like Greenland. Think about them being able to watch the stars above them in fascination through the clear blue water. Think about them dodging through the inside of large icy glaciers, sleeping on thick sheets of ice that seem to just barely be holding onto the glacier but which their family has slept on for years. Think about them with tails so blue that they seem to glow even when they’re twenty feet underwater, a melody of pastels.

Think about mermaids in the far north, with eyelashes frosted over and lips as blue as the water around them. Think about mermaids in the far north with tails of dark blues, purples and silvers. Imagine them breaking through the ice whenever their waters freeze over and rolling around the top of it in jest, laughing as they skid and slide across the ice. Think about mermaids in the far north who speak in tongues to trolls who live in caves in cliff-faces.

Think about mermaids in the north so old they remember vikings and teach the young Old Norse, believing it to still be the language of the people in the region. Think of mermaids in the Mediterranean that remember the epics that they heard rhapsodes sing of back in the fifth century.

Think about jellyfish mermaids with trailing tentacles instead of tails. Think about them with large umbrella-shaped bells wrapped around their waists like skirts. Think about these mermaids using their tentacles to jokingly sting each other, but never going towards a fish-mermaid in fear of stinging them. Think about jellyfish mermaids with bioluminescent bells and skin with patterns and designs unique to each one of them.

Think about mermaids who live in lava. Because, you know, why not? Think about them with tails of liquid precious metals. Mermaids with tails of liquid gold, nickel, diamonds, and obsidian; their tails not having a definite form and bits and pieces of them flying out into the lava. Think about their tails solidifying as soon as they make contact with water, pulling them down to the bottom of the ocean where they’re forced to live until they die. Think about them daring each other to flip their tails out into the air, seeing who can stay out of the lava the longest and not have their tails solidify.

Think about space mermaids. Think about mermaids who live in the seas of Titan, living in a sea of methane and ethane while watching the thick orange clouds circle above their heads. Think about mermaids on Enceladus, living deep in the interior next to the warm water. Think about adventurous mermaids swimming up into the cooler waters to try to see the ice fountains on the planet’s icy surface, most of them being sucked out and launched into space.

Think about mermaids on Europa. Think about them living in the ocean between the icy surface and the rocky interior. Think about the mermaids grabbing rocks from the interior and scratching long lines across the surface so as to play games and replicate the linear fractures on the surface. Think about these mermaids who live in the deep black darkness of the ocean, but swim up to the thinner parts of the ice sheet of the planet to watch the stars and galaxies light up around them when they aren’t facing Jupiter. Think about these mermaids having different constellations that they point out to others, different myths based off of them and how they arrived in the sky.

Just think about mermaids.

Why Dave and Jake should totally be friends
  • Dave would 100% love Jake’s fuckin vocabulary, and, knowing Dave he’d probably pick up some of it too, which would be hilarious. 
  • Dave puts on an ironic facade while Jake puts on an adventurer facade, they both use their facades to hide their insecurities and act cocky, they’d be able to relate to each other.  
  • Dave’s “I don’t want to be a hero, the idea of heroism is corrupt for me, but I guess I am one anyway” and Jake’s “I want to be a hero like the ones I see in movies, but I always fall short” contrast each other and they could probably help each other with that.
  • Both have had very simmular cases of physical abuse (Bro and Brobot) with clear visual parallels through the comic (See [S] Dave: Strife and [S] Prince of Heart: Rise up. And the couple pages and logs after that)
  • Not to mention issues with Dirk/Bro they could talk about and help each other out with. 
  • They could also make fun of Dirk, in a friendly/brotherly way of course. “Haha fuckin’ weeb”. 
  • Both were very isolated.
  • Both have hilarious and odd metaphors or terms that they say, even if no one else totally gets them.
  • Jake loves Alpha Dave’s SB&HJ movies, he’d probably love to read Dave’s comics, it’s something they could jam about. 
  • Jake’s shitty movie taste combined with the probably hundreds of shitty romcom movies Dave has watched with his boyfriend. 
  • Dave would still watch Jake’s shitty movies, even though Dave would enjoy them ironically, unlike Jake.
  • Jake is a huge crybaby while Dave tends to keep it all in (Though, not as much so for Dave after the RetJohn and dating Karkat), they could probably find a good balance. 
  • Both of them have some kind of PTSD or at least show signs of it.

so this was what i’ve been doing the entire past couple of days. dont look at me

animating Sans was fun ‘cause he doesn’t need lip-syncing (lol) so I could focus more on his expressions instead ( -v-)b

audio/insp from here!

