#blue velvet trench coat

[hotfuss]

the killers in the times style 2005. Photos by Lee jenkins

[reyenii]

since edwin is very closed off, except for when he’s with his best friend, charles, costume designer kelli dunsmore reflected his buttoned-up mentality through his bespoke suit, complete with bowtie and collar. edwin’s outfit, along with charles’ period garb, were designed to help them stand out more in modern day port townsend. “i knew edwin would, because no one dresses like that now,” says dunsmore.

dunsmore wanted everything about charles to feel “a little bit cool and underground,” from his union jack and the who bull’s-eye patches to his checkerboard pins. his little cross earring and chain on the outside of his shirt are also meant to be homages to the ’80s.

in the show, crystal’s hero color is purple, which you’ll notice in her velvet coat and long silk letterman jacket, which dunsmore thought of as a psychic cloak with hand-embroidered patches, including the wilting rose of england.

her brown trench coat represents an explosion of everything going on in her mind. dunsmore decided the scribbled words and drawings are a result of crystal writing all over it to express her inner turmoil. there are even lyrics on there from the song she’s listening to on the tube when she meets the dead boys.

david’s connection with crystal seeps into her wardrobe, too. since david wears a flower shirt, dunsmore’s team hand-painted flowers onto crystal’s black boots. and niko is wearing a dark sweater with flowers on it when we first meet her, as an homage to crystal. the costume department also drew the same rune pattern the dead boys use to exorcise david in episode 1 onto crystal’s trench coat and on the tab of her wool bomber jacket. “so she’s always got some sort of protection,” says dunmore.

every color niko wears is inspired by what’s happening in that episode, from the green post-sprite exodus to blue when she’s feeling sad. niko only wears a white look, with nods to her japanese heritage, in the finale as a reset. the charms on her obi belt represent the colors she’s worn all season.

night nurse is someone who’s in control all the time and likes things to be in their proper place. dunsmore looked to vivienne westwood for inspiration, since everything in night nurse’s world is a bit exaggerated. (by the way, niko’s orange monochromatic look is a nod to her scenes with night nurse and night nurse’s red hair.)

since david is a demon, he finds a london boy that looks cool enough for crystal to find attractive. that meant dunsmore dressing him in a shearling jacket you’d find in “all the guy ritchie movies,” black pants and creeper shoes. the costumer’s mood board for “david the d” featured radiohead and amy winehouse and her husband blake, who often wore hats similar to the one you see david wearing in the show.

pay close attention to monty’s leather jacket and you just might spot an inlaid crow feather or two.

it’s not only esther who wears clothes with a gilt, old-gold color — cat king and night nurse also do as a nod to their villainy. (esther and cat king also have similar fur coats.) amidst her beauty, dunsmore wanted esther to be a little rough around the edges. she wears a cuff around her hand that’s adorned with a snake and a ring with teeth all around it to represent the teeth she’s collecting from all the little girls. her eye necklace is meant to be her witch pendant.

mischievous as ever, cat king has (cat) eyes everywhere and is aware of edwin’s affection for charles. so he wears charles’ socks the first time he meets edwin.

[scarfacemarston]

Could you please write some hc’s of how Kurt would physically feel? Like, how would his fur feel, his hair, his tail, his teeth when kissing, and how it would feel to hold hands (since his hand only has 3 fingers). Also, could you include a NSFW portion (if you want) of how his genitalia would feel, both with the reader feeing it with their hands, and how it would feel inside the reader. That would be great!

SFW: Kurt’s fur canonically feels like velvet. His fur is not at all the same as Beast’s. It’s very short and appears to be more like skin than actual fur. It is not all over every part of his body either. His body is more like fuzz than actual fur. He can overheat in the summer, but you would never hear him complain about the heat. However, you or his friends would have to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t catch heat stroke. He HATES feeling sweaty, though. It makes his fur stand in annoying directions. His entire tail is also like velvet, especially the spade tip. 

His palms and bottom of his feet do not have fur or fuzz on them. He’s fine with swimming if he chooses to, but it’s not something he does often. He’s fine with the rain, but he would prefer to wear a trench coat or something else sleek to protect himself. He’s fine with his hair getting wet, but the rest of his body sometimes annoys him.

His hair is like the finest silk, and you love running your fingers through his soft midnight blue tresses. He loves it just as much - more than you know. He has to keep himself quiet so you don’t tease him.  His hands are strong, with many callouses from training on and with bars and poles so often. You wouldn’t expect them to be so strong, just by looking at them! Like the rest of him, his hands are very soft. His hands are also very large, but not enough to be disproportionate to the rest of him. Needless to say, you feel secure holding his hands -even if it took a few tries to find what was comfortable for both of you. From that point forward, he loves holding hands and will randomly gently squeeze your hand or give reassurance that way. Him giving you back massages also feels very unique because of how strong his hands are, but don’t worry, he’s always gentle.

As for his teeth- he’s very careful not to bite you while kissing. He knows what he’s doing and is a talented kisser. He’ll give little nibbles to your lips in between kisses, with a soft swipe of his tongue following as an “apology”. His kisses on your neck or the rest of your body feel divine. He will never bite hard - he’s not an animal and doesn’t like being reminded of how different he is - but he will definitely nip playfully. You don’t know how he doesn't manage to leave bruises - but he likes to joke that’s one of his mutant powers.

Spicy content below:

For his tail: Kurt will use it in foreplay if requested, but it’s not always his first inclination. He’d like to at first please you in the “normal” ways before involving his tail. There’s a fine line between enjoying it and fetishizing him. If he feels like you’re fetishizing him, he will leave.

His pubic hair is actually less than you’d think. As for his dick, he's gifted. Prep and foreplay is an absolute must with Kurt and he’s all to happy to provide. However, he knows he's sizable but he is also terrified of hurting you. Expect a lot of “Are you alright, Liebling?” or “Is this okay, Mein Schatz?”

He’s thick and lengthy with a curved head and a few prominent veins, giving slight ridges like any veiny dick. It’s heavy in your hands and very responsive. There is a definite stretch when he enters you, hence the need for foreplay. However, both of you love the fullness and the closeness it brings the two of you.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 28

Prompt: Cockbulge Pairing: idol!Mingi x costumer!Reader WC: 4k Summary: It’s not that you’re a prude, you just want to make sure Mingi knows that everyone can see everything when he wears those velvet pants. Unfortunately for you, he likes it that way.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Mingi or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW under the cut.

TW/CW: Reader is described with fem sex characteristics, Mingi has a big dick, sort of painful sex, drunk sex, adversarial sex, both parties are into it. Mingi is a bit of an egotistical shit. Cumming inside. Oral (m receiving). Unrealistic bulging.

potential writing pet peeve warning - i try to write drunk slurring into the dialogue seewwwww. yeah.

