#and im very tired of the dark skin+light eyes and hair trope

[bookishfeylin]

I felt this article in my soul. Essentially: featurism glorifies Eurocentric standards of beauty (that is, the obsession with light hair and light eyes and thin noses) and it's something we still need to work on.

[dotts-inkings]

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Just some bits of my writing that I like. There's transcripts under the cut too

Image 1 is based on an idea by @/rbgheart , where ghostbur finds a way to revive alivebur on his own, after seeing how phil and foolish fail to know what is necessary to bring Wilbur Soot back from the dead.

Image 2: just an exploration into how the dad phil thing and all its popular fanon tropes might lead into how pogtopia wilbur thinks.

Image 3: from the same story as image 1 but I sootburred it (hehehe) so this later turns into a *lovingly gazes into ur stunning eyes without even realizing im attracted* type thing.

Image 4: a vaguely post-prison Tommy time travels to the middle of the L'manburg war era, and confronts Eret as gently as he knows how before shit can ever hit the fan.

Image 1 transcript: [Ghostbur opens his eyes, surprised to see. He thought he was dead. Just dead. But it seems either he failed, or…

Well, he now stands in a long, dark hallway. On two sides are benches, and in the middle is a shallow ravine with tracks laid atop concrete. The walls are covered in paper, plastic, and electric signage, with lights shining down to illuminate in a hard-to-look-at pink.

He supposes this must be the afterlife.

Well, Ghostbur isn’t here to gawk like a tourist, he has a duty. He takes a slow, shuddering breath, letting the memories from previous flow away, and slowly walks (walks! He can't float!) down the hall, searching for his counterpart.

It is silent.

And it is dark.

And the hall is very, very, long.

Eventually, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours later, he finds an aberration in the infinite pattern of benches, lights and posters. A lump of dark fabric lays curled before a massive discoloration on the wall, the paper there ripped away, bricks coated in-

In...

Blood, he supposes.

That’s all. It's the afterlife, blood doesn’t matter as much, he reassures himself. It is all okay.

So he looks closer (and it’s rather hard to see), but under the dim light of a softly glowing advertisement screen, he can see the lump more closely. A shivering figure sits there, hair stained in white and back stained with blood. The figure breathes slow, heavy, crackling breaths. 

Coming closer, he looks to be hunched over on himself. The man has his arms crossed over his knees, with his legs folded beneath him. His head presses into the backs of his hands. He looks nearly dead, which is better than Ghostbur was expecting.

This is Alivebur, he knows it in his very being. And before he]. The image cuts off at the word 'he'.

Image 2 transcript: [And then Phil stepped in the room, his wings dragging across the rough stone. He looked around at the shaky scrawls of the song Wilbur wrote of victory and unity, and then at Wilbur himself in disappointment. And Wilbur felt himself grow colder. The world narrowed, and he looked towards the father that left him alone for years. Suddenly, the dilemma of the button wasn't about his brother's safety or his friends' happiness, but one last thing to throw in his dad's face. Something to show that his abandonment had hurt, had harmed and scarred him, something that would say 'if you just stayed this wouldn't have happened', something like 'I relied on you, I cared for you, and you left for some old friend of yours from a lost empire you used to rule and now look what happened', something that would hurt his shitty old dad as much as his dad hurt him.]

Image 3 transcript: [After some time, Alivebur manages to open his eyes again- well, eye. One of his eyes is bleeding now, hanging torn skin from the socket. Ghostbur doesn’t know how he didn’t see that earlier. The remaining one focuses on his eyes, and just like that he finds himself mesmerized. His counterpart’s eyes, they shouldn't be such a marvel. Ghostbur’s sure he himself had pupils and an iris once, and everyone else around him had proper eyes, so he doesn’t know why he is so fascinated by the reddish-brown shade, the sickly, tired expression. He’s entranced.

Alivebur seems similarly so, one eye unmoving from its place focused on Ghostbur. A feeling comes across Ghostbur, that maybe Alivebur is thinking of the glimpses Ghostbur unknowingly gave him of the living world - glimpses only an unwanted ghost could give, of desolate coasts and a black grid in the sky. He hopes Alivebur remembers him giving images of blue flower fields and sheep too. Kinder memories for a dead man forgotten.]

Image 4 transcript: [Tommy stared into shocked, blank eyes. He held the sunglasses that covered them before, and looked down at the glasses pensively. The man across the medical tent from him was tense, but not fearful, only apprehensive. Tommy supposed he would be too if a fourteen-year-old Tommy walked up and snatched the only shield he had from people seeing the awful emptiness of a herobrine descendant's eyes.

Tommy glanced up at Eret again. “You…” he started. “You aren’t king.” He looked at the man’s head, as if expecting to see some crown or circlet defining her role. Eret reels back, in bafflement, and a bit of pain in their empty eyes. Without the sunglasses, Eret is more expressive than ever.

“What- of course I’m not a king, Tommy. We’re fighting against a king, after all, aren’t we?”

If he hadn’t known Eret so long, Tommy would have only heard the surface-level confusion, but Tommy has known most of the tics in her deep voice since they initially reconnected over his hotel. The oddly stilted rhythm to Eret’s words betrays how careful he’s speaking. It’s nearly too obvious, but Tommy reminds himself that Eret’s never had to lie to Tommy yet. Not in this life.

Tommy flips the sunglasses in his hands around, side to side, up-ways and down. He is agitated. His tail lashes, and finally, he responds. 

“Listen, man,” He begins in a rush, “I know you know what I’m saying, and we both know you don’t think its worth staying with us in L’man- L’manberg, so you can drop the act.” Eret goes to speak, but Tommy cuts him off before he can lie again. “Seriously, I don’t care, well I do care, but I’m not gonna do anything about it. You can choose whatever you like, cause— cause like, slay queen, but you’re fine— just.”

Tommy scrunches his face.

“You aren’t king yet?” Hopefully.]

[hoodieofholland]

Professor Tom Holland and student reader. Maybe where the reader is a cheerleader and one day she’s walking home from practise and he sees her an offers her a ride home and he compliments her and ends in fluff! Please ❤️

A/n: heeey, im back again, this was pure fluff and i like the idea, gonna make an entire tag for professor holland cause it's probably my fav trope lol, hope you like it!!