Knuckles: Boxer!Ashton (Part 3)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven  | Part Eight

[Following anyone/everyone who leaves some form of thoughtful feedback x]

- Knuckles Playlist

Pulling up.

Coming down x

You take a final look in the vanity mirror, adjusting bits of your done-up hair to reach a balanced mixture of messy yet elegant. There’s a certain strand that’s been having a time taunting you all day, springing from it’s bobbypin every chance it gets, and you decide to just gift it the freedom it’s worked so hard for, removing the clip at the last second and dropping it on the dresser. Black tie events are far from your forté, but you’re trying your best to play the part for Ashton. The last time you wore a dress this long or heels this high had to be your senior prom, and the jitters in your stomach make you feel like you’re getting ready for it all over again: nervous to see your date, paranoid about something going wrong, trying too hard to impress people you don’t know. At least this time you can look forward to alcohol being there.

You grab your phone and a clutch full of necessities before heading out the door, slowly making your way down the steps as you’re reminded how difficult it is to walk in heels. Whose bright idea was it to invent these things? They’ll be kicked off by the end of the night, no doubt. Your feet are already starting to hate you.

At the edge of the sidewalk a tall figure awaits your descent. He’s sporting a classic black and white tuxedo perfectly tailored to accentuate his striking physique, a thin tie hung from the collar rather than a bow. It’s quite a contrast to the athletic shorts and t-shirts you’re used to seeing him in, but you definitely aren’t complaining. The mop of brown curls that usually fall over his eyes have been trimmed and styled for the occasion, and the two week old beard he claimed he was too lazy to shave has disappeared from his chiseled face, cleaning him up significantly. Ashton has always been more of the ruggedly handsome type to you; the kind of person who looks his best straight after rolling out of bed in the morning. However this new side of him, one so sharp and expensive, inflicts serious damage to your will power, and it takes every ounce of your conscious control to not just blow off the event and drag him straight back up to your apartment.

Keep reading

Dozing Off

Originally posted by prettyboyspence

Requested by - @imagicana

“So picture this. Reader bad ass af and super flirty think morgan but female version, always flirts and teases Reid. One day he teases her, they end up fucking in an interrogation room”

Warnings - smut and unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids)

Y/N and Spencer couldn’t be anymore different than they already were. Y/N was someone who would always be the first into any building ready to arrest the unsub. Spencer was the one that would stay behind, more often than not, to assist from the precinct. Y/N would be the one to squabble with Rossi and Tara over what the best sports car available was. Spencer was the one who would rather read the bibliography of Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the father of modern forensics. Y/N would boast with Derek and Emily about sexual escapades, whereas Spencer would catch up on some paperwork. Y/N was the first one out onto the dance floor and Spencer was the first one to leave. 

Y/N treated Spencer the way that Derek and Penelope treated each other. Y/N would call him “vanilla thunder” flustering him to no end. Spencer would always correct her grammar causing Y/N immense frustration. Thus causing Y/N to retaliate by stating false facts which annoyed Spencer to all hell. Everyone knew that one day the two would end up together, other than Spencer and Y/N themselves. The two were head over heels in love with the other. They had this fiery chemistry. They had a love/hate relationship of sorts. And above all they were both immensely frustrated, sexually. 

When Spencer thought Y/N was going over the case file she would instead be thinking of him pounding into her wearing just his tie. When Y/N thought Spencer was biting his lip in concentration he was trying to get the image of her screaming his name in ecstasy out of his head. The two were complete opposites, yet there was an animalistic sexual tension between the two.

Their lips collided, ravaging the other. Barely getting the time to lock the door to the interrogation room, Spencer picked up Y/N, as if she weighed less than a feather before placing her on the desk. Y/N wrapped her legs around Spencer, slowly grinding into him as her lips placed small wet kisses on his neck. Spencer let out a groan before he rushed to pull up Y/N’s pencil skirt and felt her wetness through her underwear. The pale pink boy shorts contrasting with the dark dusty pink from Y/N’s juices. Y/N reciprocated the feral actions by undoing Spencer’s pants and massaging him through his boxers.

“You’re so wet” moaned out Spencer, stroking her over her underwear as he left kisses by her collarbones, leaving Y/N a quivering mess.

“It’s all for you, Doctor” breathed out Y/N, while sticking her hand down his boxers to stroke him, smirking as she knew that being called doctor was a massive turn on for her teammate.

Not being able to wait any longer, Spencer slid aside Y/N’s underwear before entering her. He let out a moan, not being used to a tight space. Y/N bit her lip, holding back any moans so as to not alert anyone left in the building.