 It was apparent to you that no one had ever talked to Mingi about the importance of a dance belt. Sitting in the darkness of the audience as the boys lined up for their costume checks, the lines of his “little Mingi” pressing against the lush baby blue velvet interrupted the flow of the fabric. You jot down on the yellow legal pad “ask manager-nim to talk to the boys about proper undergarments.”

 Cornering Mingi alone is a process that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. He’s a social butterfly, always entertaining himself by chatting with one person or another. Traveling in a pack or duo no matter where he went. The clock was ticking and you could feel each second pulse deep in your chest. Donning a measuring tape and tucking a pencil behind your to look more official you finally screw up the nerve to grab him from the hallway into the dressing room.  “Mingi! I just need a quick second from you, if you can. Privately?” Smiling, you try to look nonchalant in front of the two others in his current circle.  The man sticks out his lower lip in an over dramatic pout but as your face remains neutral he gives into the request quickly. “Why in private, miss?” Mingi asks, dressing room door snapping shut with a swift click.  You clear your throat and try to be anywhere but here, in this moment. “What do you know about dance belts Mingi?”  He blinks a couple times and pouts. “Aren’t they like…thongs that squeeze your junk?” The tone of his voice matches the distaste that crosses his face.  “Well, kind of. They don’t have to be thongs but-” you stutter, searching for your next move. Mingi continues to look at you, expression blank as he waits for you to collect yourself. “You know you have a nice body right?” He nods. “Really nice long-” you choke and rethink the approach again. “-trench coats look on you. I mean most things do. But. You see- when you dance and sometimes when you stand and really it’s probably just the lights but for me-” you shake your head. No not for you. “-for an experiment have you ever thought or considered wearing one?”  “One what?” Mingi looks as lost and confused as your babbling.  “The velvet pants. We can see it.”  “It?”  “Your…your penis, Mingi, we can damn near trace every vein for some reason. Can you please wear a dance belt?”  Mingi smirks. Cocking an eyebrow at you as the heat of embarrassment strangles you. “Did you like the show, miss?” He bites at the skin of his lower lip, eyes flitting from your stunned face to his crotch. Weight shifting back onto his heels, you realize just how tall he is, even standing relaxed like this.  “Mingi I- oh my god- can you just wear one?”  He nods with some consideration, “do I have a choice?”  “Obviously, it’s your underwear.”  “Then no.”

 Mingi watches you through the dressing room mirror even as the makeup artist drags pink lipstain over his lush lips. As soon as he’s done with makeup he starts palming himself through the velvet pants. Letting his cock chub up and strain further against the fabric. Now that he knew that it was seen, he had to be sure that he was fully ready for the show. He studies your face as the heel of his palm pushes against the shaft, watching you glare back through the glass, challenging his gaze. He likes that you’re watching him, even if it’s with disdain. The subtle touch isn’t enough to get him fully anywhere, but still it twitches in interest.

 You continue to glare as he rises from his chair and sidles over to you. Side bag full with a mini kit strapped to your hip, you glance around the room. Everyone else is too busy with their own preparations to notice the tension growing between the two of you as the distance decreases. Remaining seated in your folding chair you refuse to jolt up to attention, no matter how much your legs want to.  “I’m assuming you need me to stitch you in?” Searching your bag for the needle already threaded with the matching powder blue of his pants. All in the name of preserving the carefully tucked hem of the shirt as the artist danced on stage.  “Last thing I have to do.” It doesn’t escape Mingi that you’ve been pointedly looking anywhere but below the belt on him as your fingers carefully pluck the fabric of his shirt and pants together. .“Haven’t you wondered how big it is? I assume you’ve thought about it if you’ve been looking.”

