Get Nailed It: Delving into the Booming Nail Care Products Market

Market Size & Share: Painting a Global Picture

The global nail care products market is a flourishing canvas, estimated to reach a staggering US$38.5 billion by 2033, boasting a healthy CAGR of 5.0%. This translates to a vibrant industry catering to the diverse needs and preferences of millions of consumers worldwide. As of 2023, the market already stands at US$22.3 billion, highlighting its significant contribution to the beauty and personal care landscape.

Regional Dominance: Where the Polish Shines Brightest

While the nail care industry enjoys global popularity, regional variations in size and growth paint a captivating picture. Asia Pacific currently holds the crown, accounting for a massive 45% market share in 2023. This dominance is fueled by a booming middle class, rising disposable income, and a strong cultural affinity for nail art. North America follows closely behind with a 30% share, driven by its established beauty industry and diverse consumer base. Europe rounds out the top three with a 20% share, showcasing its sophisticated taste and penchant for high-end brands.

Growth Drivers: Fueling the Nail Polish Frenzy

Several factors propel the nail care market forward:

Rising disposable income: As consumers’ discretionary spending increases, they indulge in non-essential items like nail polish and accessories.

Social media influence: Beauty influencers and celebrities create trends and inspire millions to experiment with different nail looks.

Focus on self-expression: Nail art becomes a canvas for individual style and personalization, driving demand for unique and innovative products.

Increasing emphasis on wellness: Vegan and cruelty-free nail care products gain traction, catering to ethically conscious consumers.

Market Players: The A-listers of the Industry

Sally Hansen: A household name offering a wide range of affordable and trendy nail polishes.

OPI: Known for its high-quality, chip-resistant formulas and unique color collections.

CND Shellac: A leading brand in professional gel polish systems, popular in salons and at home.

Olive & June: A D2C brand offering trendy press-on nails for easy nail art experiences.

Challenges and Opportunities: Keeping Your Nails Sharp

Despite its promising outlook, the market faces certain hurdles:

Intense competition: The abundance of brands and product options can make it challenging for new entrants to stand out.

Fluctuating raw material prices: Rising costs of ingredients can impact product pricing and profitability.

Counterfeit products: The presence of fake products can erode consumer trust and brand reputation.

However, opportunities abound:

Sustainability: Eco-friendly packaging and formulations attract environmentally conscious consumers.

Personalization: Offering customized nail art and product subscriptions cater to individual preferences.

Technological advancements: Innovations like smart nail polish and AI-powered consultations enhance user experience.

Future Forecast: A Crystal Ball for the Nail Care Industry

Market research experts predict healthy growth for the nail care market in the coming years:

Focus on natural ingredients: Demand for organic and plant-based products is expected to rise.

Men’s nail care segment: This niche market is projected to witness significant growth.

Emerging markets: Regions like Latin America and Africa present untapped potential for market expansion.

Unlocking Insights: Market Research Reports as Your Guide

Navigating the dynamic nail care market requires reliable data and insightful analyses. Market research reports by organizations like Grand View Research, Future Market Insights, and Polaris Market Research offer valuable resources. These reports delve into market size, growth projections, regional trends, competitive landscapes, and emerging opportunities, empowering investors, brands, and industry stakeholders to make informed decisions and capitalize on the vibrant future of nail care.

The Final Touch: More Than Just Polish

The nail care products market is a multifaceted and exciting industry, driven by self-expression, innovation, and evolving consumer preferences. Understanding its size, growth drivers, challenges, and key players offers valuable insights for stakeholders across the spectrum. So, whether you’re a beauty enthusiast, a budding entrepreneur, or a curious investor, keep your eye on the polished future of the nail care industry

Ken Research stands as your dedicated ally for in-depth insights into the Nail care market industry, delivering a specialized Nail care market Research Report tailored to meet the distinctive requirements of this industry. Our comprehensive report covers critical facets such as market trends, size, share, and revenue, providing a nuanced understanding of the sector.

Within our report, we meticulously explore the intricacies of the Nail care market size, delivering a quantitative grasp of the industry's scale. By delving into the latest market trends, we provide valuable insights to aid you in navigating the dynamic landscape of Nail care market.

In addition to sizing and trends, our report offers an in-depth examination of Nail care market share. Grasping the market share landscape is crucial for organizations seeking strategic positioning within the Sports good industry sector.

Recognizing the pivotal role of revenue analysis in decision-making, our report thoroughly explores market revenue, offering crucial financial data to inform planning within the Nail care industry.

Anticipating the future trajectory is paramount to staying ahead in the market. Therefore, our report includes the latest Nail care market outlook and anticipated future trends, complemented by a strategic market forecast to guide your organization in preparing for industry shifts.

Ken Research identifies and profiles the top players in the market. Recognizing these industry leaders is essential for organizations seeking a comprehensive understanding of the competitive landscape and potential collaborations or competitors.

Furthermore, our coverage extends beyond individual market insights to offer a broader perspective on the Nail care market industry. Our detailed industry research report provides a holistic understanding of the Nail care industry landscape, supporting strategic decision-making.

How about something with Vox and an assistant reader? I'm so excited your writing for Hazbin!

hehehe you have received: smut with fem reader

“I mean, do I have to hypnotize anyone if the marketing team is good? Darling, fire them all. Especially the ones I own. Make them squirm,” Vox talks, at you, not to you while you plug in the information on your V-Pad. 

“Just squirm or flounder too?” you ask, not looking up at him either. 

“Is that a fucking fish pun?” he turns on you, pushing his chair back from his desk. 

“A synonym, Sir.”

You tap the screen a few times, filling his request and adding a bit of your own to it. 

“Done. No severance package.”

You meet his gaze, smile toothy and wide. 

“Devious bitch,” he muses, smiling just as wide, “Come to Daddy.”

You set the tablet down at the table near the door, smoothing out your skirt as you start to strut across the office, essentially modeling the outfit Vox had gotten designed for you. But before you can make it even a quarter of the way, Vox stops you with a look.

Right, how could you forget? You kick off your stilettos, a flash of the red bottoms against the navy carpet and you sink to your hands and knees; slowly, seductively crawling towards the overlord at his desk. 

His screen glitches briefly, electrical current sparkling along the edges of him. He watches you fixated like a predator stalking his prey, yet you flourish under his scrutiny, proud and confident as your nails dig into the carpet and you make your way to the spot at his feet. Vox pats his lap, a silent invitation. There is no seat for you in this office, and thats on purpose. Vox always wants you on his lap, draped over him, straddling him, perched like a shiny trophy. Today you choose to straddle him, hiking up your skirt as you settle in facing him.

“Any panties?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“No point when I work for you,” you tease, settling yourself flush against him, bare against his lap. He’s already hard, because of course he is. When is Vox not hard if you’re in the room? It strokes your ego, the power you have over the overlord, the control you have over a powerful man.

“Seriously, where would I be without you?” he purrs, leaning in close and grabbing fistfuls of your ass.

“Hmm, probably struggling to keep your schedule?” you muse, nails raking down the front of his suit jacket.