“Move” whimpered out Y/N.

“You sure?” asked Spencer.

“Yes I’m sure. Just fuck me” yelped out Y/N as Spencer began to thrust into her.

Spencer ripped open Y/N’s button down shirt and started playing with her breasts, making sure not to leave one out. He played with her nipples as he continued to drive his cock into her.

Y/N’s moans started to get closer to another as her legs started to shake from the rush of nerves. Her walls started to clench around him signaling her orgasm. Spencer removed a hand from her breasts and started to draw figure eights on Y/N’s clit urging along the arrival of her climax. The culmination of the euphoric look on Y/N’s face and the clenching walls surrounding his engorged self, ushered on his own climax.

“Y/N, you okay?” asked Spencer.

Y/N jolted up from her previous lying down position on the couch.

“Yeah, I just dozed off” replied Y/N, yawning, as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Knowing that she wouldn’t get any further sleep without dreaming about Spencer, Y/N tried to focus on finishing the paperwork. Spencer was the man the Y/N continuously dreamed about. He was the one that she thought about when getting off. He was the one that she would call if she needed help. But he was too perfect and she knew that he deserved better. He deserved a beautiful, blonde hair, blue eyed woman whose intelligence rivaled his. Unaware of Spencer’s compassion and affection for her, she thought that he was unobtainable. 


A/N It has been a long time since I wrote smut. I apologize if it sucks! I also know that this is A LOT shorter than my normal fics, I’m sorry. Smut just takes more time and effort for me to write. I hope ya’ll enjoy it regardless!

old T-shirt


A/N : For my first ever Harry one shot, I hope this is good and does ‘From The Dining Table’ justice.

Word Count : 1700+

Summary : Harry sees a picture of Y/N on her new boyfriends Instagram, and it breaks his heart.

                                                       * * *

Light cascades through the half turned blinds, torching the room inside and revealing tiny dust particles dancing around Harry’s head. Behind his translucent eyelids he stirs as a disgruntled huff escapes his chapped, raw lips and the sour taste and smell of alcohol and cheap, sweaty sex floods Harry’s nostrils before he’s taken his first breath. 

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some phone doodles of my OC akane b/c I havent drawn her in a long time ;; so this was to practice drawing her hair again

Yes [Reggie Mantle x Reader]

This is my first Reggie Mantle fanfic. It’s nothing but fluff and cliches. Please give me feedback and ideas for more fics. Love, love. 


There was nothing that I hated more than parties. For some reason unbeknownst to my friends, the idea of being amongst hundreds of sweaty bodies tightly packed together and moving up and down to slightly hypnotic electronic music was not my idea of fun. If it were up to me I wouldn’t go within a 20-mile radius of a party but as per usual, it wasn’t up to me. “Don’t look now but I’m pretty sure that Reggie is staring at you.”

My angst filled thoughts were cut short by a tipsy Veronica who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “Don’t be silly Ronnie.” I tucked a stray strand of my curly brown hair behind my ear. “Why would Reggie even glance at me? He’s probably looking at you. I mean, why wouldn’t he be?”

A small smile played at her lips as she replied. “As much as I like the spotlight, I don’t steal it. It’s not my time to shine, darling.”

Just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. It only took me a couple of seconds to figure out why. Reggie was no longer standing with his friends. He was closer, much closer and it seemed as if Veronica’s disappearance didn’t deter him. I could feel my heart speed up as he took the final step into hearing distance.

“Uh, hey,” he started. His 6”3 frame towered over me in a way that made me feel vulnerable. I knew that from his height he would easily be able to see down the low cut black dress that my friends had forced me into. Looking up I was surprised to find that his eyes were glued to the brown bottle in his hands. He’s nervous. Good.

“Hi Reggie,” I smiled as I brought my hand up to fiddle with my jade necklace. “What brings you to this side of the room?”

His eyes flickered to mine momentarily before reconnecting with the bottle. “I was wondering if you wanted to dance.”


“Okay cool let’s… wait, what?” he stumbled over his words as he realised what I had said and the grip on his bottle tightened.

“Sorry, Reggie but I don’t want to dance,” I said as I pushed myself off the counter that I had perched on. “However, I wouldn’t mind going for a walk?”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly into a smile and he locked his dark eyes with mine. “Sure.” He placed the bottle on the counter. “A walk sounds great.” With his confirmation, I took hold of his hand and pulled him out of the crowded house.