  “I try not to actually-” you mean to explain how you try to not look at him that way, anywhere near that way, that it was actually him who was making it more difficult for you to not look there. Instead he interrupts you with a smile.   “So you do think about my cock. Noted.”   He’s slick and cocky. “Mingi that’s not what I-” part of you wants to stab him with your needle.   “Thanks for telling me about these pants,” he nods down at you, “gives me time to make sure I look good from all angles.”   You can’t hold the exaggerated roll of your eyes. Close like this you can almost see the veins running up it, its almost comically large in comparison to his muscular frame. “As long as it still fits-” you start to sigh, alluding to the obvious compression of the fabric.   “I’ve always been able to make it fit.”   He drops it so nonchalantly, winking with his tongue out. Sitting there frozen, your cheeks heat up, a loud gulp echoing through your fuzzy skull. Okay so maybe you want him. Maybe his cocksuredness had won you over despite how stupidly audacious he was. EIther way you were completely embarrassed and kneeling eye level with his bulge. At this angle, you start to understand why people of all genders throw themselves at this massive loser of a man. At this angle he looks more massive than loser.   You cough and resume your work, averting your eyes as much as you can  Was he even wearing underwear? The thought enrages you for a second, getting ball sweat on his fucking costume. That second of rage is enough for you to channel that flicker into a particularly pointed jab through the fabric and into your finger.   “Fuck-cock-shit-” you swear and suck your wounded digit, scowling at nothing in particular. Mingi’s hand wraps around your arm and lifts you from your knees. A sudden caring gesture from the giant.   “Is it ok?”  “Yeah, it’s good luck to get costumer’s blood on your outfit anyway,” you mutter. Still scowling down at the pearl of blood you push to the surface to gingerly stick the finger back in your mouth. He didn’t need luck. You did.   Hiccuping your way down the hall of the hotel the company had reserved the golden numbers listed on the doors blur together. Exhaustion and drunkness threaten to consume your legs from underneath you as the walls sway. Your roommate had left the afterparty earlier than you, assuming that you wouldn’t self sabotage.   That was her mistake.   When the drinks are free and the next day is taken up by airports and hotels, there was no reason for you to stay remotely sober. Not with the hard road ahead of you. You fully lean against the wall as you rummage through your tote bag. Fucking needed to replace it. No pockets. It was a black hole which ate all it came in contact with. You start patting your body. You must’ve put your keycard somewhere.   You lightly tap on the door to no response.  Knocking harder still you hear someone say to come in. A man. Which is strange but maybe not that strange?   You knock again.  Clad in the hotel branded bathrobe and fisting a can of beer your eyes meet the chest of…not your roommate. You start your slurred apology before the person tugs you into the room.   “Are you crazy? Do you know what time it is? We’re both going to get in trouble.”  Blinking to clear your vision you stop apologizing long enough to look up into the face of Song Mingi. His skin is freshly washed and pink, chest bare beneath the robe.  “Yer the one who pull’d me’in here,” you slur.  “You’re lucky that I’m the door you knocked on. It could’ve been much worse.”   It’s impossible to control your burst of laughter, loud and punchy. “Worse? Yeeer the guy whoz been TORMENTING me with his dick. Every day it’s just- dick and cock.”  Poor Mingi, who’d been sipping the dregs of his beer, nearly spits the rest to the floor as the words leave your mouth. This tiny thing rambling drunkenly about his member in a fit of rage is immediately hilarious to him. “I knew it. I knew you wanted to fuck me”  “Asssssss if,” you sneer. “It’s just morbid curiosity. Nothing more. You’re like a-a-a-well something you can’t look away from thats just so repulsive it’s like- I want to-need to stare.”   Mingi fully laughs, his eyes turning into little crescents as he fights tears of pure joy. “Do you want to just look? I have no problem showing you.”  “Whaddya mean,” you stare at him crossly, leaning forward to try to look intimidating. “Don’tcha think I’ve seen bigger?”   Biting the corner of his bottom lip he glances down his loosely drawn robe. Holding the can of beer suggestively close to himself he looks meaningfully back up into your eyes. “You have to ask. Won’t do anything without you asking for it.”  Now or never. Do or die. The liquid courage coursing in your veins the next words out of your mouth should feel like more of a mistake than they do.  “Alright, if yerr soooo proud of it. Show it.”  Mingi’s robe parts just down to his belly button. His body is naturally nice, not especially built but made of lean dancer muscle. Still keeping just the little bit of softness that makes you want to wrap yourself around him and-  “What do you want me to show exactly?” He bites his lip and grins. The fucker.  You roll your eyes back at him and swat at his stomach, “your fucking dick you dick. Show me before I get bored and leave.”  His lip bounces free of his teeth. Fuck, you want to kiss him and ride him til he cries. The twist of anticipation tightens in your gut not even daring to look where his hands travel down. You can see his muscles tense as he undoes the knot in the belt.   “You’re not even looking,” he watches you intently as the belt goes slack. Your chest rises and falls with quickened nervous breaths. Eyes darting everywhere but there as your tough facade shakes. Mingi steps closer, it’s easier to avoid looking now that his body is almost touching yours. The warmth rolls off of him, his hand finding yours. “Wanna touch first?”   You nod, letting him place your hand up square on top of his sternum. His heart beats fast under your fingers. Or maybe you’re still feeling your own. Trailing down the smooth expanse slowly, his mouth hung loosely open as he breathes, letting you take your time. “‘S hot,” you mutter, unaware your inner monologue had leaked out.  “We can do something about that.”   “Yeah, okay.”  Mingi’s hips press into yours and he pulls you by your belt loops back into his room with him. Your addled brain screams curses in as many languages as you can summon as his extremely obvious bulge presses against your stomach. He’s actually fucking huge. He wasn’t bluffing or stuffing or exaggerating in the slightest. He smirks listening to your gasp as you waddle to the bed, still connected at the hips.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mingi tugs you over his thighs letting you do the towering for once as he leans back on his elbows. “You can’t say anything about this.”  “Same to you, dickwad,” you spit back quickly. “If I catch you bragging to anyone, I’ll sew your inseam so fucking high-”   Mingi laughs, “are you giving me the NDA speech?”  “Abso-fucking-lutely,” you place your hand on his chest to steady yourself as you wind your hips. The bulge below you feels like heaven.  “Ah! Shit-jeans-off-,” Mingi chokes back a whine, “please. Hurts-”  He looks like a rockstar, robe sprawled open and cock throbbing caged in his black boxer-briefs. Once you’ve looked at it you can’t stop staring. The seams of his underwear fit snugly around his thighs as his length strains against the fabric. The elastic of the waistband barely hangs on as his cock continues to grow. “God yer fuckin’ huge,” your mouth waters as you stumble, jeans getting stuck at your ankles, hand steadying you on his thigh.  “Yeah, I know. You scared?” He asks, eyes half lidded. He almost sounds hopeful.  “Issa trick oftha ligh’ errr…the stitching.” You fumble through loose excuses. He really can’t win this early, you curse your drunk tongue for letting the words slip.  “Touch it then, scaredy cat.”  Defiant look in your eye, your fingers skim his quads. His eyes close and brow furrows as you get closer and closer. He’s trying to hold back but the twitch of his hips betrays him, small choked whine catching in his throat. It’s hard to contain your devilish grin as you palm him and feel it throb against you. “Now ‘o can’ look, scaredy cat. Imma ride yew wouldn’ surVIVE.”

 Mingi’s abs kick in as he tenses. “Why are you like this? Can’t you just admit it. I won.”  ‘Yer gunna cum in yer fucking boxers. Issat really winning?” For added measure you lean over and press your lips to the stretched fabric. Mingi lets a pained noise out of his nose, chest heaving.  “Do it again.”  You make a show of it, pulling the fabric taut as you kiss up the length of the bulge. Its difficult to see much as you look upwards, more for the effect than the ability, but you can gauge his reaction by the way his thighs tense at your sides. A sick satisfaction wraps itself around your neck, this man who has only been trouble for you writhing in your grasp. The veins running up his lengths pulse prominently against your lips as you kiss the clothed lump again. Mingi’s toes tap rapidly in frustration.  “Please.”  You want him to beg louder. As uncomfortable as it is you drag your tongue up the fabric listening to his reedy breaths. Fingers looping behind the elastic waistband of his underwear you tug it down his hips letting the excess catch over the head of his dick. A small dark patch forms as his hips buck up into your face, into the cloth. His pleas come out in muffled consonants caught, bitten, between his lips.  Mingi pants. “I need-pleasepleaseplease-hurts-”

 In a single swift tug you free his cock, springing back up against his stomach with a thwack. Pink tip turned an angry red, it continues to leak as you salivate over it. Fantastically thick, veiny, and tapered neatly it takes two of your hands to wrap around the length and hold it up.   “See?” He huffs triumphantly. “‘M big.”   “-hands jus’ small.” You spit onto his length and pump it. “‘Ve seen bigger.” A lie. Your lips curve around the tip, barely taking the first quarter of him into your mouth before you give up, cheeks ballooning comically.   Mingi angles his cock to hit the inside of your cheek, watching the swell and cave as he thrusts upwards to meet you. He likes to see how taut he can make it. Your spit leaks down and around him, onto your small fists working the substantial amount of him that can’t fit into your mouth. “You think you can take me?” The words were meant to be a challenge but sound more hopeful as they leave his mouth.   Wordlessly you rise from the floor to straddle him, his hands wandering your body, drinking in as much as they can take. Groping and moaning you rut against each other, slicking up his length with your release.   “Wanna see how big I can stretch you baby. Think I can make that cute lil tummy bulge? Think you can take all of me? God, I wanna see you try.” His hands squeeze your ass and thighs, squishing the flesh between his fingers. You lean backwards, wedging the head of his cock against your tight entrance. The spongy tip just barely disappears into your slit, Mingi takes the perverse pleasure of watching you wince as it pops in and out of your tight ring of muscle. “That’s just the tip and you’re already tapping out?” He goads.