Warnings: none, just fluff stuff :)

You pull the bag's strap over your shoulder once again, wincing at the sharp pain on your skin under the thin shirt you wore to walk back to your dorm.

Usually, you never walked home by yourself, there was always a friend who would nicely drive you after cheerleading practice, but today - unconventionally, a day with such a terrible weather - your friend got sick and missed the training.

Looking up to the sky, you notice the clouds turning even more grey, so you quickened your steps, worried that the eventual rain got you on your way. Sighing, you let your shoulders drop at the realization that your dorm was still far enough for you to reach before it started soaking you wet with raindrops.

And that's when the sound of a car passing by the empty street, besides the sidewalk you were passing through, caught your attention. The vehicle would slow down and get you worried at first, as it was only a few steps away from you. You considered walking further in the sidewalk, so you could create some distance from the car, but as soon as the dark window rolled down, revealing a not so unfamiliar face, you felt relief filling your tired nerves.

"Miss y/l/n", Professor Holland smiled warmly at you, frowning a little at the sight of your figure, bent to the side to be able to accommodate the weight of your practice bag. "You alright?"

Stopping on your tracks, you blink a few times at the man in front of you. Mr. Holland was known as the most beautiful man in his department - probably, the most beautiful man in the whole University. He was also a lovely teacher, always so committed with his classes and students.

A little more committed with you, if you were being honest.

In a very respectful way, Mr. Holland clearly had his favorite student in class, always praising you for your works, presentations and correct answers. 'You're a very talented woman, Miss y/l/n', he would say after offering you to tutor his class for a couple of students, which you quickly accepted to get more credits. At least, that was the reason you told yourself, but deep down you knew you just appreciated any chances you got to spend more time with your favorite professor.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Holland", you feel your cheeks blushing, eyes averting from his gaze and sweet smile to you. He was very intimidating, not in a bad way, but you couldn't help yourself when he stared at you like that. "Yeah, I was just... uh, walking back to my dorm".

You feel embarrassed for explaining this, also for not being better dressed in front of him. You were pretty sure your hair looked messy after practice and that your skin was glistening from a light sweat after walking so much with a heavy bag on your shoulder.

"Do you want a ride?", he asked, not letting the smile fade from his lips. "I think it's gonna be raining in a few".

His confidence and the comfort with his words impressed you. You wouldn't ever think your professor would worry enough about one of his students walking in the rain to offer a ride home. But there was Mr. Holland, with his beautiful and soft brown curls, the pretty crinkle on his eyes whenever he smiled, the way his strong british accent would make your legs tremble-

"Miss y/l/n?"

You blink a few times to get yourself back together, face hot with embarrassment for start daydreaming about his appearance right in front of him.

You ponder about it for a few seconds. It wouldn't sound very nice that your professor drove you home. You were sure that there might be a specific rule about students and professors getting so intimate about each other, but in that very moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care about it.

Mr. Holland, a walking God, was offering to drop you to your dorm, and you wouldn't miss the chance.

"You sure I won't bother you, Mr. Holland?", you ask, bitting your lips and praying he won't say otherwise. He simply smiles sheepishly and shakes his head.

"How could you? C'mon, let me help you".

You smile, lowering your head as you cross the car to get to the other side, opening the door as you enter Mr. Holland's car.

It was warm inside, much better than the cold air, hitting your face and making you struggle to hold your things and still curl into your own body to get yourself warmer.

The drive is filled with small talk, but not after a long silence between the two of you. It wasn't like you hadn't anything in common to say, but you felt really intimidated beside him. No topic seemed appropriated enough to discuss with such a brilliant mind, but Mr. Holland, somehow, proved to be not only one of the most intelligent professors you've ever had, but also a kind and nice guy. He waved off all the stress that was consuming you, and soon enough you found yourself laughing at his jokes and giggling at some wise comments.

"So, I think we're here", he said with a small grin as he parked in front of your building. The rain was pouring outside and you were getting yourself prepared to face that before stepping out of the warm car. "You- uh, do you want to just wait here? You're probably gonna get soaked if you go right now. I mean, you surely don't want to be stuck with your professor here, but..."

He lost his words, too embarrassed for his own words to keep going, and waited until you answered. You give him a sweet smile.

"I'm not stuck here, Mr. Holland. If anything, I'm grateful. You literally saved my ass- I mean, you saved me from, uh, walking in this rain" you bite your lip, trying to contain the giggle from the realization of your manners in front of him.

Mr. Holland's lips lifted a little, the tip of his tongue discretely wetting it.

"Yeah, I'm glad that we bumped into each other too", he said, eyes never leaving yours. And suddenly, it wasn't like your professor was there anymore. You could see a young man, a handsome one, talking to you. "It was lovely talking to you, Miss y/l/n"

You smile at his kindness.

"Same, Mr. Holland", you put your hand on the car's handle before stepping out. "I should go now, got an exam tomorrow morning. Heard the professor is really severe with his tests".

Mr. Holland laughed, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure you can handle any of my exams, darling. You're my best student".

You feel yourself blushing again, and look down before heading out of the car, the rain getting your hair wet.

"See you tomorrow" you say, watching as his eyes twinkle with joy. But before you can get away from his car, you shout:

"By the way, you can call me Y/N!"

[shotorozu]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦 ᥊ 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you find yourself in a bar that you and your ex used to go to regularly. the local bartender calls your ex- shinsou hitoshi; thinking you guys are still together. 

𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀: angst to fluff (happy ending), sfw, pro hero au (aged up), drinking (alcohol mentions and intake) ex to lovers, minor todomomo (not the center of this fic) reader is in the top 5, some swearing. 

𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱: [Y/N = your name, L/N = last name, H/N = hero name, ] f! reader, quirk not mentioned. 

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i also did this trope on ao3 with todomomo, so i better not see people think i plagiarized them because.. that’s literally me lol. also! i was very conflicted, bc i also wanted to do this with shouto but since I already have 2-3 fics in the making, i went with hitoshi (but let me know if you wanna see shouto’s version.) 

word count to be added when im not sleep deprived

　　　　　　　　

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You swivel down another shot down your throat, not caring of the burn in your nose, nor do you care about the smell of the alcohol. 

You’re never like this, this is not the best representation of yourself, no. This is not who you are as a person, and the way your former classmates look at you with concern when you chug down another shot shows how unusual this is to them.

