nail adornments

@roadswewalk I wish I had any photoshop skills whatsoever! This is a lovely idea…I hope you won’t mind that I ran with it:


Home again. Sherlock is alone, or he’s supposed to be. John has placed him on twenty-four hour watch, and taken the first shift himself. He’s sat Sherlock down in his chair, and placed a mug of tea at his left elbow, but he won’t sit, won’t talk. He shuffles around in the kitchen, fussing about with a bag he picked up at Boots. 

Sherlock’s whole body is a mass of aching withdrawal and bruises. He is a walking, breathing pang. He doesn’t want to take paracetamol, or whatever else John has arranged for him to have. He wants to crawl every inch of his recovery on his own. He can’t allow whatever help John is preparing to offer.  

John clears his throat. He hovers in the kitchen doorway, his left hand clenching and releasing. 

His right hand is coiled into a fist. No: his fingers are curled around something. A small bottle, a vial. Sherlock’s stomach flips, as his mind whispers sweet possibilities. What will he say, if John offers him a top-up, a little something to ease the pain?

No. The answer has to be no. Besides, John would never. John is here to watch him, to make sure he doesn’t use. What, then? 

Sherlock shifts in his chair. The small movement sets his nerves to screaming, but he won’t complain. For John, he’ll breathe through each moment. 

For John, he will speak, will try to break whatever stalemate this is. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Mm.” A non-answer. 

Sherlock wills himself to continue through this moment, and the next. He picks up the mug, deliberately, lifts it to his mouth, and sips tea. He waits. He has no choice.

“I wonder–” John starts. He stares at the empty air behind Sherlock. Shakes his head. Rubs his eyes. 

“Yes?” 

Sherlock wonders, not for the first time, how things became so strained between them. He knows. Of course he does: too much damage, too much heartache, too many words unspoken. 

John shakes his head, walks stiffly to the desk, and pulls out the hardbacked chair. He places it inches away from Sherlock’s chair, and sits. So close, so quickly. Sherlock blinks at his tea, risks a glance at John’s face. John is looking down at his right hand. His fingers uncoil. Sherlock frowns at what he sees there. 

Nail polish. Sea Blue. 

When John speaks, his voice is gruff. “Hold out your hand.”

“John, I assure you, I am in need of many things, but a manicure is not one of them.”

John shakes his head. “No. We’re doing this.” He shakes the bottle, much more vigorously than necessary. He unscrews the cap, rests the bottle on the arm of the chair, and removes the brush, careful not to let it drip. He holds out his hand for Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock places the mug carefully on the side table. His hands are inclined to shake. He tries to keep still as he offers his left hand, his palm resting on John’s. John paints a swath of nail polish over Sherlock’s thumbnail. Sherlock sighs. The sensation is pleasant. Cool, in contrast to the heat of John’s hand. 

“Not that I mind, John, but are you going to tell me why?” He can’t help asking. The silence is too intense, too monumental. He shudders as John works on his index finger. 

“Withdrawal. You’re going to start to itch soon,” John says. His voice is whisper soft. He follows the ritual he’s established for himself: dipping the brush, shifting his hand under Sherlock’s to hold him still, running the brush over the nail of Sherlock’s middle finger, then his ring finger. 

“And?”

“The nail polish is bright, and your nails will feel a bit different to you. I’m hoping it will serve as a reminder not to scratch. No good going through withdrawal if you come out on the other end with all your skin hanging off.”

Sherlock chuckles, his voice low. His skin already feels like it’s hanging off. It would make no difference to him, if he stripped it all raw, but he will try not to, for John.

John finishes with Sherlock’s left hand. He leans over it, his thumb running over Sherlock’s skin, and blows a light stream of air over the nails. 

Sherlock closes his eyes, feeling John’s breath on him, and the warmth that builds in his belly, and the relief from the pain he holds inside him. 

It’s temporary, but so very welcome. 

“The other hand, then,” John says.

Sherlock shifts in the chair, his whole body turning toward John, so he can offer his right hand. John leans over this hand as well, and he is so close, inches away from Sherlock. Sherlock breathes John in: the scent of the pomade he’s taken to wearing, ever since he allowed his hair to grow longer. The faint scent of toothpaste. It’s all bathed in the much stronger scent of the nail polish: butyl acetate; ethyl acetate. Overripe banana and pear, mixing with the stench of toluene. Not nearly enough to get high on. 