 Determined, you slide forward more and take more of him, sucking air through your teeth. Your folds strain to accommodate him, ridges and veins throbbing as you try to stuff more of him into your stretched walls. They throb, he throbs back. Mingi’s thumb rubs circles over your clit almost as an apology of sorts.  “‘M not done,” you grit your teeth defiantly. “I c’n take more.”   The second he sees your jaw drop in silent pain he grabs your by your hips to hold you aloft. Concern washes through his body. Most people at this point tapped out, about three quarters of the way down, really any farther than half was just for show. There’s no point but pride. Besides that the sight of your folds wrapped snugly around him, juices dripping down towards the base, is enough to have his head cottony. It was really even enough for him to just watch it go in, you could’ve tapped out at the tip and he’d have been satisfied just to see you struggle with that much of him.

 The alcohol has definitely done its job to cloud your discomfort as you roll and rock your hips to coax yourself the rest of the way down. Finally relaxing your burning thighs as you sit on your throne, gravity aids you in fitting him fully inside.   “Ahhhoohhhh my god,” Mingi moans, nearly blacking out from the spike in blood pressure. He’s desperate not to cum now. To finish now would be akin to admitting defeat, admitting a lack of mastery over his body. His chest caves with a tense exhale. “You’re so fucking tight. I’ve gotta be the biggest you’ve ever had.”   As much as you also don’t want to lose, it’s hardly in your capacity at this very moment to bluff. Your walls spasming around him is betrayal enough, much less your hand sneaking down to feel where he stretches you. “I c’n feel you,” you say in wonder with your hand over the slight distension in your pelvis.   “Yer jus’ toting this thing around?”   “Oh fuck-yeah.” It’s not meant to be an answer to your question. He’s biting his lower lip to keep himself focused as you gyrate. No matter how wet you are, the vice grip your cunt has on him as you slide yourself back and forth has him grasping at the edges of insanity. Part of him wants to tell you to just use him, treat yourself. The other part is feels the primal urge, the singular goal, to fuck you so hard he leaves a lasting impression no other man could fill. Without thinking his hands migrate to your waist, bruising grip egging on your winding ministrations.   Legs weak and wobbly already you collapse forward and brace yourself, both hands on the headboard. This obscures the view of his own cock spearing you just enough to reverse the stun locked man into action. Holding you in place his hips jut up into you, each thrust punching out more air from your lungs until you're barely able to hold yourself up.   “Mingi, mingi, MINGI. Holy shit- holy fuck- listen-oh fuck-” legs shaking so violently you can barely hold the rest of your body together, the spring inside you snaps violently back into place. Sparkling sobriety hits for a second before a cockdrunken wanton fog settles in the space the drink had left.

 Mingi is smooth with the transition to fucking you, he has extra length to work with. You feel almost seasick as you spin back into the cushiony mattress, unsure of how your legs ended up in the air with your muscles suddenly getting to relax.   “You wanna know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he asks through gritted teeth. Slowly he drags his length along your walls, pushing your shirt up to see the small bulge he makes in your lower stomach. “God I’m going to fucking enjoy taking you apart like this.”   “Oh my god, Mingi-” you whine, clasping your hands over your burning face, embarrassed at how good he’s making you feel.   He bats your arms to the side and pointedly rolls his hips again. “No, you’ve been such a bitch to me this whole tour, I wanna see you with a smile on your face.”   Your eyes roll back and he thrusts deeper, the force driving your hips higher up into the air. “Oh fuck me- Mingi-”   “Tell me how big I am.”   “God damn it, you’re fucking big.”   “How big?” His hips drive the point home, your stomach bulging. “I’m the biggest you’ve had, right?”   His cock bruises your gut, punching up into you like the monster he is. The threads of sanity that you cling to pull apart with each drag back. To add insult to injury, he doesn’t even watch your expression any more, eyes locked to your lips stretched around him, sucking him back into your velvety walls.   “Yeah, fuck, okay. The biggest. Fuck me. Oh I can feel you.” You practically gurgle as he fully sheathes himself again.   Mingi pats the protrusion of your stomach as he keeps his hips tight to yours, rutting into his own palm through you. Your warm wet heat feels delicious wrapped around him. There was a world somewhere where he could afford to be totally obsessed with this, with you. You shiver and clamp around him again, knees pinching his hips. “Did you just cum again?”   Eyes half closed you nod.   “That’s hot.”   “Don’ stop. Please.”

 Normally rebellious to your requests, Mingi follows this one to a tee. Holding your hips in his massive hands he pulls them up even more, almost stacking on top of you. With the change of angle he’s perfectly positioned to piston into you unimpeded. The tip of his dick slamming straight into your frontal wall as you choke on your own breaths. The world spins as your oxygen dwindles and alcohol remnants drown your inhibitions. Chanting his name like the crowds do nightly you shake. Your climax hits the both of you like a train. Mingi can’t hold himself back, your tight walls milking him as they pulse and pull him.   “Ah shit, oh fuck,” he swears as his hips slam forward, unable to turn off his primal impulse to sink as far into you as physically possible. Pumping you full he’s near to passing out from a combination of lust and exhaustion. Lowering your legs and then himself, his head rests on the bed next to yours, it’s almost peaceful, almost.   “Iffyou tell a soul eye’ll hem yer pants a centimeter short you big bastard.  Mingi lets out a single puff of a chuckle.   “Eyejusss need’d to blowoff steam. ‘Kay? One. Time. Thing.”   He’s only half listening as he closes his eyes and yields into your softness. Maybe one time thing. Maybe.

[hannahssimblr]

Winter. 

When did this happen? Was I looking away for long enough for the season to change without my notice? I haven’t spent enough time here watching time, from this old velvet seat by the window that overlooks brutalist blocks, each building identical to the next. These utilitarian slabs might stand like this, grey cubes jutting from the asphalt, for five hundred years. I’m here for five months now. Thoroughly settled, used to this place, this apartment with the tarry flavour of cigarettes clinging to the furniture the landlady never took away. 

Jonas says she’s strange, this woman who has left all of her old things for us to live around. Her lamps, with sun-faded shades, her record collection, the chenille bedspreads stuffed into a closet, and the ancient television I replaced the day after I landed. I’ve never met her. Sometimes, I slip a dusty bottle from her wine rack in the cellar and serve it to my friends at dinner. Surely, by the time she ever notices, I’ll be long gone.

Through the vignette of condensation, the snow drifts, white flecks, across the beam of the streetlights. Kreuzberg is quiet. Sunday. 

I refocus my eyes to look into my face, a mirror reflection in the black window. I look older, perhaps, than in the photographs Jen posted to me in September, the ones from the summer, where the light is hazy and our noses are sun blushed, from that time that feels like another lifetime already, or like fiction. At Christmas, I returned to Ireland, and it rained for two weeks without stopping, and it felt something more like reality.

My grandmother told me that my hair was straggly, and she’s right. It’s been too long since I’ve cut it, but the ends of my hair spent the summer with me. Even though my skin cells have replaced themselves, the parts of my hair touching the collar of my coat and curling around my ears hold the memories that the rest of me is slowly losing. 