Without warning, he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his hips like second nature at this point before he throws you unceremoniously down onto his desk, muscle memory stopping the back of your head from connecting to his keyboard. You’d learned that the hard way when this all started.

“Certainly wouldn’t be making a mess of my office,” he muses, his claws tracing down your front, teasing your cleavage and down your navel.

You reach for his belt buckle, making quick work of it.

“For the third time this week,” you say, always teasing him. Always pushing your boss’ buttons.

Vox hastily pushes your hands away, tugging his dress shirt out of his pants and undoing them enough to slide them down, his boxers coming with them. You gaze down at his cock, while fucking has become routine you’re always somewhat in awe of the size of him.

He’s quick to push your skirt up, bunching it around your waist without any care for the fabric. He’ll probably just buy you another one, so arch your back into his movements, letting him pull you into position while slots himself right where he needs to be. His eyes meet yours, screen bright and blinding. Sharp teeth in two identical smiles, and he pushes in.

You struggle to keep your eyes on his as you moan around the stretch, no matter how many times this happens it always catches your breath in your throat.

“Fffffuck yes,” Vox practically growls, voice modulator losing control as he bottoms out with your bodies fully connecting. He wastes no time setting a pace, hips snapping against yours, slightly upwards, hitting a truly amazing spot within you. You see stars, disoriented and already high on him him him.

Vox runs his claws along your hips, electrical currents running along your skin just strong enough to make your body twitch beneath him. His hands trail under your legs, hoisting them up against his chest to control you that much more as he leans over you.

“All mine, fuck, all mine,” Vox pants, speeding up his thrusts, rocking you further into the desk as his claws dig into your thighs to keep you flush against him. He grinds his pelvis into yours each time he bottoms out, sweet friction punctuated by featherlight sparks of electricity radiating from skin on skin. You nod eagerly, gritting your teeth, but that isn’t good enough for the CEO above you.

“Fuckin— say it! Say you’re mine,” he begs, his voice urgent and desperate.

“I’m— I’m—“

A moan cuts off anything you have to say, electrical pulses going straight to your cunt and frying your brain in the process.

“Gonna short circuit for me?” he teases now, and fuck he’s so confident. You’d like for once to have him writhing the way he does you. But your brain does indeed short circuit before you can dwell on that too much, your orgasm having snuck up on you, white hot intensity behind your eyes. You wail underneath him, your hands reaching out for his and prying his claws from your thighs. Instantly, he intertwines his fingers with yours, giving you stability as he fucks you through your orgasm. Vox groans as he spills into you only moments later, practically collapsing on top of you.

He stays there, with you folded in half, his length softening inside you, your fingers still tangled together.

“Can you say it now?” he asks, the edge of his screen resting against your shirt as it dims.

“I’m yours,” you confirm, “you needy prick.”

Vox laughs, loud and barking, and finally pushes himself off you. He’s incredibly gentle to pull out, to slowly unfold limbs and help you to sit up, letting you lean onto him.

“You know, I should really report you to HR for name calling,” Vox finally says, winking as he does.

It’s your turn to laugh, scoffing as you weakly slap at his chest.

“Right, and if you get me demoted I promise you that Peppermint couldn’t give you pussy half as good as this.”

Vox kisses you hard on the mouth, static crackling as screen touches lips.

Voxtech doesn’t even have an HR department.

HELLO IF UR REQUESTS ARE OPEN CAN I REQUEST PT2 OF “ACCIDENTALLY SPILLING THAT YOU SLEPT WITH THESE BSD MEN” WITH CHUUYA, NIKOLAI AND JOUNO?

ACCIDENTALLY SPILLING THAT YOU SLEPT WITH THESE LOSERS BSD MEN II;

ft; chuuya, nikolai, jouno ( i, ii )

CHUUYA;

You were currently out roaming around town with Chuuya after your guy’s mission, when passing by a cafe, you heard a voice call out for Chuuya by his name.

He turned around annoyed but that face continued to turned into discomfort, you looked to see a young boy, maybe 14? He wore a farmer boys clothing and now that you think about it, he might be the boy Chuuya talked about.

The young boy was a ball of sunshine and invited you two to join him around the market, Chuuya was quick to shut him down so the both of you began convincing the ginger.

“Come on, Chuuya! You weren’t this difficult in bed!”, the words from your mouth came so fluidly that you couldn’t stop it.

“NAME ! THERE IS A CHILD PRESENT!”, his voice cracked while his face was redder than when he was usually drunk.

“You both sleep together in the same bed? That’s very intimate, only the married slept together in the same bed back where I’m from,”

Chuuya wasn’t joking when he said there is no one as pure as him…

NIKOLAI;

You were losing your sanity simply being in the same room as this man but it’s the price for the favor you were obliged to help with.

Sigma and Nikolai were going back and forth with Sigma mostly arguing with common sense and Nikolai being who he is, a clown.

“Ugh, how long have you been assisting this man?! I thought you’d at least lose your sanity and be like him not sit there filing your nails!”, Sigma yelled close to pulling his hair out.

“don’t bring me into this, how am I supposed to know that a man putting my pleasure first completely before his is not the same out of bed?”

This one came out accidentally but it’s not like you cared about the two toned man about knowing such information.

“You did WHAT?! And you’re still sane!?”

“Hey, I’m sane, but my standards in men? That’s my therapist’s problem.”

JOUNO;

The mall was a fun and practical, you had all sorts of things in one place from clothing stores to Dior, but to go with Jouno? You were regretting every second that you ignored Tachihara’s warning…

“Those shoes are cute,” “they don’t make sizes for big foot.”

“I wonder if they sell refills for my favorite perfume?” “have you tried taking a shower?”

“let’s go to the food court, I’m hungry!” “We got food at home— also, didn’t you say you weren’t hungry minutes before we left the house?”

A pain in the ass, and not in a good way either. What you wanted to be a fun trip and where you threw all your money, is now a sad walk in silence because you’d either get judged or insulted. On the way, you spotted Teruko walking your way with her sly smile but it slowly dropped when she reached you.

“I thought you said you wanted to splurge on yourself after your paycheck?”, the red head questioned.

Jouno looked a bit taken aback before glancing at you and quickly looking away because you were slightly glaring at him. He began walking away quietly while Teruko waited for your reply even though you hinted that he was the reason.

“Honestly, what did I expect from a man who took complete control bed even while being blind?”, you whispered quietly to the girl who simply chuckled at your comment in surprise.

You swore you saw the man’s head whip so fast and began glaring at you till there were holes in your head, not like you were going to turn to look at him to confirm…

bonus; Jouno proceeded to buy you everything you needed along with your wants and was currently standing next to you with shopping bags stacked on his arm as you were forced to swipe his card to buy those shoes you found cute…

Hi, my dog is really sick and he has a huge tumor, I’m going to have to put him down soon and it really sucks, your writing makes life a bit better though so thank you for that! Could I possibly request a Vox x reader with a pet dog? Like how would the two of them interact or would he claim himself as the dogs parent or stuff like that. You don’t have to of course! Please remember to take breaks

Vox X Reader [Comfort]

In which you take in a dog you found on the street without asking Vox beforehand.