As soon as we walked through the door I was hit by the cold night air which made me regret allowing Betty to convince me that leaving my jacket at home was a good idea. “Are you cold?” Reggie asked intuitively.

“Just a little, but it’s okay.” This was proven a lie by the involuntary teeth chatter at the end of my sentence which caused Reggie to chuckle.

“C’mon. I’m pretty sure I have a spare hoodie in my car.”

The walk to the car didn’t take too long as Reggie had come to the party early to help set up and therefore had managed to get a parking on the property. I stood by awkwardly as he popped the trunk and pulled out the letterman jacket that was at the top of the pile of junk in there. “Will this do?”

Unable to speak without sounding like a complete idiot, I nodded. Reggie smiled, closed the trunk and then helped me into his jacket. Due to Reggie being somewhat of a giant and my contrasting short stature, the arms of the jacket were way too long. Noticing this, he pushed up the right sleeve so that he could grab my hand.

“So Mr Hotshot, out of all the girls at the party, why did you choose to walk over to me?”

“Do you want the long story or the short one?” Reggie asked as he pulled a comical face causing me to giggle.

“I have time,” I stated with a smirk and gently nudged him accidently starting a nudging war which ended with him going a little too hard and pushing me into a hedge we were walking past.

“Oh my God are you okay?” he rushed out as he swiftly pulled me out of the greenery. He had worry etched onto his face and in the seriousness of the question I could do nothing but respond by laughing. Realising that I was completely fine, he joined in and eventually the both of us had to take a seat on the sidewalk because it became too hard to laugh and stand at the same time.

“So you were going to tell me a story,” I said as I sobered up.

“Right I was.” Reggie put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him as we watched a lone car drive past us. Instinctively I nestled my head into his shoulder and glanced up at him to make sure that it was okay. A shy smile played on his lips and in the light of the street lamps I could vaguely make out a slight tint of red on his cheeks. “You wanted to know why I chose you in the crowd tonight.” I nodded. “The truth is, I didn’t. I chose you long before but never found the opportunity to talk to you. On your first day, you impressed me by standing up for yourself when Cheryl made fun of you for not looking like one of her Barbie dolls. A month later you took my breath away when you beat the Pussycats at the talent show. That same day you surprised me by not accepting Josie’s offer to join them.

You were different to all the other girls in Riverdale. You didn’t need the praise of others in order to excel at something. You didn’t want the spotlight. Everything you did, you did because you enjoyed it. I barely knew you but I seemed to fall for you every day. So naturally, when I saw you sitting alone at the party, I wanted to talk to you. If Ronnie hadn’t caught me staring and gone over to you herself, I probably would have spent the night looking at you from afar and wondering what it was like to talk to you, to touch you, to kiss you.”

“Reggie,” I breathed out breaking the silence that had settled over us after he had finished talking. “How do I know that I’m not just going to be another name on a list?”

“I would never do that… not to you.” Reggie shifted us to that we were facing each other. “I know that it may seem a bit soon for me to say this to you but for me, this has been going on for longer than one night. I’m in love with you. I would never try to hurt you and I would do all things in my power to protect you. I know that I’ve done stupid things in the past and I know that I’m a bit of a jerk but could you please give me a chance to prove that I can be different?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, my eyes travelled down to his lips as we both slowly leant in. It was only when our lips were lightly touching that I let my answer fill the air around us.



🐘  Opposites Attract (feat. Woozi’s hot buns + THAT GROWN MAN SWEATSHIRT BRING IT BACK)
Request: ✔  (Anon) || Masterlist

The first time you met, you called him an “angry little fella”. Admittedly, he had a reason to be angry as you also spilt your coffee on him but whilst you should’ve been more apologetic, you were thrown off guard by his reaction. In your defence, you’ve never heard that amount of swear words fly out of someone’s mouth so quickly. It contrasted with his short height and strawberry coloured hair that you frankly found adorable (you would later half-heartedly apologize for judging him solely based on his appearance before ruining it by pinching his cheeks). When you handed him your number for dry-cleaning and quickly purchased a new t-shirt from a nearby department store, he had maintained a level glare at you and said nothing else the entire time. You paid him no heed, and filled the silence with your humming, although every once in a while you would shoot him a sheepish grin. 

He absolutely hated you.