I haven’t stayed in touch with my friends from there as much as I would have liked. These days are busy, with friends, with college. I draw and paint more than I ever have, lashing out piece after piece, sketchbook after sketchbook, building a tower upon the desk in my cold little bedroom, though the women in my pieces don’t have green eyes anymore. Now, I choose blue.

The door buzzes, and I stand to answer it. 

My finger on the button, “Yeah?”

“Hurry! Open up, it’s fucking cold.”

I buzz her in, then stand waiting by the open door as she ascends the stairway. Three floors. I hear her the whole way, the snap of boot heels against tile. There’s an elevator in her building, and I feel acutely guilty about my building’s lack of one, despite being entirely powerless to do anything about it, as I am an art student, not an engineer, and was not yet actually born during its construction. 

She appears on the landing, shivering, with snowflakes clinging to her hair, and sitting on the structured shoulders of her trench coat. 

“Ugh, oh God, those stairs. I hate them.” She says. She unzips her boot and tosses onto the pile of shoes next to the door, and I notice immediately that she’s barefoot, toes balanced on the tiles like a ballerina. 

“You didn’t wear socks?”

She’s not wearing tights either. Her long, pale legs poke, completely exposed beneath the beige gabardine. 

“Did you take the U-Bahn like this? It must be five below zero.”

Her second boot hits the tile with a clatter, and she backs me into my apartment. As the door clicks shut, she pulls on the tie of her coat.

She’s wearing nothing but black lingerie. 

“Ah,” I am enlightened. This now makes perfect sense to me, in much the same way it does to her. Astrid has a way of bringing me around to her way of thinking. 

This was actually an excellent idea. 

“I was bored,” she says, which makes sense too. She is always bored. This is why she does what she’s seen people do in films. It’s a way to keep herself entertained. An unwelcome thought flashes into my mind, as I wonder if she has done this specific thing for previous boyfriends. I hop off that path. With Astrid, it is important to dwell only upon the present. Anything before this, now, me, us, is nothing worth worrying about. 

I slip my hands under her coat, onto the soft, downy velvet of her skin. 

“Nice and warm,” she murmurs. 

“Astrid, you shouldn’t have gone out like this.”

“It was only thirty minutes.”

“I know, but,” Her hands are freezing between mine as I heat them with my breath. “It’s too cold.” I’ll have to give her something of mine to wear when she goes home, but begin to worry that nothing is clean. I have been avoiding taking my dirty clothes to the basement since I flew back in ten days ago, too cowardly to face the seizing cold of the communal laundry room and that ever present leak in the ceiling surely turned to an icicle by now. 

These are not sexy thoughts. 

It’s like she can tell just by looking at me. “The point is, you will heat me up,” she says, a bit slowly, like I’m thick.

I don’t want to be the guy that lacks spontaneity. That would make me anxious. She pulls her hands from mine and pouts at me, as though at a little dog. “Look at you, you’re so nice.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and I understand I should be doing something a bit wilder, like, I don’t know, taking my own clothes off already. Why on earth haven’t I started to do that?

Ah, because I am nice. 

“Okay, fuck your hands then. They can freeze.” Often, jokes are a mistake around Astrid. She rarely laughs at them. In fact, she rarely smiles at all, and only indulges us when she feels like doing it. It’s never to be polite. She knows her own mind. I’m obsessed with her. 

I’m obsessed to an ever greater extent now, because, once again, she’s not laughing. She’s not trying to please me. It’s me, always, trying to please her instead. I tug on her coat and it pools to the floor, then I kiss her. 

“God, I love you.” 

I murmur it, the truth. 

I knew it the third or fourth night we spent together, in November, as the last stubborn leaves clung to the branches. She wasn’t like anybody I had ever met before. She reminded me of nobody, and that was the point. 

I felt it, that weakness, my molten insides, and the deep fear of it in the early hours of one morning as she lay on the sheets with moonlight spilling across her back. She has a tattoo between her shoulder blades of a heart pierced by three daggers. She says it’s from a tarot card, and she was younger and stupider when she got it. That night, as she slept, I uncovered some kind of symbolism in it that moved me, but in the morning light I had forgotten all the profound thoughts I’d come up with except one: That I loved her. It surprised me. I ignored the tiny pang of sadness I felt, like mourning for a part of my life that was already long gone. It was useless to miss it.

I chose Astrid instead. 

I choose her now, love her in the same way I kiss her and touch her and fuck her, by doing what she wants me to do. It’s not a submissive situation. I’m not into that stuff. I am a man clocking in and doing as he's asked, thoroughly, diligently, excelling at his job. Eager to please. Employee of the month.

“Will you put your hand on my throat?” She breathes. Beneath me, her hands claw the bedsheets. 

Yes, I think. That would be nice. 

I am interested to discover that I like it too. I don’t think the other girls I’ve slept with would have let me try the things that Astrid does. They couldn’t picture themselves doing it, I’m sure, and neither could I. Back then I didn’t think about sex the way I do now, but Berlin has been bringing it out in me. 

She comes first. That’s mandatory. Then afterwards, when I have, and thoughts return to my brain, I’ll lay here, haunted by the years I didn’t know about this golden rule, and all the time that I thought I was good at sex but wasn’t. Dwelling on the disappointment I brought upon women and girls will make me spiral a bit, I’ll feel it rising, but I’ll feel better when I fuck Astrid again, in some new, fascinating position, and she’ll tell me I’m pretty good, in fact.

She’ll be loud enough about it that Klaus from downstairs may complain, and point out that such volume levels are forbidden on Sundays. He’ll threaten to raise it with the building management, so I’ll bring up the fact I know it was he who put cat food containers in the recycling bin. Neither of us will do anything, and the cycle will repeat until one of us moves or dies.

“Klaus is a miserable, jealous old fool,” Astrid says. “He probably doesn’t have sex, so he’s furious at people who do. I think it’s basic psychology.”

“He lives with his wife, you know.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean he’s having sex. Married people don’t do it. Or at least hardly ever. That’s why I’ll never be tied down like that.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think Mr and Mrs Klaus are fucking like rabbits down there?”

I scrunch up my face. “I’ve never heard them. Maybe they do it very quietly while I’m out of the apartment.”

“They never do. I bet they hate one another. Surely they sleep in separate rooms and only speak when they have to.” Astrid invents this story with glee. She is describing what is to her an indisputable fact of life. Her parents, and her mother’s relationship with her stepfather, too. I think she believed these things about marriage before meeting me, but the confirmation that my parents are the same has solidified it. 

“I don’t like to think about things in such a black and white way,” I say, and hold my palm against hers. Her fingers are long and slender. “Just because a lot of marriages are bad, doesn’t mean they’re all doomed. I believe some people are happy.”