“Take it easy..” Momo pats your back, and you exhale heavily, putting down the glass. Everyone is certain that you’ll obtain some serious hangover, almost to the point that you’d have to take the morning off to treat your hangover. They’re aware that you’re not this careless, since you're in the top 5 after all. 

But they let you be momentarily, but why you may ask?

Because this is your way of coping a breakup with your boyfriend of 3 and a half years, Shinsou Hitoshi. They’re aware on how hurt you really are, and to be real- they were the ones that asked you to come out with them tonight to distract you. 

“They’ve been going at it for a while, it’s almost concerning.” Tsuyu comments, as she tends to a slightly tipsy Mina, holding her so she doesn’t fall face first into the floor. 

The least they could do is let you be, while you're not totally blacked out.

The local bartender- Maki, looks at you with concern when you order another shot, yet they still give it to you (with the slightest hesitation) since you’re such a good friend to her. (Your rank makes you very respectable, it’s almost intimidating! but your casual friend ship with the bar tender says other wise.) 

But on the contrary, you'd know when you’ve reached the limit, and you’d probably know when they’d start refusing your requests of another shot. 

One by one, their friends depart from the table, either they were too drunk to even handle it so they were brought home, or something came up- everyone could agree that they all had some sort of worry towards their dear friend’s very out of character coping mechanism. 

“I have to go soon,” Momo sighs, when she receives a text from Todoroki- though it’s very obvious that she’s still very concerned for you, considering that she’s the only friend left. “Please take care of Y/N, Maki-san.” 

Maki nods at your black haired friend, and the creation hero looks at you one last time before leaving the bar. 

Lifting your head, your words are slurred as you request for another shot, which seems like the umpteenth time that you requested for a shot. The concerned bartender still attends to your needs, yet- she’s contemplating of calling someone if you ask for another. 

Likewise, you finish that shot in a moment, and you slump down on the table. Eyelids fluttering slowly as your laughter is filled with intoxication, your cheeks are warm from being inebriated from the intake of alcohol. 

You don’t notice how your concerned bartender dials up a number, requesting for them to pick your drunken state. 

     »»————-　➴　————-««

“Did you know the word bed is shaped like one?” 

It’s now past midnight, and you’re mouthing off about something random, the train of thought is endless (but it’s more like a shower thought ramble.) Your fists are deep into your hair- holding your head up so it doesn't hit the table, meanwhile Maki paces back and forth- still tending to other requests from the very few customers left. 

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, yeah.” They answer absentmindedly, “Man, I haven't seen you in nearly 4 months! it’s been a while. You knows how to hold your alcohol so frankly, this is the first time I’ve seen this side of you!” 

“Oh really?” You slur, continuing on to spout out purposeless words.

The bartender’s response is a total blur, words turning into background noises, and a part of you is lucky to still be conscious and still functioning (yet it's barely) 

“..But you hold it well for--” 

You’re also very lucky that you’re a little too under the influence to even register the name.

You didn't know you’d take this breakup with him harshly. The most you were expecting was just.. crying while eating ice cream. 

But no, it was an utter shit hole. 

The door busts open, and the bartender’s expression seems to brighten up “Ah, there you are!” 

You grumble, the bar’s lights causing your eyes to sting- and your head hurts too. You might need some aspirin later.. you close your eyes shut. The bartender is chatting with the unknown person, and frankly- you just wished you didn’t intoxicate yourself this much.

“Y/N,” 

The baritone voice is almost sufficient in sobering you up. Turning to the familiar voice, you see the tall figure, sporting bedraggled purple hair. 

It’s Shinsou Hitoshi. A reason why you’re in such a mess, coping with a breakup in the first place. 

You almost fall off your chair in sudden revelation to the appearance of your ex lover. It was almost like.. your drunken state was making you see things- a possible hallucination maybe? it has to be that. Maybe it’s the side effect of the growing headache?? What was in that shot?

“Ugh, I must be crazy,” You wipe your cheek from slob, your head throbbing from the growing headache. The weary purple head raises an eyebrow, and the bartender is confused by the sudden tension. It's abnormal, alright.

The reason why you broke up was because of his lack of self care. 

Again, it’s not like he was being a shithead and cheating on you, or being a total prick of a boyfriend and neglecting you, and it’s definitely not the other way around either. 

It was probably the opposite. He'd neglect himself for days on end, not caring about himself, and not caring about his own being. It was.. not what you wanted at all. 

You figured just because the both of you are rising up heroes, and also adults- he would’ve gotten a grip of not neglecting himself. 

But even habits like that don’t get old. 

“Hitoshi- seriously, when was the last time you’ve took a breather?” growing slightly irritated by Shinsou’s continuous neglect of his own self care, and also the fact that he’s clinging onto you 24/7. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, pinching your cheek. Heck, you should be glad he wants to be with you for the majority of the days. But you can’t tolerate him when he’s constantly complaining about being tired, although making little to no efforts in taking care of himself. Heck- his dark circles got even darker- how is that even possible?

“’Toshi, it really does. You can’t neglect self care.” Your brows furrow when he chooses to ignore your words. “You’re not listening to me.” 

“You should be glad that I want to spend time with you.” 

It stung. What the hell did he even mean by that..?? scoffing, and slightly offended, you reply “That’s not the main issue.” you cross your arms “We’ve talked about this before, remember?” You reason out, giving him the nice benefit of the doubt. You'd like to be civil here. 

He ignores you once more, and you can actually feel the irritation grow within you. “I don’t want to be the reason why you neglect yourself.” 

“I’m really not, okay?” He retorts back, “Why do you always have to bring up things that don't matter?” 

Aggitated, you snap back “Wh- we’re talking about you! Hitoshi, we’ve talked about this- and you said you’d work on it! do my words mean nothing to you?” Hitoshi’s gaze flickers up, only staring at you, as if it was his own way of judging you and your intent. 

And that’s how it erupted into a full fight, and into your eventual breakup. 

You didn’t know how expressing your genuine concern for him blended into him saying things he’d never mean in his entire life. He doesn’t stop you when you walk out, not saying a thing at all

There was no verbal breakup. It was just.. there. 

The unknowing bartender interrupts the nonverbal tension, “I thought you’d be a lot happier, y’know.” 

“We-”

“..’ll get going now, thanks again.” Before you know it, Hitoshi’s hooking your arm around his shoulders— as he walks to the door, leaving the very familiar bar.