“Do you really think this will work?” Sherlock asks. He casts his eyes down to watch John work. John is hardly himself, hasn’t been himself for years, Sherlock knows, but at least he still has good, steady hands. It’s something. It’s a lot. Maybe, even, enough to start something new. 

John finishes painting the nails of Sherlock’s right hand. He purses his lips and blows air across them as well. Sherlock shivers. 

John frowns as he screws the lid back on the bottle. He puts it on the desk behind him. Sherlock holds up his hands to admire them. 

“I hope you like the colour,” John says. “Matches your dressing gown.” Not answering Sherlock’s question. Evasive. John is still sitting in the chair, inches away. To Sherlock’s surprise, he shifts forward, and his knee presses into Sherlock’s thigh. 

Sherlock sighs. “It’s…nice. It looks nice.” He wiggles his fingers. It does. 

John sighs raggedly. He takes Sherlock’s hand in his again. This time, he turns it over. He leans in. He presses his cheek to Sherlock’s palm. 

Sherlock is unable to move, unable to speak. John’s eyes are screwed shut. He rubs his cheek against Sherlock’s hand, the first hint of afternoon stubble scratching Sherlock’s skin, his fingertips. John presses his lips to Sherlock’s wrist, kisses his pulse point. 

“Please remember,” John says. “Don’t hurt yourself. Please don’t hurt yourself any more.” 

They hold there for a long moment. A tear escapes from the inside corner of John’s left eye, makes a track down his face. Sherlock is turning inside out, his whole world coalescing down into his hand, into John, into the shade of blue that adorns his nails. 

“I won’t, John. I won’t.”

anonymous asked:

Hi, ah, I feel like someone has probably pointed this out, (because every detail gets noticed by fans), but I'm wondering about the end of "Angel Heart". Claire's fingernails are the exact shade of Castiel's coat. Do you think that's significant? I want to take it as a sign of her bonding a little more with Castiel emotionally. Also, her polish isn't chipped, which is an almost superhuman feat in my book, especially after having just ganked a Grigori, IMHO.

It’s so weird that I of all the meta bloggers on this site got an anon– but thanks! It really made me think…

I was just thinking this morning that I haven’t written any meta lately. I have a lot of reasons for this lapse, but maybe it’s also because I haven’t been asking myself any good questions lately.

So thanks, anon, for this one. I do think you’re spot on, and I haven’t seen anything written about it, so let’s go…

I noticed Claire’s nails, too, and didn’t think much about the color at the time (except that it was a change from the dark peacock she sported in The Things We Left Behind) but yeah, the fact that she’d just been in a huge fight and came out SO unscathed that her nails weren’t even chipped was impressive. And the taupe color is a change from her last appearance, what’s up with that? I haven’t come across anything about it so let’s have some fun…

Some of that perfect manicure probably has to do with the aesthetic of Supernatural. The ladies just rarely look bad. Just like the boys don’t ever sport permanent scars and always manage to get the bloodstains out of their clothes, the gals never have cosmetics issues. Unless they’ve just been beaten bloody, their lipstick never fades and their mascara never runs– some of this has to do with the fresh-faced semi-natural look that most females in this show sport, but even when Rowena turns on those waterworks she keeps those amazing lashes in line. IIrc Ruby in Season 4 had lovely nails, and if anyone should have broken tips and chipped paint it should have been her. The only exception I can think of is Meg in Goodbye Stranger, and to some extent Rowena when she’s chained up in Hell. So no chipped polish for Claire, either, even after having ganked the last of the “Sons of God.” Everything is magical on Supernatural.

It could be that this was Katherine Love Newton’s own polish that she wore in, but I don’t think that’s likely. Partly because if it did chip, that would go against that well-groomed aesthetic the show aims for, and they’d have to repair the paint on her nail, they’d have to match the color and so on (because if her nails were suddenly a different color there <em>would</em> be a lot of talk.) So I think it was likely a choice on the part of makeup, and I don’t know enough about television production to even be able to speculate if that color was mandated from above or was just a whimsical last-minute choice, much less who was involved in choosing it.