Vox isn't necessarily minimalist, but he is certainly a bit of a neat freak

Things should be organized, clean, not perfect! But not messy

So, animals were never his thing

I mean, the hair, the training, the scratchy nails on the floor, it just sounds like a huge hassle

Besides, he is already busy enough with the company and you, a pet would just be another thing on the list

You, on the other hand, love caring for sick animals

You've brought a smaller creature home before for the evening or taken it to a vet, but nothing for longer than a few hours

But this time was different

The dog was so messy you couldn't even tell the breed, all you knew was that someone had hurt it and it wouldn't last long on its own

So you snuck the puppy into your jacket and headed straight home

Vox comes home to the shower running and you giggling, and he's already worried about whatever strange thing you're onto this time

He sees you, splashed in soap and water, and a dog with muddied water dripping off it into the drain

And it barks at him

And he screams

Right. He is super scared of dogs and hellhounds

Not in a 'these things are scary' way, but in a 'these things are unpredictable and gross and ew.'

When you finish washing the dog and drying it the best you could in a swaddled towel, you'll find him pacing and murmuring

He is frustrated you brought that THING home without asking, but he also wont suggest you abandon it because he knows you won't

Gets a servant to grab some necessities for the dog, because lord knows you didn't plan this out

Just for a few days, right?

Except, a few days turns into a few weeks and into a few months

And slowly your tiny puppy grows into a 100-pound pride dobermann, known for being some of hells largest and most vicious dogs

Despite his size, Vox has already adopted the thing into his life, he stopped asking when you were going to give up the dog on day 15,

Part of the reason he loves it is because of how dangerous the dog looks, as sweet as it actually is, it's very protective of you and he likes that

Originally does not let you out on your own, but now its 'you can go if the dogs with you' because by good fuck that thing could kill a crowd

Expect him to dip into the pet market of devices; tracking collar, pet surveillance, automatic feeding bowls, etc...

All inspired by his want to give your dog a luxurious life

Probably got a custom collar with glowing blue spikes so he and the pup match

Would actually take a few days off work and sit in an armchair with his hands on his head if the dog ever had an emergency trip to the vet

Author's Note - I saw your second ask, and its totally cool you sent this! Honestly, I always wanted to open emergency requests. Theres no shame in looking for comfort, I can't imagine your pain right no. I hope this helps in any way!

I think if you tried to bargain with bounty hunter!rafe by saying you’d do whatever he wants if he’ll just let you go, he’d think about it before getting all serious and looking down at you with a suggestive smirk “whatever I want, huh? ok, kid. lemme putta ring on that finger.. how bout that? how’s being my little housewife sound, huh?”

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

you’re held up in a barn. it wasn’t ideal, lord knows rafe knew that — much used to a finer life back where he lived with his fathers riches on the fat of his land, but for now it had to do. the two of you were laying low — the word being that someone had recognised your face off a missing poster that your father had put out, and now rafe had to make sure the two of you were far from anyone’s sight for a while.

“my fathers still looking for me.” you gaze wistfully out the window. so there was hope, you almost forgot that this could be an option after all this time. you’d grown slightly fond of rafe since he’d taken you, which you knew was wrong — but you couldn’t help it. he was a handsome guy, and he seemed to actually care about your safety. you knew this mentality was likely just a survival technique — you're less likely to go insane if you believe your captor cares for you instead of caring for the condition he delivers you in, but whatever helped soothe you.

"yeah, well…" he bites on his finger nail, leaning against the wall as he looks out the barn door he'd left ajar. "great for you, sucks for me. i do not want to get arrested, believe it or not." he sarks, his own nerves producing quite the attitude.

“you know if you just let me go you wouldn’t go to jail.” you try, and you knew it was a long shot but begging for your escape had become second nature by this point. you swivel, sitting on a hay bale with your legs swinging aimlessly, brushing down the dress he’d purchased you at the market when he decided you needed to change your clothes as to not be recognised.

he chuckles silently, shaking his head before finally turning to face you — arms crossed over his chest.

“yeah? you uh…” he shrugs theatrically. “you think i’d just let you go? just like that.”

“well what do you want?” you whine, huffing as you push yourself to stand, coming right up to him to stare up at him desperately. he stares back down, lips parted, amused. “i’ll do anything. anything you want.”

“anything i- okay.” he shakes his head, pushing his fingers stressfully against his eyelids for a moment as he paces before arriving back infront of you, blinking into thin air and slowly lowering his hand as if he’s had an idea. “anything i want? ‘s what you said, right?” he clarifies, and you falter a little— shrinking in size at the realisation of how broad ‘anything’ is.

“…yes?”

“alright so,” his hand strikes out suddenly grabbing a hold of your wrist making you jump, squealing and resisting from habit. “give me that shit.” he grits his teeth and you submit, allowing him to raise your hand, taking a look at your fingers. “yeah…yeah i can see it. i’m gonna put a ring on that little finger.”

“huh?” your eyes widen.

“‘said anything, right? so… so if i marry you, it’ll look like you just ran away with me and he’ll stop looking. god damnit i—” he laughs, rubbing a hand down his mouth.

“what about your boss?” you blink, unsure of this whole thing. he waves you off, walking past you.

“my uh, boss is my dad.” he itches his cheek, perhaps a little embarrassed of the fact. “‘said i could do whatever i wanted with you. your dad pissed my dad off, so— so i took you, right— that parts done, his little girl is gone, my dad wins.” he explains, finally filling you in on why the whole thing happened, you stare intently, following him over to where he rummages through the bags tied to the horse. “i was gonna bring you to my dad to show him… show him that i could do it, and that he could trust me… but this is better, yeah — this is way better.” he mutters, before pulling out a small piece of wire, a souvenir from what he’d originally bound your wrists with.

“yeah, this’ll do.” he speaks to himself before yanking your wrist again, beginning to bend the wire around your finger. “‘til i can get you a real ring, a’ight?” his brows raise and he cups your cheeks in his rough hands, eyes darting between yours. “you are going to make the prettiest little housewife. okay? y’gonna marry me?”

you figured this was better than whatever his boss, well — his dad would have done with you, like sell you or something, so you nod. plus, rafe wasn’t all too bad.

“okay.” you agree just about a whisper.

“okay?” he clarifies and you nod, so he forces his mouth against yours. “this is gonna save us.” he whispers when he pulls away.

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

Five fun sized KakuHida one shot ideas—

ONE

Hidan has a deeply dumb business idea. Whatever it is, it is so so stupid. It makes zero sense in a rational market. It's also wildly successful anyway because Hidan is hot, and that's more of a superpower than being smart or having a bloodline limit and MAYBE more of a superpower than being functionally immortal. It totally defies Kakuzu's predictions (which were of course of failure and collapse). Hidan is a terrible winner. He's also gone and donated all his profit to an obscure monastery in the back hills off the swampy end of Hot Water. He says money makes you dumb, and also sinful. Mostly dumb. Kakuzu is going to kill him. Like, again. Harder this time.