It’s awkward, surely. You’re not sure why he was there, and you’re not so sure as to why he decided to come to your aid in the first place. If Maki called him, and he was requested to come to you in question, then he could’ve just..

“..sent someone else,” You mumble. You reek heavily of alcohol, and your skin is undeniably warm. Frankly, he doesn’t remember the last time you were like this— was it the first time you had a drink? it was years back at this point.

You’re pretty.

Beautiful,

That’s one thing that hasn’t change. Surely, what changed things was the fact that he said some.. horrible things— and refused to even listen to your concerns, which ultimately cause your breakup. His relationship status changed into some lonely and young hero, and his heart ached in different ways.

But you’re still very beautiful, to him.

Doesn’t matter if you’re all dolled up for a hero interview, or a mess on a off saturday. You’re still beautiful.

But now— he’s focused on your words, and he’s taken aback when you continue to speak, causing the both of you to stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You’ve coulda asked s-someone else to pick.. me up.” Your words are slurred, a normal side effect of being drunk. However, seeing your ex has surely sobered you up.

“That’s true,” Shinsou moves to continue walking, so you guys weren’t standing on the middle of the side walk on a cold early morning.

“What are you even doing at a bar at 1am?” He changes the subject, but you’re still caught on to your previous question. “You didn’t answer my question at all, meanie.” Her grip is firm, so there’s no way of budging it.

His laugh lacks humor, yet he feels obligated to answer her. Or else they’d be stuck on the sidewalk, due to her hero grip.

“It didn’t feel right,”

“Yeah sure.” You grumble, “Because you suddenly care.”

“I’ve always cared, Y/N.”

“Really?” You say, not really believing him anyway. “You seemed pretty sure with your words back then to care.” Despite being toxicated, your words have undertones of venom

“You may say that, but.. I’ve always cared.”

“Then why the hell did you say all of that back then, huh?” Overwhelmed by seeing your ex, who you still fucking loved by the way— tears grow at your eyes. “If you’re lying, stop it.” You say, literally not in the mood to be lied to right now.

You’re literally being carried by your ex, while intoxicated, while also having a throbbing headache.

“I’m not.” Hitoshi answers firmly. A certain edge grows in his throat, and he hates it.

“Yes you are,” Your voice is now wobbly, it’s really just a mix of your overwhelming emotion, as well as your drunken state. “You would’ve told me that weeks ago!”

You were always right, and he knows it. Ever since from the last moment you shared with him, your words were just.. nothing but the sheer truth. Yet, he’s only hurt you— because of his denial.

He knows you’re right, and he knows that he had his habits of neglecting his own care. Though that’s why he decided to change, that you were in fact- correct all this time.

And he was just an ass to even admit it.

“You’re right,” His fists crumple, grip tight as he fights his sudden urge to break. “You were always right. I’ve always cared, and you’ve always cared about me. Yet I was worried of changing, not being around you just so that I could take care of something that’s not really important-”

“But you are, Hitoshi,” You sob, nearly collapsing onto the ground— “You matter so much, yet you don’t even see it, and if I’m going to contribute to your destructive ways— then...”

“How could you? If you don’t care about my words, then do you care about yourself..?”

Shinsou sighs, bending down to meet your level— you’re gasping and sobbing into his chest, tears angrily running down your cheeks.

“I know, kitten, and I’m sorry.” Wiping your tears with his thumb, he speaks once more. “That’s why.. I’ve thought about what you’ve said, and I decided to take care of myself a bit more, I want you to know that.. I do care.”

You glance up at him, the city lights luminating his face— enough for you to see the adorning expression he’s sporting.

“..really?” You speak, in a nearly hush tone, again— you’re still very drunk, and overwhelmed with emotions. This could’ve been passed off as a fever dream, and you could’ve been normal with it.

“Yes, Y/N.” His mouth perks up into a small smile.

“Then.. would you allow me to start over with you again?”

Pushing against Hitoshi, you envelope him with your arms— it’s almost cliché and dramatic, the way you collapse into his arms like it’s the last day on earth.

But.. Shinsou’s glad he has you again. Finally a chance to prove that he’s changed.

ーーーーーーー

BONUS

You sit on the counter of your apartment, hands covering your face— as a way to shield your eyes from the prodding sunlight that peaks from the windows.

“This should help,” Hitoshi hands you a cool glass of water, “The way you hold your alcohol is terrible,” You chug down the glass of water, and you take a jab at him with your feet.

He hisses at the sudden attack, and only chuckles, “You’re mad because it’s true kitten,” He teases

“Shut up,” You draw him in with your leg, setting the glass down, “Just kiss me already,”

And so he does, pressing your lips against his— savoring the sweet warm moment he’s been practically starved of for nearly 4 months.

He pulls back, his expression showcasing that he’s tasting the aftermath.

“Ew, you taste like beer.”

You glare at him, and take another light jab, “Of course I do, Idiot.”

Despite saying all of that, he pulls you in once more.

　　　　　　　˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading (literally the first fic i’ve ever posted, so y’all BETTER like it or i’ll 💀)

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing

do not plagiarize my work :)) (literally don’t, it’s 3:26am on a tuesday.)

[iris-ymir]

Never-ending survey: Lareine

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs! 

Tagged by @blood-of-the-dragons & @under-the-blood-moonlight 🖤

Tagging: @umbralich @vylette-elakha @lavender-hemlock @archon-ffxiv @illia-ast @torr-sceadu @istolin @rael-eryut @alun-ura & @cyrillien

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Lareine Kira, Iris Ymir (formerly).

NICKNAME: Young miss (by Arsene), Patient (by Varg).

AGE:  31

BIRTHDAY:   13th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Viera (Veena)

NATIONALITY: Othard, Skatay Range

LANGUAGE/S: Common, hingan & Ishgardian

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Lesbian

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Lesbian (Iris), uncertain (Lareine).

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Its complicated...

HOME TOWN / AREA:  Ymir, Skatay Range

CURRENT HOME:  Pillars, Ishgard

PROFESSION: Assistant to Varg Blacksoul, thief (formerly).

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Short, raven-black hair with purple highlights.

EYES: Light purple, but appears almost black in dim lighting.

FACE: Inverted triangle-shaped face, and a rather sharp nose.