“Trapped,” she whispers. “Like canaries in a cage. Maybe they don’t know any better.”

“If I was married, it’d be because I loved that person completely. I wouldn’t do it unless I was sure, and if I loved someone that much, I think I’d still have sex all the time. I can’t really picture that changing. When would I ever not be doing it, you know?”

She hums gently. “So you would never join a monastery.”

“Ugh.”

“And if you married me, you’d want me like this forever?”

This isn’t a serious question about marriage. That would be ridiculous. This is a test for me to pass, and am about to, with flying colours.  

“Yeah, you’re so appealing in every way. I can’t imagine not being completely crazy about you forever.”

“You definitely wouldn’t get over me if I left you.”

“Nah, probably not. In my grief, I might even refuse to sign the divorce papers or some shit.”

She nods, satisfied, and rests her head on my chest. It slots nicely beneath my chin. “I want to go to sleep,” she says.

“Alright, me too.”

I switch off the light and listen to the pitter patter of the snow on the window, drifting slowly away with it.

Astrid shifts, restless. 

“Tomorrow, I have a lecture at eight.”

“Unlucky.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“Ah, yeah, probably because of the lingerie stunt.”

A pout. “It was a gift for you.”

“And I loved it. I can find you something to wear.”

“To my class? Your clothes? I’ll look ridiculous. Can you get me a taxi to my house so I can change?”

“Yeah, of course. If you wear my clothes in the taxi.”

“I won’t be naked under my coat in front of a strange man, Jude.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll arrange a taxi, then.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She adjusts her position again, and the subtle contact of our bodies sets off a chain of sensation. I rake my nails lightly over her back, and she shudders. 

“You’re so pretty,” I say. “Did you know that?” I know she does, but I like the smug way she always says yes. 

“It’s okay if I leave my underwear here?”

“If you want to, yeah. Why? Do you think I wanted to carry it around in my pocket or something?”

“So you can wash it for me.”

“Yeah,” I press my lips to the back of her hand. “I’ve been meaning to go to the laundry basement for too long now. I’ll just add them to the pile.”

“No, you need to hand-wash them. They’re made of lace.”

“Oh right. So like, in the sink, or something.”

“I thought you might have known that.”

“Nah, see, in Dublin, we had a cleaner who washed all of my lace underwear for me.”

“Mm…”

“... That was a joke about the lace underwear. We did actually have a cleaner, though.”

“You’ll take care of it? They were quite expensive. It’s not as though I have a lot of that kind, so if it got ruined…”

“I will.”

She slips a hand into my hair and seeks my lips in the dark. She kisses me with such affection that I melt into her. “I love you, Jude. Thank you.”

“I love you too.”

A low chuckle as I bite her earlobe. “You really would never be a monk, would you?”

“Oh, my God. The thought makes me sick.”

I roll over her, and we give Klaus one more thing to complain about.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[master-missysversion]

Doctors 9-13 outfits!

Finally done collecting, I've probably missed a few but I tried

9th doctor: leather jacket with; green tshirt, black tshirt, burgundy tshirt

10th doctor: Brown pinstripe suit, blue suit, brown trenchcoat, "John Smith" outfit, tuxedo, orange space suit, pyjamas, shirt without suit

(I think John smith may have had some more outfits I missed)

11th doctor: brown tweed coat, red striped shirt + suspenders + bow-tie (main series 5/6 outfit), football outfit, white tie tuxedo, green trench coat, robes ?, purple outfit (series 7 outfit), The Snowmen outfit, orange space suit

I forgot to get 11 without the purple coat

Outfits georg 12th doctor: pyjamas, homeless man's coat, other (?) Coat, red velvet coat, red-lined coat, blue lined coat + vest + blue tshirt, brown hoodie + black tshirt + red tshirt, red lined coat + white shirt + plaid trousers, spotted T-shirt, spotted shirt, burgundy shirt, blue shirt, orient express tux, "Thin Ice" regency outfit, orange space suit, black space suit, "Oxygen" space suit, shirt without coat, caretaker outfit + spotty tshirt

I actually forgot about all his deep breath outfits until i was doing 13s outfits. He wears 4 outfits in that one episode

13th doctor: grey coat with navy tshirt, red tshirt, blue tshirt, white shirt under tshirt, spotted vest, navy coat, tuxedo, grey coat with purple high-vis vest, "legend of the sea devils" outfit, usual navy outfit with the coat swapped for an apron, "power of the doctor" outfit, orange space suit

AND as im reading over this i realised I forgot a couple

Yes I'm including the scarf as an outfit variation. Be glad I didn't include the Fezzes

And ofc I forgot the most important ones until the last second:

[bloodymary83]

Joker serves so much C*nt in this comic!!!

For Justice League International Annual #2 1988, Joker insisted on not 1 but, 4 fabulous costume changes!!!

Joker first appears in high waisted Mom jeans, blue vest, silk pink shirt, and pearls that would make Martha Wayne jealous. He completes the look with his classic purple trench coat, purple fedora and Italian pointed leather heels.

The next outfit is a bit hard to make out. It looks similar to his “the Dark Knight Returns” classic white suite except it has dark blue cuffs, he’s wearing a baby blue shirt with the jacket, a pastel pink tie, his classic purple slacks and pink dress socks. His shoes (that he throws at the TV) are blue suede matching the cuffs on his jacket. His purple eye shadow is perfect in this.

The third outfit is “Rhythm Nation” meets Military Dictator. It’s a crushed dark blue velvet military suit, accented with pastel pink shoulder tassels, seams and a Victorian pink pastel top underneath. He wears a high waisted cinch belt with the outfit, accessorizes with gold metals and, does a last minute makeup touch up.

His final outfit is something out of Elton John’s closet. He has ditched the soft hues of baby blue and pink and gone for a bold gold jacket with heather green shoulders and matching heather green vest, he has a black shirt underneath with a red skinny tie. Red loose slacks with a thin white accent belt, a red heart lapel pin, matching heather green fedora and, lace up women’s boots with a skinny heel in gold.

Oh those were the days… can we please get this joker back DC? I am tired of the crusty clown B.O. look!

Joker deserves better than this!! (Joker Night Terrors #1 2023)

[simplydannie]

Part 1 Click Here

Part 3 Click Here

The twins are sent back to the bottom pits of Rageous. Velvet does something horrible under the effects of the Troll poison. The twins run off in search of shelter… but not far from their tail… a new villian is after them for the bounty on their head. Soon, other crime bosses begin to find out about their worth.

A black car pulled up to the two bodies. One still lay unconscious, the other lay severely beaten…and dead.

Out of the black stepped a pair of silver steel boots. A black trench coat stretch all the way down to his ankles. Black army pants covered his legs, a dark gray skin fright shirt covered his torso. Scars covered his body, his neck, his face. He had the same sharp tooth grin like his henchmen. His long stringy, dark blue hair tied back in the form of dreadlocks. His real name was unknown, they just called him Shank. He walked up to his fallen henchmen.