TWO

Hidan and Kakuzu have been married in the secular (and thus meaningless) sense for tax reasons for several years now, but recently Kakuzu has realised he can get free food at all sorts of places if they pretend they're honeymooning. He has been 'honeymooning with Hidan' for eighteen months now. The rest of the Akatsuki are pretty evenly split on what the hell kind of relationship this is, which is why today Deidara has embarked on the incredibly fucked up mission of interrogating Hidan's severed head about his sex life, yeah.

THREE

Hidan is a nightmare travelling companion. He is variously: too cold (put a shirt on), bored, tired, sunburned (put a shirt on), hungry, sick (shouldn't have eaten that, then), dirty, damp and miserable... Kakuzu has killed him five times this week alone, and so far all it's done is make him complain that he's bloody and he needs another bath. The next time he slings the body over his shoulder and carries the head in the crook of one arm, mouth sewn shut and hands inaccessible. It does not help.

FOUR

Itachi and Kakuzu must work together when the Akatsuki is hired to defraud someone's insurance provider via a genjutsu that can fool the insurance adjuster. Kakuzu is bringing the knowledge and context, and Itachi is bringing the godlike genjutsu skills. Itachi-san is on time, polite, quiet, and absolutely professional. He respects Kakuzu's combat abilities and bizarrely complete understanding of insurance regulations. Kakuzu respects his genjutsu skills. They're nailing their mission, effortlessly! Also, just as an aside: it's been three days since Kakuzu last heard someone complain about blood in his hair or scream a hymn to suffering twenty minutes before dawn, and he thinks he's losing his fucking mind. He's... unstable. Mentally. Mentally unstable. That's the only possible reason. Obliquely he broaches this with Itachi, who is an actual foetus and who is definitely judging him. It doesn't help and it's mortifying.

(I think this one needs POV breaks where we switch to Hidan, who is bored out of his mind and driving Kisame to drink.)

FIVE

There's finally a bounty taken out on Hidan, which has taken a damn long time to arrive because a) nobody cares about shinobi from Hot Water, really and b) most of the time Hidan doesn't leave enough people alive for anyone to notice how much of a menace he is. Kakuzu is having an amazing week. He's handed Hidan's head and body off in two pieces at six different drop points this week alone. He just sits on a rock and counts his lovely, lovely money until his partner stumbles back down the road, covered in blood, holding his head on one-handed, and glaring and wildly annoyed about it. And then he just does it again. Kakuzu has made so much money. Finally, one weird trick that works.

Pleasure + Pain | Tangerine

Warnings: sexual content, blood, injuries, cursing

Tangerine masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

You’ve been through hell. Even if he hadn’t been there to see you fight your way through men twice your size, taking your punches and leaving only ghosts in your wake, he would be able to tell from the way you move around your kitchen. There’s a tenderness in your movements, like you’re taking care to make your movements smooth and fluid. 

The shirt you’re wearing has to be his; it falls halfway down your thighs, covering enough of your to appear modest. You both know modesty isn’t something you’re concerned about at this point (he’s bandaged you up enough times to see almost all of you), but it drives him insane to think of you going through your closet and picking something of his so blatantly. Your hair, speckled with dried blood both yours and other, falls loosely from the bun you put it in, locks escaping and framing the bruiseson your face perfectly. There’s a natural life to your cheeks from your recent job well done, and you’re itching around the kitchen, keeping your ink-coverd hands busy. Some part of him wonders if you’d ever be willing to get a tattoo with him. His brain helpfully supplies images of his name sprawled across your heart, there for all of your victims to see. 

In his twisted mind, he’s come to accept you as some sort of angel, claiming your souls and floating through your own life beautifully, a glowing essence around you. 

As he watches you move around and pour yourself and him a cup of tea, he revels in your presence. 

It’s not something he lets himself do often. There’s the chance that you’ll can’t help his stare and figure out that it’s more than partnership behind his gaze. 

Without asking him, you add a dash of honey to his tea and place the flowered mug on the counter. He knows you got it at some sort of market, but he had zoned out when you told him the story. Knowing you, he thinks, it’s stolen. 

A girl after his own heart. 

When you lean over the counter on the other side of him, the fresh cut across your brow leaks an angry drop of blood to trace a tear’s path down your face. 

He sees the way you lean into it- the pain. He sees how you favor the leg that took a knife deep into its flesh. How you pick at your nails until they bleed and absentmindedly trace your scars, pressing on them to search for that dull ache. 

He sees it and he has no idea why it makes him feel the way that he feels. Of course, he’s not the most emotionally available person most of the time, and he isn’t always aware of his feelings. 

He doesn’t know why it makes him picture you underneath him, your head tossed back into creamy white pillows, tears leaking from your eyes as he asks you for more. He sees marks- ones he left- on your wrists and lining your hips, a checkerboard of him on your thighs. 

You’re staring at him now. You’ve probably asked him something, and all he can think about is how pretty your lips look when you say his name. 

“Tan?” you ask, your voice on the edge of soft and deceptive in its quietness. He’s seen you with blood dripping from your hands, but the only word he can think of right now is pure. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, love. It’s nothing,” he assures you. You keep looking at him skeptically, your eyes filled with doubt, a half-grin on your face. 

You must find something in his gaze you don’t like, because you look down into your mug, your red-painted fingernail twirling the tea’s string in between your fingers. 

He can’t stand the silence, so he says, “You did good today.” You deserve to know that, even if it’s from him. 

“Tan,” you state, edge to your tone, a familiar blaze in your eyes, “What are you playing at?” 

“I’m not,” he defends. “I’m just telling you that you properly dealt with those fucking pricks.” 

“I always do.” You take a sip of your tea and settle yourself on top of the countertop, sliding to where you’re across from him. He leans forward in response, taking in the overwhelming scent of you that fills the minimum space left between you. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “How’s your leg?” It’s not because he’s worried that he asks; he’s seen you take worse. If he can remind you of the pain, he can keep you leaning into the comfortable atmosphere you’ve created. 

It’s like you’ve forgotten about the pain until he brings it up. He sees the moment you remember, though, because animation fills your face. You look excited, like he’s brought up a wedding ring instead of the stab wound on your thigh. 

“S’fine,” you whisper. You’re smart enough to recognize the trap he’s setting for you. You wouldn’t allow for him to run his hand along the bandages on your thigh if you didn’t want it. 

You could kill him if you wanted. But you don’t; you let him press down against the growing red stain, a gasp lodged in your throat, your hand grasping the wrist that’s sliding across your neck. 

It’s obscene, the way your eyes flutter shut when you lean into his touch, like this is normal. Like anything about this isn’t totally fucked. 

“Tan,” you warn lowly, but it’s an empty threat and you both know it. There’s nothing to ruin here, no invisible line to cross. He always knew it would lead to this, and so did you. 

He presses until blood drips down your leg, slow and beaded, the bandage angry and full. Every muscle in your body is tense- he can feel it underneath his hands that search and tease and discover. The scar on your shoulder, the burn on your ribs, the raised tissue of the newly etched tattoo along your spine. All of it, together, has you going boneless against him, your weight leaning against his broad shoulders, your head finding a place in the crook of his neck, your shaky breaths wet against the undone collar of his shirt. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware of the sounds you’re making, whining noises in the back of your throat, fucking unbearable for him to listen to and not address. 