LIPS: Bow-shaped lips, usually painted purple.

COMPLEXION: Morbidly pale, with a hint of purple.

BLEMISHES: Dark circles under her eyes.

SCARS:  Five scars from stab-wounds on her torso (Three on abdomen, two on the left from her heart). Several smaller scars run all over her arms and right shoulder (Most of them hard to notice because of her pale skin-tone).

TATTOOS: Purple markings tattooed around her eyes. Rose-thorns and purple iris-flowers on her left thigh.

HEIGHT:  178cm

WEIGHT: Slightly underweight.

BUILD:  Slender & feminine. Somewhat toned arms, legs and abdomen.

FEATURES:  A beauty-mark below the left corner of her lips, long and sharp stiletto nails, usually painted black.

ALLERGIES:  None.

USUAL HAIR STYLE:  Seems to stay as a spiky mess, no matter what she does with it. A single braid on the left, sometimes decorated with couple of purple pearls.

USUAL FACE LOOK :  Impish smile, wide-eyes or slight pout (Lareine), pissed-off, tired or cynical (Iris)

USUAL CLOTHING:  Black or purple blouse with a corset, either long skirt or hotpants, long coat or a leather jacket & high-heeled boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Being tied down / restricted, locked doors, losing control.

ASPIRATION/S:  To one day be able to pay back to one man who took her life away, and to another who gave it back.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Extremely loyal towards those she holds dear, adaptable, witty.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Clingy, childish & whiny (Lareine persona), trust issues,  violent & unpredictable (Iris persona)

TEMPERAMENT:  Sanguine (Lareine), Choleric (Iris).

SOUL TYPE/S:   Artisan

ANIMALS:  Black cat.

VICE HABIT/S: Rather heavy drinker and a stress-smoker.

FAITH: Not much in the religions.

GHOSTS?: Absolutely. Living and the dead ones.

AFTERLIFE?: As long as its not some boring, white space with nothing interesting to do.

REINCARNATION?:  Might be interesting.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Does not understand rat’s shit about politics.

EDUCATION LEVEL:  Street-smart.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Unknown father.

MOTHER :  Irene Ymir (Deceased).

SIBLINGS : Possibly half-siblings from father’s side.

EXTENDED FAMILY: Varg Blacksoul (Doctor / caretaker), Arsene Dreadeois (Butler), Silke Doomflare (Best friend, possible love interest).

NAME MEANING/S: Queen in “ishgardian” (Lareine), name of a flower (Iris).

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: N/A

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Old fairytales.

DEITY: N/A

HOLIDAY:  All Saints’ Wake.

MONTH: The months of midsummer & fall.

SEASON: Fall.

PLACE: A victorian style mansion, a room docorated with old dolls.

WEATHER: The gust of wind and the first drops of rain, before a thunderstorm.

SOUND / S: Crackling of a fireplace, grand piano, rain drumming on the roof and windows.

SCENT / S: Incence, fruity / flowery perfumes & rain.

TASTE / S:  Whiskey, sweets & rolanberry pie.

FEEL / S:  Soft fur, skin-to-skin contact, hot bath.

ANIMAL / S:  Anything furry, especially foxes & cats. She is a huge animal-lover overall.

NUMBER: Does not care for numbers.

COLORS: Black, all the shades of purple, violet, silver & red.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Adaptability in different situations, lockpicking, speed & agility, self-learned with daggers & trained with ringblades, drawing.

BAD AT : Teamwork, manners, staying focused on one task, reading, controlling her feelings.

TURN ONS: Wanderlust, confidence, sense of humor, tattoos.

TURN OFFS: Untidyness, celf-centeredness, rasism.

HOBBIES: Bathing, drawing, people-watching.

TROPES: Guess she is a weird mix of femme fatale, dark lady & hopeless romantic..

QUOTES :  “My Varg-Varg, my knight in shining armor.”

                   “How dare you?! How friggin’ dare you, you creep?!” 

                   “Yesss...”

                   “The anal what?”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  The name of the movie would be “My name is Iris”. It would be a movie about her time in hospital. Pretty much the recent backstory, turned into a film, where the reality and events going inside her head would mix into a twisted nightmare. Something along the lines of Rob Zombie’s film “Lords of Salem”!

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  Something eerie, with bells and such. A music that would fit into haunted house, full of creepy dolls. Bloodborne & Alice, Madness Returns soundtracks are quite spot on!

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 :   I think the very first reason was that I somewhat lost touch with my old character. A bounty hunter named Fenris. I liked her, but somehow she did not feel like my own. So I started from scratch! I guess Lareine is one of those children who are not planned, but still end up being much loved. She ended up being my dearest character of all time, and the one I can relate most.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 :   I guess Im kind of a sucker for dragic types with an attitude and a hint of sillyness to balance it all.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 :  She tends to be a huge extrovert, while Im more of an introvert. So writing her can get bit “draining” time to time.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :   Fashion sense! We also have similar sense of humor, and as I have mentioned before, some of her problems mirror certain events in my life.

Q7 :   How does  your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :   We would most likely get along! If we lived under a same foor, one of us would end up dead though...

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?        

A8 :  While Lareine can get along with almost anyone, for Iris, I think the most interesting characters to interact with are the ones that can match her temperament! It might also be interesting to match her up with some nobility, because of her lack of manners. Pretty much anything that will lead into juicy disasters, in one way or another!

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?        

A9 : I mostly get my inspiration from music, soulsborne- and American McGee’s Alice-games, I mentioned earlier. Sometimes also from movies, if they happen to have some beautiful scenery. Rare these days, but the Nun was some serious eye-candy!

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : I dont know, as I made this on side with other stuff... Too long?

[dabiapologist]

[My Hero Academia Fanfiction]: Fever Dream

Pairing: Dabihawks, hawksdabi, hotwings, spicywings

Characters: Dabi (My Hero Academia), Hawks (My Hero Academia), Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Usagiyama Rumi | Miruko, Toga Himiko

Rated T

Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter 1/3

Tags: i've always wanted to write a sick fic, Don't Judge Me, Sick Fic, Fluff, bratty dabi is my favorite dabi, chock full of cliched tropes, and im not sorry, tfw you catch feelings for your annoying villain liaison

Summary: 

"Endeavor-san? Quick question." 

"What is it? I'm busy right now." 