Which of course meant that fate had something in store for you. When you showed up at the Pledis building the next week for your internship, you were surprised to find that you would be working under an idol. “He’s really one of our rising star producers, though he’s only a young man,” they explained to you, leaving you anticipating. You didn’t really follow the idol-scene, but that didn’t make it any less glamorous. You remember entering the practice room, greeting and introducing yourself to all of the members of Seventeen politely before being led to the recording studio. His back was turned from you when you opened the door, headphones snug over his head and cup of coffee in his hand. You had let out an amused sound of recognition, thanking the employee who brought you there before sneaking up behind the man, intending to give him a good-hearted scare. However, you had not been aware of just how immersed the man was in his music as the moment you tapped his shoulder, he gave a jerk and whipped around, effectively tipping the contents of his coffee cup all over you. His eyes had widened in panic, immediately reaching out to try and pat your clothes dry, which is when you giggled and he lifted his head to look at you. 



Beethoven - Piano Sonata no. 29 in Bb Major, “Hammerklavier”

I try to keep my blog varied, and not post music by the same composer twice in a row, but I had listened to Beethoven’s 6th symphony the other day and held off that blog post until today, and today I had a very, very strong itch to wipe the digital dust off of the titan that is the Hammerklavier sonata. I remember in high school, when I was getting more and more into classical music, I was excited to listen to this sonata, because everything I read about it spoke about its epic length and scope. But I also remember being disappointed, because to me, “Epic” Beethoven was something like his 5th piano concerto. This sonata was…weird. It turned me off. It seemed incomprehensible, especially the last movement, a fugue that didn’t sound like anything I’d heard before. As the years passed and my musical tastes ‘matured’ a bit more, I came back to the Hammerklavier and was able to follow along with a new mindset. Beethoven published the work as “Große Sonata für das Hammerklavier”, and indeed he puts a lot of emphasis on “Große”. You’re immediately grabbed by the strength and energy of the first five bars, the main theme that introduces Beethoven’s obsession with the interval of the 3rd [musicologists could go on forever about the different examples of Beethoven building all of the sonata’s musical ideas out of this interval, if you wanted to deconstruct it to the extreme]. And the movement goes on through deceptive “pretty” moments, to jittery octaves, to arpeggios of a single note across the keyboard to “cleanse the palate”, and overall a huge emphasis on counterpoint. The movement is pretty heavy, loud, and, under the surface, complicated. It’s contrasted with the super short scherzo, a playful movement cutting between lighthearted and dramatic music for comedic effect. As if improvising, we get a sudden glide from the bass of the keyboard all the way to the highest note, and then go right back to the lighthearted skipping theme. The short and playful is then contrasted by the long and deeply emotional adagio. It is played anywhere between 15 and 20 minutes [the recording I have with Christopher Eschenbach stretches to nearly half an hour!], and the opening chorale gets expanded through subtle variation as the music goes on, reaching operatic heights, and it sticks out with its relative thinness and solemnity, in compared to the opening extroverted toccata. Despite the pain, we are brought into a major key resolution and coda, a nod of acceptance that things will get better. The last movement, I’m going to argue, is almost…Postmodern. What I mean is that, in a meta-musical gesture, it sounds like Beethoven thinking aloud “I want to end this sonata with a fugue, how will I write it?”, the “cleansing the palate” single note arpeggio comes back, he plays with two different contrapuntal exercises, both sounding Baroque, as if Beethoven is looking through Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier for guidance. But he stops short each time, shakes his head, and tries something else. After a few “restarts”, he finally gets to The Fugue. And how insane it is. He uses a long, complicated melody, that modulates and uses chromatic runs, and writes it into a sprawling ocean of sound, using fugue writing conventions and a sewing-machine type Baroque mentality to create something dense, nearly atonal, robotic. But it isn’t a strict fugue, and breaks the rules here and there [it wouldn’t be True Beethoven without rule breaking]. There is so much conflict, a constant drive forward that is difficult to follow along, but its mesmerizing, until the inevitable slap of the last chords. Throughout his music, Beethoven consistently tries to push the boundaries of convention. Almost like William Blake, a contemporary English poet, Beethoven takes what came before, destroys it, and builds something new with the remains. At the end of the day, we have one of the greatest piano sonatas ever written, by one of the greatest composers of all time. But I’m concerned that all this hype, all this discussion about Beethoven and his music, makes it seem like something on a far off pedestal that only a few “gifted” listeners can enjoy. That’s not true at all. Despite the flowery language, the myth making, the academic and analytical writing, Beethoven is human, and his music is humanist. You don’t need theory to appreciate it, because he always writes from within.


1. Allegro

2. Scherzo: Assai vivace

3. Adagio sostenuto 

4. Introduzione, Largo…Allegro - Fuga: Allegro risoluto