“What do you need, love?” He has so many ideas of what you could say. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Any of it he’s willing to give; he burns with the thought of giving any of it to you. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking give you whatever you ask for.” 

When you don’t answer, he grabs your chin between two fingers tipped with blood and brings your face out from his neck. 

Oh, he thinks. He never should have let you hide away. There’s heat in your face, making you look healthy and happy and fucked out of your mind. He’s barely even touched you and your lips are swollen from biting them to keep quiet and from leaving marks along his throat. He files it away for later to make sure he hears you at full volume- no embarrassment to keep him from getting to experience you. Your eyes, so bright and full of fight usually, are still bright, but there’s a shine of tears in them. Whether it’s from the pain or the pleasure, he doesn’t know, but either way he takes it in with satisfaction. 

“Aren’t you fucking pretty?” he coos, more sincere than he means it to. All you can do is nod in response, your eyes glassy and your chest heaving. It occurs to him that you would agree with anything he said right now; it’s a dizzying thought, a grounding thought. “Can you answer me, love?” It comes out gentler than anything else he’s said tonight, and it must work because you manage to whisper a breathy “yes.” While a smile that’s probably too knifelike, he cups your face, reveling in the warmth of your skin. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks next. Your eyes go round and a frown finds its way to your face and, no, he can’t have that. With a kiss to your forehead, he smooths away the upset lines and hauls you closer to the edge of the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist easily. “I won’t stop unless you want me to, darling.” Fuck church bells- the relieved sigh that comes from your lips is all he wants to hear when he dies. 

“Right, then,” he mutters against the shell of your ear. “As much as I fucking love to see you in my shirt, this-” he pulls on the buttons holding your shirt together “-is going to have to go.” You try to help him with the buttons, but your shaking hands make it hard, and he gets four undone before you get one. When the shirt falls open to reveal your flimsy, last-resort bra, he lets out a low groan and pushes the rest of the fabric off your shoulders and onto the floor. You wait expectentaly while he undoes the metal clasp, your bra joining the shirt in a pile on the floor. The cool air pebbles your nipples, a shiver running down your spine. He sees it and does what he can to fix it; his hands cup you gently at first, then roughly, kneading and pinching until your legs are vicelike around his waist, begging for friction between your legs. When he’s had his fill with his hands, his mouth comes next, careful kisses and bites scattering the valley of your breasts as he runs his hands anywhere he can find. You’re rocking with him, his curls caught tight in his grip as you push him forward and pull him back, trying to escape and chase more. 

He didn’t expect it to be like this: you, following his lead, letting him take control for once. The fight in you, which he’s so used to, is gone, leaving you with puppy-dog eyes and red lips. It’s a heady thought to think he might be the only person you trust to see you like this. 

You start pleading with him, and he’s only human. He would prefer for his first time to fuck you not to be up against a counter, but he doesn’t think he can wait until he carries you to your bedroom.You would probably have some protests, too. 

He’s still a gentleman, though so he pulls away from you, despite your protests, to grab the clothes on the floor and shove them underneath your head as he splays you over the counter, your back hitting the cool marble. 

The thin material of your underwear slides down your blood-crusted thighs, and he tosses it somewhere behind him before he runs his hands up your legs, inching closer and closer to your heat. You’re quiet now, like if you make a noise he’ll stop, which he wouldn’t dream of. Until you ask him to, he’s going to treat you right. 

When he slides his first finger in, you take it like you’ve been waiting ages, ready for him. One quickly turns into two, which turns into three. He scissors you open, not going too fast but not taking his time with you anymore. Based on the increasing volume of your moans, you want it just as badly as he does. You’re taking him in greedily, your hands searching for purchase on the smooth countertop, your hips canting up to meet the curling of his fingers.

As soon as he deems you ready, he removes his fingers, licking them off with a hum while you whine unhappily underneath him. He quiets your complaints with a kiss while he searches for a condom in his back pocket, finding it and  rolling it over his length before notching himself at your entrance. He takes a moment to look at you, the clarity in your eyes, the plead on your lips. It’s enough to take a good man to his knees, and he’s no good man. 

His eyes meet yours and that’s all it takes for him to push his way in, a low, loud groan leaving escaping his throat when he feels the tight, slick heat of you take him. He knows he’s not going to last long with how pent up he’s been, but he can tell you aren’t either. The pace he sets is brutal and punishing, his hips snapping into yours, one hand gripping your hip and the other pressing circles on your clit. Your eyes are screwed tightly shut, noises bubbling from your throat as he fucks you harder, faster. His lips meet yours in a kiss when he feels you tightening around him, your cunt clenching down as your orgasm crashes into you, your body going tight, your back arching as you pull him in deeper. He follows you over the edge, his head buried in your hair, murmuring sweet nothings into your skin as you both come down from your highs. 

“Fuck,” you laugh, a smile finding its way to your face as you card your hands through his hair. “That was-” “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was.” Standing up straight, he pulls you with him, leading you to the bathroom where you’ll clean each other up like you have so many times in every other way but this.

You leave a trail of blood on the floors when you walk with him, leaning against him for support, his hand on the small of your back. The fight in your eyes is back, and he’s expecting hell from you about the bruises covering your body tomorrow. 

Maybe you’re not an angel, but he’s not convinced you aren’t some sort of avenginig devil, here to torture him with your smile and your laugh and your sex. He’ll follow you no matter what, though. Every part of you calls for him, and he’s more than willing to answer for anything you ask. 

First he has to clean you up and get you to bed. You’ll be a devil again tomorrow; right now, you’re his.

Nail Care Market Industry

The global nail care market was valued at US$ 10.9Bn in 2021; It is estimated to advance at a CAGR of 8.0% from 2022 to 2031

Okay...hear me out domestic life with mhin☺️🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

Domestic life with Mhin is relatively quiet and peaceful. There’s not much outside of what’s expected from a typical couple…sort of. Well, if you exclude all of the bloodstains in their clothes and the messy footprints on the floor every time they come home. They need time to unwind when they come through the door—at least half an hour of changing clothes and bathing, or a wet cloth to the face. Even better if you offer to do it for them, though they’ll fight tooth and nail to do it themself. Still, they want you to help, even if they shy away and try to snatch the wipe from your hand.

If you have a meal ready, they roll their eyes and cross their arms before grabbing a plate. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” they say, but they’re clearly grateful no matter what the meal is. It could be slop for all they care; it’s the thought that counts, really. In fact, they know how hard it can be to speak appreciation and love, so they adore every single action you make to help them feel better. Life is hard. Life is really hard. They get it. Even the smallest of gestures make them fight a blush or a smile.

While they’re home with you, they’re glued to your side almost all of the time. If you’re cooking, they’re sitting on the counter reading, polishing their dagger at the table, or helping chop vegetables. They purposely brush against your waist when they cross your path, but they pretend it’s not happening. In fact, they scoff. “You’re always in my way. This kitchen isn’t big enough for two people,” when it could be the size of a whole apartment and they’ll still be touching your shoulder.