You made the connection between Castiel’s trenchcoat and Claire’s nail color, so let’s run with it.

Women don’t just think of nails as things to adorn with crazy lacquer or enhance with sweeping acrylic tips. Nails are also tools and even weapons. I pry open boxes of mac n’ cheese with my nails. scrub dried food off of plates with them, use them to tweeze out splinters. Pantomime a “cat fight” between two women, and what do you do? Probably put your hands out in front of your face as though you’re clawing the other person. Nails also defend the juicy tips of our fingers.

The taupe color on Claire’s nails is pretty, but is very utilitarian. Pink would have been girlish, red too sexy. He hair is less fussy, too. Unlike the dark nails and braided hair in TTWLB that screamed “confused angry teenager,” Claire is starting to express her practical side, and maybe has a desire to be more mature emotionally in order to cope with the adult situations she finds herself in every day. She’s outgrowing emo.

By matching her nails to the trenchcoat, Claire is maybe unintentionally identifying the catalyst for her internal changes– Castiel.

Castiel, who gave her Grumpy Cat for her 18th birthday. Grumpy Cat taps into Claire’s emotional needs. So you’re absolutely right that she has bonded closer with him. She is no longer a child, mentally or legally, but she is still young and in many ways inexperienced. She’s lost both of her parents, and is being sent off to a stranger. She kept Grumpy Cat side by side with the Grigori sword– pairing the emotional with the angelic. Castiel has provided her with both tools and weapons to survive and defend herself on the road ahead of her. The color becomes almost like a shield.

At the end of the episode, Castiel says that it isn’t up to him, ultimately, whether or not he sees or hears from Claire ever again. But she’s put his number in her phone’s emergency contacts list. She kept his gift, even though she could have tossed it as being underaged and inappropriate for an adult. Whether she realized it or not, she painted her nails the color of her father’s– now the angel’s– trenchcoat. She shares genetic material with Castiel’s vessel, but now she has adopted this iconic color from him to integrate Castiel into her self-image. She’s made Castiel a part of her life, now. Whether they ever see each other again remains to be seen, but he has left his mark on her and his influence will persist as she continues to grow.

So thanks for the discussion, anon, did I get your drift? It was a lot of fun thinking about this from such a tiny detail. Good spot!

Call Me

I’m sorry, this is dumb. I’m stuck on a smutty part of my multi-chapter fic and had to just write something to feel like I wasn’t completely useless. The feels struggle is real.

Painted nails drummed on the worn and chipped wood. Over the years, many others have abused the scarred desk, leaving carvings and stains for others to see. Many hours have been wasted at this lonely desk, solitary students etching graffiti to pass those hours.

She was just another part-time student employee who would move on to the next available job when the next semester arrived.

Lucy Heartfilia, with her simple, french manicured, nails and jewelry adorned wrists, made a point to put her boredom to better use. Her pen scribbled away, but tattooing the notebook paper with words for her novel.

Honestly, she could be working on assignments for her classes but, the blonde had study hours set aside for that. Novel time was her relaxing time.

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POLISH OF THE WEEK - REVLON - URBAN

Step away from the usual black polish and adorn your nails for a night out with this gorgeous deep eggplant+ navy lookin polish by Revlon. Only 2 coats for complete coverage! AVAILABLE NOW for purchase!

(reminds me of one of my favorite O.P.I.’s - roadhouse blues!)

Stay tuned for the four designs featuring this polish. Visit the CHALLENGES - P.O.T.W. page for more nail art and swatches.

Take Me Higher - Chapter 5

I’m so sorry folks! I meant to get this finished last night, but something came up and I couldn’t. But here it is. And don’t fret, Chapter 6 will be up tonight, my promise to you.

Previous chapter found  here

-LP

———————-

3 hours and 45 minutes in. 

The intensity of Hannah’s stare became too much for Grace after a moment, and she had no choice but to look away. She moves some hair from her face, not being able to shake the grin that was plastered across her lips by the brunette’s words. 

When she had composed herself, she was able to look back up, finding Hannah rubbing at the back of her neck in discomfort, offering up a nervous giggle.

“Well that clearly wasn’t the right thing to say.”

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