"How do you know if you're sick?"

"...excuse me?"

"Like, how do you know if you're running a fever? Do you even get fevers?"

"Why?"

"Uh, um, just curious?"

On the other end, he hears Endeavor sigh in annoyance. "Of all the things, Hawks, Why would you be curious about that?"

"Well," Hawks chews his lip anxiously as he turns to look back over his shoulder, back at the sizzling bundle of blankets on his couch.

Sizzling.

Oh. That's probably not a good sign.

Read it on || AO3

At a glance, Dabi’s moods and expressions are damn near impossible to tell apart. In the time that they’ve been in contact, Hawks has only really seen Dabi function in three modes: Distant and Aloof, Aggravatingly Smug, and FIRE. And even then, the first and the last tend to blend together most of the time, since Dabi doesn’t think much of using his quirk on others. Hawks finds himself wondering if the novelties of murder and arson and villainy have long since worn off for his scarred cohort.

Even so, Hawks prides himself on his razor sharp skills of observation. You can’t be a hero without some semblance of awareness, let alone a top hero, but Hawks’ skills are a clear cut above the others, thanks in large part to the extraordinary precision required to use his quirk effectively.

And tonight, it is obvious that there is something very… off.

Dabi is quiet normally, usually sticking to one or two word answers. Three, if he's feeling particularly chatty. Unless it's to insult him, of course. For that, Dabi will talk all day long. But as they walk side by side down the dark alleyway, having just completed a deal with a shady fellow who leered at the two of them in a way that makes Hawks desperate for a shower, Hawks feels like Dabi is too quiet. To the point where it's uncomfortable.

Even when Hawks’ foot catches a large pothole and he stumbles and bumps into Dabi, the taller man doesn’t acknowledge it, other than a tired suck of the teeth and an outstretched arm to set Hawks upright. Not that Hawks really needed him to do that; he quickly steadies himself with his wings and manages to keep his balance, but that’s hardly the point.

Not a single word. Not even a “You fucking clumsy idiot,” Which is one of Dabi's default reactions where Hawks is concerned, and one that Hawks had an insult fully prepared for.

But nothing.

Hawks wonders if maybe it’s the weather. Rainy weather is one of the few things, besides him, hero society, and the gross dehydrated vegetables in instant ramen, that Dabi is actually quite vocal about hating. It’s been raining for the past few days, and tonight especially, it’s coming down like it’s the end of days. He’s thankful he had the foresight to wear an extra layer under his coat, though at the moment it’s not really doing much to warm him. It’s only been raining hard for maybe ten minutes at the most, but his hair is already dripping into his eyes and the rain is weighing his feathers down almost to the point of discomfort.

Dabi isn’t faring much better, Hawks notices. Being a fire user, he doesn’t necessarily need any extra layers; the bastard could probably steam himself dry in a few minutes if he wanted to. But as Hawks discreetly eyes him, watching the rain drip down his fringe, plastering his dark hair to his head and face, he thinks it might have been wiser to at least wear a hoodie or something, rather than just his usual overcoat with that thin, dingy shirt underneath.

Thankfully, the storm passes quickly. It lessens back to a light drizzle by the time they clear the alleyway, and Hawks finally has enough space (and reason) to stretch his wings out to their full wingspan. With a few mighty flaps, he shakes all of the excess water from his feathers.

“I hate it when it rains this hard,” He says casually as he folds his wings back, “Weighs my damn wings down.” It’s a relatively inane, pointless comment, one that Dabi would not hesitate to label as such; Hawks is hoping he will, if only to break some of the tension that’s been hanging in the air all night. Because truthfully, it’s a discomfiting silence. One that is slowly driving Hawks crazy. Hell, dare he say it, he would actually take the threatening but oddly playful barbs and bickering the two of them engage in (when Dabi is feeling more talkative) on occasion to this.

But all Dabi gives him in response as they continue on their way is an absent nod and a shrug of the shoulders.

Hawks almost growls at the lack of engagement, but gives up. He knows how to pick his battles, too. And by the way Dabi stares straight ahead, jaw set tight, eyes clouded and distant, this is one perhaps best left alone. He’s clearly got something on his mind tonight, and Hawks decides to let it be. It’s not like it’s his problem, anyway.

At least, that’s how Hawks feels until they turn onto another side street, down to the junction where they usually part ways.

“So, I’ll pass the news along to Shigaraki,” Dabi speaks for the first time since leaving that skeevy dealer’s place, voice even softer than normal, “And then once he gives the… the, uh…” He trails off briefly, eyes pinching shut, letting out a quiet, pained grunt.

Ah, so that’s it, Hawks realizes instantly, he’s just not feeling well.

However, he’s not above taking his jabs at Dabi when the opportunity arises. After all, if their roles were reversed, Dabi would most definitely lay into him without a second thought. They have been, and he has, so Hawks feels no shame or sympathy when he says, “You don’t look too good, Dabi. You alright?”

Finally, a genuine reaction: Dabi’s eyes narrow to slits, in what Hawks’ assumes is annoyance at both his taunt, and at himself for letting Hawks see any weakness. Dabi exhales sharply and straightens up to full his height and squares his shoulders, shaking any semblance of discomfort from his visage.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, inhaling deeply, “Just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hawks nods, though he’s hardly convinced. Now, under the streetlights, he can just barely see that Dabi is a little pale in the face, and, for all of his forced bravado, his shoulders are starting to slump again.

“Tired. Right. Once Shigaraki gives the what now?”

Dabi sucks his teeth, mustering up just enough energy to give Hawks one last scathing look. “Once he gives the okay, I’ll contact you again.”

He doesn’t say another word as he turns to leave, and Hawks doesn’t say anything else either.

But he watches.

He stares at Dabi’s retreating back for a bit, head cocked to the side. When Dabi turned away, he turned just a little too quickly, a little too aggressively, and there was a very noticeable lurch and bob as he righted himself before walking away. The first real, clear sign that Dabi is under the weather he’s had tonight.

It was quick; anyone else would’ve missed it. Hawks, unfortunately, is not one of those people, though he really wishes he was. Because now, he can’t move from this spot until Dabi leaves his sight still an upright and ambulatory sentient mood swing. His conscience just won’t let him budge.

Goddammit. He curses mentally.