When you’re bathing, they constantly want to check up on you because they just never know what might happen. They’re concerned you’ll slip or fall asleep in the tub and drown. You’re always so tired, you moron, so make sure you’re quick, all right? If you’re down for it or you’re particularly achy or wounded, they’ll insist on bathing you themself. “You’re clearly incapable of doing it yourself. Am I supposed to let you hurt yourself worse?” They’re very cautious of hurting you more, and they’re upset that they can’t wash your arms, but the least they can do is run their hands along the rest of your body. It’s nice to give of themself, though they feel like it’s not enough, and maybe they’re being a little too gentle if you look a bit bruised. They really don’t care for seeing marks like that on you.

Grocery shopping is nice together too—though between the two of you, it’s hard to scrounge enough cash to get too much at a time. You’re lucky they get contracted through Leander often because you’re not really able to do much with whatever skills you have. Survival doesn’t exactly make the big bucks. Because Mhin makes most of the income, they control the meal plan, but that doesn’t mean they do it with an iron fist. They often walk through the market with you and point out things you may not have tried before, explaining the ingredients in fairly…rude ways. “You’ve never heard of roasted hellhog? Where did you say you grew up again? That’s insane. We’re buying it. No, I’m not arguing, I’m just saying you need to expand your horizons. I’m surprised you’ve survived this long on such a bland diet.”

Back to posting again!! Lol

(This is a SFW tickle fic about the reader feeling bad about their plus sized body! If you don't like it , scroll)

So, just imagine this...

We're currently on a roadtrip with some friends, we're tired and decide to chill in the car, (ARCTIC MONKEYS MENTIONED?? /J) You're in the passengers seat, I'm in the backseat behind yours, while the rest of the group is sitting in the other free seats. We were really hungry, it was the middle of the day.. "Time for lunch?" I suggested and the others, apart from you, agreed. They left the car and headed to a nearby market to get some snacks for the rest of the trip.

"Hey, aren't you hungry? You haven't eaten all day." I ask concerned. You explain how you feel while I listen carefully to your words. "There's no need for such thing, you are beautiful just the way you are... Even if you wanted to start a diet, skipping meals is not the way to go. It can cause serious damage.." I truly meant those words, I truly cared for you in every way possible, I couldn't watch you suffer in silence. You seemed sad, embarrassed by the whole conversation, I couldn't let you be sad for the whole trip! .

"Hey.. I didn't mean to make this awkward.." I gave a small poke to your side, and.. You flinched?.. Hm.. "Ticklish?" I asked,..you not answering made me want to find out more! I quickly skittered my nails across your sides and heard you struggle to keep the laughter in.. "Aww, does this tickle? Or this?" I lightly pinched your ribs while you couldn't hold in the giggles anymore ... I was amused, to say the least, such a cute and pretty laugh, I squished your tummy, making you double over with laughter... "You're so adorable.." I kept it up until I heard commotion outside the car.. I think the rest of the group arrived...

They got in the car and I quickly grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to you, "here, you must be really thirsty, huh?" I caught a glimpse of your face, a smile and some light blush plastered on it. I gave you a quick pat on your shoulder to assure you were alright...

And with that, the trip continues to be an amazing one....

How to build a house; a comprehensive guide by Jimmy Solidarity. 

You don’t, first of all. Build one that is. You steal one, and you go to the market for new locks, and you hope and pray that whoever owned this place before you doesn’t come poking around ever again. There’s Ivy on the walls now though, and the roof is partly collapsed over to the left over there, and everything is entirely overgrown so- it’s abandoned, the whole neighborhood looks very abandoned, so they’re probably not. And you’re alone. And it’s fine. 

2. It’s fine. You take a dust coated broom from the closet and run the faucet until the rust colored water turns into something that looks drinkable and eat a couple canned peaches from the cellar. You look around at the barely habitable place around you and you fix it. You’re fixing it. You collect boards and nails for the ceiling, take the debris into the waste disposal at the nearest town, the quaint little one you passed on the way over. Kill a pregnant spider, and manage not to abandon the half baked plan of yours entirely when it’s babies subsequently explode everywhere. You do it, you’re doing it, and this is what success must feel like. You clean the bath, the sink, you hate the mirror but it’s okay because the water systems and most of the electrical sockets work. And then you’re done one day. It’s not exactly homely, but it’s a little livable, and when there is nothing left to clean, or salvage, or keep you occupied anymore there’s a queen sized bed in one of the bedrooms. And it is at that point that you look back on everything that has happened over the past year and who knows how long and realize that yes you are tired, and yes a nap sounds very nice. So you curl up into it, and sleep for a very, very, very long time. 

3. Realize you were wrong. That’s what comes next You wake up, sit in silence for five minutes, and immediately realize that there’s more to do, isn’t there? There’s always more to do. It’s barely livable anyways and cottagecore? The great Jimmy Solidarity is not some fairy tale in the forest he’s- he’s- he’s the guy who plants a garden. Fixes the fence out back. Fill the empty space with work and work and work and it works. Get  a heater, get a water filter, kill some of the cows outside in this lawless land because sheep and chicken and cattle are content to roam the streets apparently and store the meat in an icebox when the fridge randomly stops working. One mini-fridge, two mini-fridges, you are an unstoppable mini-fridge machine Solidarity. Good for you! What’s this? Whatever poor suckers lived here before only owned one of those old boxy tv’s with a twisted antennae? It hasn’t been the  90’s in several decades! Replace it, throw that thing down the cellar stairs and laugh like a maniac when you hear it shatter on the ground. It feels good. It has to feel good. Some weird, beautiful, twisted form of good. Throw more things down the stairs just to to chase that fleeting feeling. The twinkling of bells. Somehow the wall acquires  a fist-shaped hole. Somehow your hand gets bruised. This place has everything but bandages, it doesn’t matter. You have a tub of ice cream next to the meat and Golden Girls plays on loop when you lie down to rot in the living room. Scream into the pillow. 

4. You get a cat. You’re not supposed to get a cat. You know this. Getting attached to anything ever again is unhealthy, more people should learn this from you. The cat, obviously, does not care. It shows up one day, follows you home after you’ve had the bright idea to go farther than the front porch for some fresh air. Adventure and all that. The cat is probably tired of all the condescending cows roaming the landscape and so follows you home, and every time it leaves it inevitably comes back, and now it’s a cat and it’s yours. One that purs when you scratch it. One that curls up next to the heater sometimes early in the morning. Kills a mouse and presents it proudly at the room to your door. It likes golden girls too, because sometimes at night when bed is too far away it curls up next to you on the couch and you breathe in and out into its fur. The cat looks in your direction when you sit and awkwardly talk on the phone. You name it after a serial killer. 