“Idiot got offed by a couple of kids. Pathetic.” He kicked the body. He looked at the one who lay unconscious. “That one is going to wish he was offed by the brats. Get him in the trunk. I’ll deal with him later.”

He paced back and forth looking through the dark alleys and streets…. His eyes began to glow with a pink pigmentation.

“They couldn’t have gone that far….Set around the perimeter… find them. Oh! And send out the birds.” Shank demanded with a smirk on his face

“Keep up Vennie come on!” Velvet yelled over her shoulder as she pulled him along. She dared not let go of her grip on him… afraid that she would turn around and he would be gone.

“Vels where are we running too?” He called out to her, trying his best to keep his balance as she held tightly to his hand. Somewhere, anywhere, she thought to herself. Velvet did her best to imagine where they could go, where they could hide. The address they had given them back at the detention center would be no good. Somehow those thugs would figure it out and go looking for them there.

What happened back there, what she did… she really couldn’t comprehend. She just knew her brother was in trouble, and she just lost it… no self control, no nothing.

“Velvet please hold on!” She felt Veneer tug his hand away from hers. She turned around to find him bent over wheezing, trying to catch his breath. How long were they running for?

“I wasn’t….the best….in sports…. remember.” He said in between breaths. Right. How could she forget, Veneer the nerd was never a sports kinda of guy.

“Well hurry up!” Velvet pushed him behind some dumpsters nearby. “We didn’t get very far. Who knows who showed up or even saw.” She pulled up her hoodie over her head. Velvet did the same to Veneer although he already wore his purple beanie.

“Uugghh! Your stupid hair!” She exclaimed as his green swoop still stuck out.

“Dont be jealous-HEY!” He exclaimed as she began to try and flatten it out. It eventually made a side swoop down his right eye. She laughed. “What did do!?” He asked touching his hair.

“Emo Vennie, never thought I’d ever see that.” Velvet giggled.

“Seriously Vels!” He tried to look at himself in a nearby window. “I’m putting it back once we’re out of sight.” He pouted.

“Whatever. Okay we have to keep moving.” She peeked around the dumpster.

“Why not try to crash here?” He asked pointing at the run down building.

“No. Still too close to the scene. We HAVE to keep moving.” Velvet told him. In their moment of silence, a weird noise was heard in the distance.

ZZZZZZZ….

It sounded like the buzzing of a bug… a giant one…

ZZZZZZZZ…..

“Head down!” She exclaimed pushing her brother out of view.

At the center of the streets above them flew a drone. The X shaped machine hovered to and from, scanning its surroundings.

ZZZZZZ.

Another one appears in the farther distance…great… they were trapped.

“Drones! Really? How in the world are we going to get away?” Veneer questioned as he saw the machines hovering in the air. Velvet didn’t know. No matter how well they could cover themselves, once those drones saw movement, they’d do a facial recognition scan…. And they’d be done for.

“Follow me.” She said. They stayed as close as they could to the wall and began walking down the alley. They were able to make it to the end of the alley and to the next street. Velvet glanced around for any drones or vehicles. For now, they were clear.

“To the next alley….. now!” She didn’t give her brother a moment to think. Velvet grasped his hand again and pulled him along with her as they darted to the next alley.

ZZZZZZZZ.

Hovering above them was the drone. It spotted them with a bright light.

“We have them sir.” Said a voice.

At the other side of town, Shank and his henchmen were viewing the drone feed through a small computer.

“I know those streets.” He said. “Send in the rest of the drones. Keep them there until we can arrive.” He leaned in to watch the feed; live footage of the twins running for the life. “My little trophies are going to bring me in big bucks… plus a little extra for the inconvenience….”

He was silent as he saw the actions that happened next. The brother grabbed something as they were running, turned around, and smashed the drone right in the camera. He saw him smash and smash until their screen went blank.

“What happened?” He asked.

“He took out our bird.” His henchmen said.

“WELL SEND IN ANOTHER ONE! GET ME A VIEW OF THOSE DAMN KIDS. YOU GUYS! GET TO THAT STREET AND SEE IF YOU CAN FIND THEM NOW!!” He screamed.

“What the heck Veneer?” Velvet exclaimed.

“It was following us Vels! What was a I supposed to do?” They both stared at the broken drone lying before them. Something clicked inside Veneer. He ran to the drone and began shoving it in his duffle bag.

“Veneer leave it! Let’s go!” Velvet exclaimed. He zipped up his bag and ran towards his sister. She glanced to the left and saw some stairs that led down to the subways.

“Follow me!” She said. The siblings made their way down the stairs and into the darkness of the subway tunnels. There were some Rageouns hanging about waiting for the train. They looked at the twins in confusion as they ran by. Velvet led them down an empty waiting area.

“Crap! Crap! Crap!” She exclaimed. Velvet turned behind her… where was Veneer? “Vennie?…Vennie!” She called in despair.

“Vels follow me!” She heard him call out from across the tracks. She could hear the sound of the train getting closer. Velvet hurried herself across the tracks and onto the other side.

“What the heck Ven?” She said.

“Come on.” He told her. She had no choice, she followed Veneer deep into the other side of the subway tunnels.

It was quiet, empty. Hardly if no one passed through there, she could tell. But how did her brother know about this? She followed him into the deepest part until they came to what looked like a door. Veneer pushed it open. Inside was made into some sort of little apartment. There was a bed, a couch, a tv… and arcade game?

“What the heck Veneer? What is this?” She asked him.

“It was my hideout back in the day. Well not like way back, but when we were on our own for a while, remember. When you’d be gone and the bullies come knocking at our door, I’d come hide here. Or when I would go out to make cash and maaaayybe got into trouble. Bam! Here I was! Took me awhile to get that arcade in here but I did!” Veneer smiled. Velvet looked at her brother… she really didn’t give him enough credit. He’d spend a lot of days alone… and being the more sensitive one, the ruffians and thugs knew to come pick on him. But he managed… he managed days without her.

“Okay. We’ll hide out here for now.” She said finally laying her duffle bag on the floor. Velvet heard a distant grumble… was that someone’s stomach?

“Sorry! All that running… I’m kind of hungry.” Veneer admitted.

“Well they gave us some cash before feeding us to the wolves down here.” She said.

“Oh! A sandwich shop is just above us! Not the best, but definitely better than prison food!” Veneer chimed.

“Stop it.” Velvet told him.

“Stop what?” He asked.

“Stop being so….so….so cheerful.” She sat down on the small couch. Velvet stared at the wall… she didn’t know what to do… she didn’t know who they could trust…. She was stuck taking care of her and her brother again.