And, just for the record, it’s not that Hawks necessarily cares about Dabi’s well-being. If it were up to him, he’d let Dabi rot in that gross, dirty alleyway from before. It’s all the man deserves, frankly. What he does care about, however, is maintaining a (somewhat) reliable communication with the league. And for that, he needs Dabi. Dabi is his way in, --his only  way in-- so he’s obligated to care a little.

Besides, he knows for a fact that Dabi’s apartment is a long ways off from here, if only because he’s followed him home before, for surveillance purposes. And hell, it could barely be called an apartment to begin with.

And that piece of knowledge is what finally uproots him from his spot at the stoplight. Dabi rounded the corner a while ago, so Hawks figures it’ll be faster if he takes to the sky. He lands up on the rooftop of the building, and walks along the length of it to the corner.

That’s where he spots Dabi.

Well that didn’t take long, he thinks to himself. letting out a whistle. Dabi must’ve been making one hell of an effort to not let Hawks see just how poorly off he actually was.

“Boy, do I hate being right all the time,”He mutters out loud, but nonetheless he soars back down to ground level.

“Just tired, huh?” He says with a chuckle as he closes the distance between himself and Dabi, “Did you really think you could fool me, Dabi?”

Dabi, who is slumped against the side of the building, his breathing labored between wet coughs, just stares back up at him through narrowed but unfocused eyes. Even in the orange glow of the street lights overhead, the pallor of his skin, the healthy parts, stands in stark contrast to the deep purple scars. Deep down, Hawks can’t help but feel a tiny modicum of respect for the man. How he managed to keep himself together for the duration of the deal is a mystery to him because, to be frank, he looks even more like shit now than before.

Hawks doesn’t hesitate to tell him that, either.

“Fuck off,” Dabi snaps, but it’s hard to be intimidated by him when he slides to the floor, slowly curling into himself and trembling.

Hawks sighs. Damn his conscience.

“Look, I don’t know where you live,” A lie, “But based on what I’m seeing right now,” He says, gesturing to Dabi’s current position and quickly deteriorating condition, “I don’t think you’re gonna make it home, man. Come-”

“I’ll manage,” Dabi cuts him off sharply, pausing for a beat when a wave of nausea passes through him, “I just...need a minute to catch my breath.”

Hawks gives him a look. “The only thing you’ll manage in your state is to stumble into traffic and get hit by a car. That or pass out on some random sidewalk.”

Dabi growls.“I’m fine,” He reiterates, forcing himself to his feet, “I’ve dealt with worse. Just go away.”

He could go away, he should go away. But Hawks doesn’t. Instead, he walks a few paces behind Dabi’s still slouched form, face twisted into a permanent grimace as he watches the other man force himself along at a snail’s pace, using the wall to brace himself. At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before he makes it home.

Assuming he doesn’t pass out face down on the ground before then.

Hawks rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake.

With two flaps of his wings, he lands directly in front of Dabi, forcing him to stop. “Come home with me.”

Oof, could’ve worded that better, he thinks. By the look on Dabi’s face, he clearly agrees.

“My place isn’t far from here,” Hawks continues quickly, “And I can’t, in good conscience, let you go after seeing you like this. Just crash at my place tonight.”

Despite looking and feeling like death warmed up, Dabi still gives him one of his standard sarcastic replies. “Aww, that’s so fuckin’ sweet of you, hero. Now, move. I said I’m fine.” He says caustically as he shoves his way around Hawks’ form...

...and immediately collapses on the ground.

Hawks stares down at his prone form, shaking his head. “Yep, seems about right.”

He walks over and picks Dabi up, bridal style. Despite their height difference, Hawks finds himself barely struggling to hold the other man. Dabi fits in his arms easily after just a bit of manipulation into a more comfortable position. Wow, he’s a lot lighter than he looks, Hawks thinks, eyebrows furrowing as he hefts Dabi up a bit closer to his body, preparing to take flight.

“I guess now you have no choice but to come with me,” He says, watching as Dabi’s head lulls to the side, unconsciously pressing into Hawks' chest, his face contorted with pain. “You’re definitely not going anywhere like this.”

But Dabi is nothing if not persistent. And amazingly stubborn.

“Put me down,” Dabi still manages to croak out, even on the precipice of unconsciousness, “I don’t need your fucking help.”

It would almost be impressive, if Hawks wasn’t so tired and desperate to get to his damn apartment already. Still, he can’t help but laugh out loud at Dabi’s tenacity. He doesn’t know when to give up, does he?

“Dude, you just went down like the goddamn Hindenburg, and you’re still fussing? Just give it up. You’re coming back to my place, and you can sleep this off. I need you alive.”

Dabi grips the front of his jacket weakly. “If you take off, I swear to god I will set the both of us on fire.”

Hawks blinks down at him. Alright. That’s it.

“For fuck’s sake,” Hawks snaps, “Well, if that’s how you’re gonna be, then you leave me no choice.”

“Wha-” Dabi doesn’t get another word in, as Hawks promptly headbutts him into silence.

“What a brat,” Hawks says aloud. With Dabi’s now fully unconscious form hanging in his arms like a limp rag, Hawks has to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of this situation. He really should’ve just let him go.

“I’m sure this is gonna come back to bite me in the ass,” He mutters to himself as he takes flight.

Because after all, no good deed goes unpunished.

[noxpraelia]

REALLY  LONG  CHARACTER  SURVEY.

RULES.  Repost, do not reblog !  Tag 10 !  Good  luck ! Tagged by:   @nxrestfxrthewicked ( thank u~! ) Tagging:   @glaswen | @wyntrbones | @oplitis | @abnedea | @themelissapark | @daayaan | @exulantis | @aevyternal

BASICS. FULL  NAME :  Tamera Holocombe NICKNAME/S :  Dee, Goth Princess, ‘Babe’, Div,  AGE :  20 BIRTHDAY :  December 12th ETHNIC  GROUP :  Mixed NATIONALITY :   American LANGUAGE/S :   English, Spanish, Broken Welsh & Mandarin  SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :   Heterosexual  ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :   Demi-romantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :   Single. CLASS :  Middle. HOME TOWN / AREA :   A small town in southwest USA. CURRENT  HOME :  Travel-heavy, usually dwells in New York. PROFESSION :  Beating things up