5. You work. You can’t- it was fine when it was just you there because, well, you didn’t matter all that much. Really. Just keep up appearances when going out and all was well. No-one asked questions. But now the damned cat is needy. Giving it some old frozen mini-pancakes was a bad plan actually, because he’s now got a taste for them and won’t leave it alone. Who has disgusting mini-pancakes just lying around anyways? This is England- you- you hope it’s England. Most people here have British accent anyways, but regardless, the cat wants mini-pancakes. You hate the cat for this, but you hate everything else too at this point so it’s fine. The cat- Norman, also has a bad habit of getting into places no matter the amount of sensible barriers are put up between him and the offending object. Walls? Squeeze around them.  Windows? Finds another route. Doors? Nope. Magical teleporting cat winds up in the room anyways, which means now you have to clean the dangerous cellar stairs now too. Amazing. You go down there and get a piece of glass stuck in your foot in the process before the bright idea of wearing shoes presents itself. Cats eat meat and cat food, and milk isn’t healthy for them. Norman feeds himself a lot. It doesn’t matter. You used to head into town maybe once every two weeks. Now you do it more. There’s no set reason behind why but you’re blaming the cat anyways. So you get out more, and you have a cat and the cat jumps up onto the off-kilter dining room table to eat some of your meals. There is still no guide out on what to feel about all this. Someone who isn’t you should write a book.  6. You suck it up and hang their pictures on the wall. You don’t have many, but you have some in the backpack downstairs, and that first day of college with Grian and Martyn by your side looks down at you when you place it up in the entrance to the hallway. Grian is smiling cheekily, you are smiling with way too much enthusiasm, you pretend Martyn isn’t there. There are other photos too, all in that same hallway. Your arm around Big B. The property police station. The first day of Evo. A rare moment of you and Pearl wearing smiles that aren’t somewhat strained. So you hang them up, and you get them nice little frames because the photos themselves are crumpled and a little yellowed around the edges. At some point you point to them and say to Norman that these are his uncles and aunts and then pause before you explain why he’s never going to meet them. He steals some of your fish again. Nobody seems to care.

7. You cry a lot

8. You drink tea. You make a good attempt at baking Norman a birthday cake. The sun rises and you rise with it. You decorate a little bit with some stuff you’ve gathered from town and people who’s love language is gift giving. You breathe in. You breathe out. You tell yourself it’s going to be okay, really, and if it isn’t then at least you are trying your best. You stuff the note in the bedroom drawer, and hope that one day you will forget the words etched into the paper. You won’t, you know you won’t, but maybe pretending it will is just what progress looks like. 

9. Joel comes over. He- he wants to see where you live. You told him a little about it, and now he wants to see it, because you might have been a little too honest and Joel gets too worried for his own good. Wild animals roaming in the street and all that. Not up to standard. You are Jimmy Solidarity, throw out the old standard and make a new one. Joel doesn’t acknowledge that joke, but he does stare wide eyed at the neighborhood you call home when you finally finish the bike up, and sends you a slightly panicked look you pretend not to see. It’s manageable. The stovetop works. It’s fine. Joel keeps his mouth shut politely all the way up until you enter that hallway, at which point he asks why the walls are so bare. But it’s for the best that you took those pictures down today, really, because had then he might have asked about the people in them, and you would have just gaped like a fish. So you shrug. And his face is scrunched up into the patented Joel ‘I’m very concerned’. stare. It fades when he sees the cat though. He’s more of a dog person himself but everyone’s a Norman person so it doesn’t really matter. You sit down, he pets the cat, you serve some tea with lemon, he wins at Monopoly. Then when it gets too late he tells you he’ll see you for the build battle on Monday, and hugs you goodbye. You tell him not to get eaten by the dangerous wild cows on the way down. You both smile. 

10. Home doesn’t sound right. Is it supposed to? Probably. If you live there and all. If you’ve got a cat roommate and photos on the walls more often than not. If you’ve got a bunch of mini-fridges and fairy lights strung up in the bedroom and a little mosaic made up of shattered glass that shimmers when the sun hits it just right. So it’s home. It must be. But still… When Fwhip invites you to join empires you lock the door and pack your bags, and it is much easier than one might have initially considered to leave. 

We know that the Opress brothers are extremely dominant in all they do…but what is the closest that the brothers will get to being “soft” with their partners?

Always. Let's clarify: "dominance" among Dathomiri Zabrak include the care and protection of what they've claimed as theirs: their homes, their clans, their partners, their mates.

What's required of that care depends on the situation:

Will they help you sharpen your weapons and also show you the correct way to hunt a bane back spider to make the kill most efficient, but also wrap your knuckles after you get frustrated and try to beat the creature into submission? Yes.

Will they beat the karking stuffing out of someone who knocks your basket out of your hands when you're at the night market and help you pick up your scattered flowers? Yes.

Will they also wrap themselves around you when you're cold at night in the depths of hyperspace because they run hot and you don't? Yes.

The thing is... they each go about these things in their own special ways, you know?

"Soft" is a measure of each brother's capacities and personalities.

Warnings: Some canon-typical violence (hunting), hunting a predatory species, canon-typical injuries, sexytime mention, canoodling

Feral: Laughs at you the entire time. Makes fun of your technique. Tries to show you how to better hold your electrospear: fails, but keeps grinning when you nearly snap the thing in half in your frustration. Cackles when you lose a boot in the bog. Loves every minute of the experience, even when you get quiet, especially when you get focused and get low to creep up on your quarry. Isn't at all concerned that you're human and that "damned spider" is three times your size, because even when you lose your weapon and toss yourself on top of the creature's back to beat it into submission, he watches you in awe and exasperation. "I'm the worst teacher," he confesses, helping you drag your kill back to camp once it's over and you're exhausted from the lesson. "But you were ferocious." He's just as smeared in mud and gore because he was with you every step of the way, but you're the one who's bleeding, and he's the one with the medpac and the stimstick and the bacta and the bathtub when you can barely hold yourself up for a sonic. So Feral carries you up the stairs, and strips you of your armaments, and tucks you under his chin in the oversized tub to wash you off, and nuzzles your neck when he wraps your knuckles with bacta and bandages, and even kisses your fingertips despite your ragged nails, and he tells you in murmurs that light a little glow in your weary chest: that you did so well; that he's so proud; that he can't wait to see you do it again — even if you don't exactly follow Nightbrother tradition.

Savage: The flowers were a joke, for one, because you meant to make Savage a beautiful flower crown. Granted, two of the species you collected might have been poisonous, and one might've given him a rash, but by the time that became relevant, the basket was on the ground and two Nightspeople were cackling about the little off-worlder who didn't know the difference between nightsbane and brula fruit. No one saw your shadow as you were bent over the ruins of your would-be gift, save for you when Savage eclipsed your hunched figure entirely and the boys' scrambling trampled the blossoms. He had them in two strides: one of his for two of theirs, but you didn't want to watch the lesson being imparted when it involved bruises and threats. He left them with enough wherewithal to run away afterwards. "Didn't break anything," he muttered, though the regret was clear. He knelt with you amidst the ruin of your offering and pulled you to your feet with one enormous hand. "Let's collect another basket together," he promised, "I know just the place." And the hillside overlooking the valley that he brought you to was more than you imagined, because little flowers (completely inoffensive and definitely not poisonous) bloomed there beneath the Twins' rise, and even under the starlight, the dew sitting on the blossoms twinkled like diamonds. He sat beside you patiently as you fashioned him a gentler crown, and when you made love to him in that field later that night, he never once concerned himself with taking it off.

Maul: "Brood a little closer, it's cold in here," you told him, because he had that look in his eyes again that spoke of distant machinations and far-seeing plans: destinies that escaped him and others that might still be in hand if he could only grasp them. The same thing always, adrift between worlds and stars where the nights are endless and the cold creep of hyperspace journeys so often left you bereft. He's a busy man. Grand designs and the grace of the Dark Side. And you, left to your own devices again, huddle up in a bunk that's so often empty because he rarely sleeps. It took him nights to understand why you shivered, and why you drifted after nights when you couldn't sleep. Hard to explain what you needed, and you could never expect him to understand, but you left a space beside you open just in case. Always. Even if his absence left you colder, sometimes. "Why do you shiver, so? Are you ill? Is it fever?" he asked you, because Maul doesn't always understand the desires of other people, and to ask for such things he sometimes regards as weakness. You never wanted to burden him, but still, you couldn't help yourself: you leaned into his hand, his touch, his calloused fingers, and sighed for the warmth of his concern. It slowed him, even as you sank away, not wanting to linger. He waited. He weighed it. And maybe some part of him understood it wasn't simple heat that was needed. "Your blanket is too thin," he groused, tucking in beside you, his knees notched behind yours. "It's no wonder you aren't at your best performance." But he wrapped an arm around your waist, and tucked you beneath his chin, and settled, muttering something about how adept he was at being able to, "brood anywhere, no matter the conditions." You've never slept better.

HM:AWL critical analysis. a looooong post

harvest moon a wonderful life gamecube edition has a LOT of rough edges.

everything is incredibly, painfully slow. that's not so bad on its own, you know, to take things at a less frantic pace... but it's the menuing. menuing is fucking glacial. buying something takes ages, with long animations and having to restart the whole dialogue for every purchase. the font size is huge which means it takes FOREVER to get through a block of text (this is understandable, a small CRT of the game's era would need a huge font). but every time i talk to takakura there's at least a 50% chance he's going to try explain to me the basics of cows, which is like 9 dialog boxes long. also every time you select soil it takes 3 A presses to get out of it even though you only get 2 lines of dialogue.

the game feels wildly uneven. the cow system is fantastic, it feels genuinely educational while also being engaging and profitable in the game.

the crops are dogshit, full stop. you can not make a reasonable profit. there are no multiple-harvest crops. instead, there's some insane hybridization system that i can not for the life of me understand the POINT of (and that you need to befriend takakura- the 9 dialogue boxes guy- to use). planting and taking care of crops feels genuinely punishing with very touchy controls and long animations. all for a profit of 5g. oh and here's the final nail that REALLY shows you were never meant to do it: YOU CAN NOT SHIP THEM. EVER. YOU CAN'T SHIP CROPS. or anything else for that matter, except eggs and dairy. everything else has to be sold at your own market stall as you wait for an npc to walk by and MAYBE ask to buy SOMETHING in your inventory. god help you if they ask to buy the watering can instead.

going to bed has you wake up a set number of hours later (around 6 hours), rather than a specific time of morning the next day. you may have to sleep twice in a row to get to the next morning. which is... neither bad nor good. it's just interesting. you get a pet dog that does absolutely nothing, and that you can feed for no reason. it doesn't need food. you can disable the background music on the farm by interacting with the record player, and thank god because there is no variety by season and it gets grating quickly.

it feels like the very first generation of a brand new split-off series, that died on the vine. and i guess it kind of was. no other harvest moon game has done things like that, for better and worse. there's a lot of mysteries about the game to this day, and it's much less documented than the others in the series.

the game released in 2004. there was a rerelease for ps2, that fixed some of these things in 2005. there's been a PC rerelease in 2023, and i have no idea anything about it.

the only reason i've been playing the oldest version is to use the gay patch... nami will be mine eventually lol

Disastrous Hook household in the 1920 mafia AU:

Their combined bodycount is at least a dozen. They will gladly elaborate if asked.

You might end up traumatized though.

They ended up adopting Claudine Frollo after Uma dragged her to Harry, like: „She wouldn't survive on the streets. She's your problem now.“

Harry, of course, is unable to say no to Uma.

And Harriet just throws her hands up „Well we are not gonna throw her out, are we?!“

And when CJ comes back from her honeymoon (with her husband still alive, to her eternal annoyance), the conversation goes like this:

Harriet: „CJ, this is your new sister Claudine. She is legally dead. Say hi to Claudine!“

CJ: „Hi Claudine!“

CJ: *slowly turns at her siblings*

CJ: „Why is she legally dead?“

Harry and Harriet: „Hey! She was like that when we got her!“

(It was Frollo's fault. Fuck that man.)

„Claudine?“ „Yeah?“ „You grew up in a cult.“ „...Oh.“

This conversation takes place at least once a day.

Uma knows what do the sisters do for living. That said, she doesn't care. It makes for pretty interesting family dinners though:

Uma: „So, CJ, how did your husband die?“

CJ, smiling sweetly: „Natural causes.“

Harry, choking on his drink: „You pushed him off the roof!“

CJ, smiling wider: „Yeah. Gravity is natural.“

Harriet is just siping her wine throughout the entire conversation.

Ok, now, CJ's first husband was Gaston Junior (I'm sorry & rest in peace). I'm mentioning this only because he is/was mostly immune to wide array of poisons due to his sheer size, never even mind physical attack, and I find the image of fairly petite CJ getting increasingly pissed that her dumb husband just won't die hilarious.

At the end, she got him drunk and dragged him to the roof to go stargazing, since it's so romantic activity to do on such a beautiful night, no?

And eventually, he... Slipped. Gravity is natural, after all.

Harriet is also harbouring fugitives in one of her completely legally inherited manors. (Here is where Sammy Smee comes into play )

She is using another one of these for her rendezvous with Ginny and Anthony.

Harry tried persuading Uma to take another of those properties as housing for her gang (because of course that Uma collected a gang), but luckily for him, she was fine where she was. Luckily, because he didn't ask Harriet first.

Uma ends up crashing at his flat pretty often, though, so he isn't complaining.

And yeah, in between Uma herself, her gang of street menaces, her wide folder of blackmail and wider array of favours owed to her, Harry, who is gonna get pissed on her behalf, and his sisters, who will back him up... You don't wanna fuck with Uma.

CJ is on the ace spectrum in this, because I said so. It makes being a black widow a good bit easier, and, like, good for her.

Freddie does have a bit of a crush on her though. There isn't gonna be anything, because a) CJ isn't one hundert percent into it and b) Freddie would know better than to hook up with a black widow anyway (unlike Ginny Gothel and Anthony Tremaine.)

Harry has been trying to figure out whether his younger sister and the singer are hooking up or not for the better part of the last year. Unsuccessfully.

They hang out pretty often, but they do other stuff. Normal stuff. You know, do eachother nails, hair, gossip about fashion, play with the Ouija board a bit, bitch over the price of arsenic on the black market... You know, like you do.

They are having fun.

And yes, CJ is an arsonist in this AU too.

That particular hobby of hers was sparked when she helped her older sisters start a completely accidental fire in the office of the match factory her third husband owned. ...While said husband was inside. What a terrible tragedy.

@hannahhook7744 @dragoneyes618