PHYSICAL. HAIR :   Jet black with bangs cut just above the eyebrows in a straight line. Hair is silky and shiny despite the roughhousing she gets into. The length comes past her shoulders and halts at the midback. An occasional white strand will be had, but she plucks it out right away. EYES :   Deep set with the color being ice blue. Through certain lighting, her eyes may appear pale grey, almost lacking any true color.  NOSE :   Straight. FACE :   Heart-shaped. LIPS :  Full lips with a slight pout, rarely nude and often covered in black lipstick. X COMPLEXION :  Pale  BLEMISHES :  Pockmarks on the upper rightside of her forehead. SCARS :  Self-inflicted scars on the underside of her arms and wrists, faded and perhaps mingled with the now various fight wounds and scars from numerous bouts. The infamous thrice scars left by her Ex-Guardian and boyfriend ( Three vertical scars, an inch in width and three inches in length, on the back of her left side just on her shoulder blade). A scrambled sacrificial symbol that resides on her hip. TATTOOS :   Currently, none. Though due to change in the very near future. HEIGHT :   5′8″  WEIGHT :  128lbs  BUILD :   Athletic though leaned muscled arms. Most toned are her legs and thighs as well as her abs (4 pack, yet she’s working towards 6) due to her fight style of muay thai. She is still slender despite the muscles, and curvy. Cup size is C with slightly wide hips that give way to her powerful thighs and heart-shaped ass (petite though firm with a hint of bubble). Only piercings on her being are her nipples. FEATURES :   Bloody knuckles and salty mouth. ALLERGIES :  N/A USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :   Let down, straight. Sometimes in a loose, relaxed, ponytail or bun.  USUAL  FACE  LOOK :   Tired and angry. USUAL  CLOTHING :   Black on black ensemble. Usually looks like she walked straight out of a goth magazine. Typically wearing a black leather jacket over her current top, two belts are looped over her hips while she either wears black leather pants (which are fashioned with lace or criss-crossed string) and black combat boots. Little to none jewelry, never earrings unless its a faerie ball or an important event.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR/S :  failure, rejection, Ex-Guardian, the people that are following her, mirrors, excess blood, losing those she cares about, becoming something she’s not, ASPIRATION/S : wholesome, a protector and fighter, deeeeeeeeeep down: loved, worthwhile, helping those in need and caring for those whom she loves platonically,  POSITIVE  TRAITS :   clever, playful, feisty, humorous, bold, brave, vigilant, merciful, caring, lighthearted, strong, independent,  NEGATIVE  TRAITS :   cocky, big-mouthed and foul, nosy, smartass, indecisive, blunt, sassy, rude, grim, temperamental, over-sensitive, MBTI : ISTP ZODIAC :   Sagittarius. TEMPERAMENT :   Choleric. SOUL  TYPE / S :   Creator. ANIMALS :  Wolf. VICE  HABIT/S :  Smoking, drinking, FAITH :  Non-denominational. GHOSTS ? :  Can see and speak to them, knows they are real. AFTERLIFE ? :   yes. REINCARNATION ? :   yes. ALIENS ? :   yes. POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :   lmao no. ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE :   n/a. SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION :   none. EDUCATION  LEVEL :   Highschool with no college. Was never given the option and would likely not opt for it either.

FAMILY. FATHER :   David Holocombe, Viendel (father-figure) MOTHER :   Claire Holocombe SIBLINGS :   N/A EXTENDED  FAMILY :   Lucy (grandmother, deceased), Rodrigo (Uncle on father’s side) NAME  MEANING/S :   Tamera means ‘palm tree’ or ‘fruitful tree’. While her psuedonymn, Divine, is self-explanitory. Though she, herself, doesn’t understand why it was given to her. HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? :   N/A

FAVOURITES. BOOK :   Too many to count. MOVIE :   Anything horror but she knows all the lines to Dracula. 5  SONGS :   Winterborne- Cruxshadows, Brackish-Kittie, Lovesong- The cure, Nemo- Nightwish, Nymphetaine fix-Cradle of filth DEITY :  She likes all of them, save for the evil ones??? MONTH :   October. SEASON :   Winter  PLACE :   Anywhere. WEATHER :   Rain SOUND :   Rain and crackling wood SCENT/S :   white cherry blossoms, foxgloves, petrichor, french vanilla coffee TASTE/S :   Sweet, spicy FEEL/S :   soft blankets, lace, a long and comforting hug, lazy kisses, cuddles,  ANIMAL/S :   Foxes, dogs NUMBER :   16 COLOUR :   Purple, black, pastel pink

EXTRA. TALENTS :   Her eyes can pierce the Veil, so she can see beyond glamour and disguises/possessions; even seeing supernatural creatures for what they truly are if not them in their original skin. Considerably strong for a human. BAD  AT :   knitting/sewing, first impressions, can’t skillfully use a knife, cooking steak/meat dishes, small talk, yoga TURN  ONS :   Biting, neck kisses, rough makeouts, tender nibbles/kisses on her jaw, anything to do with her nipples (even a thumb brush over clothing; she’s extremely sensitive there), I think being rough in general lmao, she likes the look of her being wanted and then pounced on. TURN  OFFS :   No hygiene (bad breath moreso than anything), too much body hair (werewolves are safe~), spanking, quick submission/docile, certain pet names, anything involving bodily fluids, HOBBIES :   Painting, fps shooter games, reading, sparring, TROPES :    The Mysterious One, The Loner, The Unwilling Hero, The Goth, The Fighter, The Chosen One. Dark is not evil, Sir swears-a-lot, Glowing Eyes, Deadpan Snarker, God in Human Form. Probably missing more... AESTHETIC  TAGS :   Bloodied knuckles and  bruises, black lips and nails, graveyard dances, coffin naps, foxes in snow, wolves singing, city lights like candlelights, purple and black swirls with teal ribbons, rain on midnight skies, clenched fists that ache with rage and purpose, fairytale creatures that entice all, paintbrushes and laughter, cigarettes dotted with glitter, gothic structures and gothic romance, soft kisses at dusk, (idk what im typing tbh... it seems like you write their aesthetics but as a tag??)

FC INFO. MAIN  FC/S :   K/senia So/lo ALT  FC/S :  Manga are various minor characters. OLDER  FC/S :   None YOUNGER  FC/S :   Hann/ah Sn/owdon,  VOICE  CLAIM/S :   Elizabe/th Ba/nks as Miri