“Sorry..” She heard Veneer say as he sat himself next to his duffle bag, hugging his knees. He was honestly just happy to be alive and safe right now…. Alive and safe with his sister. Veneer was actually the one always looking out for her… deep down she knew this. Velvet had always been hard on him…. Maybe it was time to change that…

“What sandwich do you want?” She asked standing up. Veneer looked at her questionably. “We have to eat. We can’t starve down. I’ll sneak up and get us some food really quick. Enough to last us a couple of days so they can get off our rear ends. Do we have working water down here?”

“Yeah! There’s a working bathroom not far down.” He said.

“Then get settled. We’re staying down here for a while.” She exclaimed.

Back on the side of the city, Shank stared off to the top of Mount Rageous. One of his henchmen came to him.

“They’re gone sir. Drones couldn’t find them. We went to the location, searched everywhere. Nothing.” He said. Shank twiddled a knife in his fingers.

“Kids are smarter than I thought. Smarter than what she told me.” He spit to the ground. “Hold off searching for them for now. Get on the line with the Upper Rageous. For all the trouble these kids have cost me, I am tripling the price for them.”

“Yes sir. Oh, one more thing. We got more sir.” His henchmen said. Shank smiled.

“Enough to sell too?” He asked.

“Yes sir.” His henchmen replied.

“Good.” Shank said walking up to the dark vehicle. He lifted up them blanket that lay over a tank. Inside, with terrified little faces, were Trolls. “Include this batch in the pricing along with the two brats.”

The little Trolls inside the tank shook in fear… unknowing what lay ahead. Within that batch of Trolls was a familiar bluish/gray one. He was already planning an escape, calculating his next moves.

“No one is gonna get their hands on me.” Branch said.

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus Character Database.

"Hey, Lear, why are you ignoring my texts again? What if I was getting robbed at gunpoint and needed your help?"

"Why would they let you use your phone during a robbery, Nona?"

"Stop getting all wrapped up in the little details. The important thing is that you check what I sent."

"Alright, alright, let's see... huh. A personality test? Aren't those a pseudoscience?"

"What a lame thing to say. Just take it already. I'll tell you what Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One got if you do. Woah, geez, calm down, at least let it load!"

Nexus index.

Name: Lear (Nickname given by Miss Phaeales, birth name name is Vincent Metellus) Age: 118 Species: Nymphalian Faction: LOTUS-EATER World: Eris Path: Abundance Combat type: Ice Birthday: June 28th Sexuality: [First] Phaeales (he’s het) Height: 5′8 Hair color: Sandy blonde Eye color: Blue, with a white ring around his pupils Favorite animal: Penguins Favorite food: Pasteli, hot cocoa with marshmallows Least favorite food: Gummies, green olives Favorite things: Cooking, baking, gardening, sewing, mixology, sales at the food market and his red hairpins. Least favorite things: Group chats with more than three people, ads, sports and anything that causes Miss Phaeales distress. Clothing style: Casual. Lots of sweaters, turtlenecks, and the occasional trench coat. Prefers warm neutral colors. MBTI: INFP

Lear is considered by his co-workers to be a diligent yet reserved worker. He rarely calls out sick, never slacks off, and can get along with anyone. Most sigh in relief when they're put on the same shift as him. He wordlessly carries out tasks without anyone's prompting. Despite his solid reputation at the LOTUS-EATER, not much is known about him. He doesn't accept invitations to social outings or seek the companionship of others. These requests are turned down with a soft smile and apologetic look, which makes harboring any ill-will toward him difficult.

In his heart, he can't bring himself to enjoy the freedoms deprived from the one he treasures most. He swore he'd remain by the side of a girl who abruptly stumbled into his melancholic life. This unruly girl would go on to bring excitement and adventure wherever she went. Those boring cycles spent on his lonesome were no more. Her happiness became his, a fact that's never changed. He contents himself on caring for those who he's come to be close to.

Name: Nona Age: 113 Species: Nymphalian Faction: LOTUS-EATER, Arc's Pinion (formally) World: Eris Path: Nihility Combat type: Fire Birthday: November 3rd Sexuality: Pansexual Height: 5′3 Hair color: Chestnut brown Eye color: Amber Favorite animal: Octopi (specifically the dumbo octopus) Favorite food: Red velvet cake Least favorite food: Legumes, fatty meats Favorite things: Punk rock, video games (racing in particular), drumming, clothes, accessories, makeup and plushies Least favorite things: Work, 99% of the people she meets, capitalism and the IPC Clothing style: Gothic lolita and sweet lolita, anything super cute MBTI: ESFP

"A place where anyone can enter, but few can leave."

This would best describe Arc, the purposefully forgotten quadrant of Perianth II. Most who are born here never get to see light, artificial or otherwise. Although Nymphalian's have excellent night vision, Nona was never able to accept navigating a world of darkness. She joined a group of likeminded folk who supposedly sought to better the conditions in Arc. For many years, she sacrificed plenty to realize this dream. After overhearing two of the most prominent leaders squabble over the most insignificant things, she realized the futility of relying on others for a better future.

There had been talks of Nona infiltrating the LOTUS-EATER, as she exhibited the traits necessary for an Arbiter's field of work. Her application for Thelx citizenship was readily accepted. Instead of carrying out her group's wishes, she decided to live for herself. Though Nona was initially standoffish toward her fellow LOTUS-EATER co-workers, she soon formed a bond with her mentor, [First] Phaeales and the bartender Lear.

[jamethinks]

anyways Melinda and Donovan hc because I working on a wip hehe

Melinda and Donovan's marriage was actually one of convience. Donovan had recently decided to go into politics and he knew he needed a wife as Ostania had extremely conservative beliefs. Melinda wanted to get married to get away from her parents and live independently. So Donovan proposed to her family that he wanted to marry their daughter who had not even graduated high school yet, literally saying the wedding will be after she leaves. Insane man.

When they first met Donovan basically called a weak personality-less loser who's only concern in life is to get married and accused her of having no interests. Melinda retaliated by saying she had two interests: her favourite was blue, sky blue and she wanted to own a blue mansion when she got older and she loved playing chess and was actually on the Eden chess team but left because she felt it would scare away potential suitors. And for the time in his life, Donovan lied (knowingly), saying his favorite was also blue and he wanted to challenge Melinda to game of chess (which he had barely played). But in the end Blue did become his favourite colour (although he prefered a more rich royal velvety blue) and he began playing chess and would regularly play with her.

Also for her 20th birthday he revealed to her a gorgeous blue mansion with exactly 20 rooms with a garden overflowing with blue flowers. It was built by a foreign architect and was based on greek architecture and is an iconic site because it sticks out so much in the more tradition utilitarian style found in Berlint. It was a bit of a controversial choice since this was shortly after ww2 so building a big fancy stylistic mansion for your child bride was kinda crazy but he was kinda crazy about her.

Lastly, Melinda is kind of fashion icon in Ostania. She had a lot more public appearances before her first son was born and she was seen wearing fancy gorgeous outfits that perfectly complimented her husbands. It was notably modern and youth, contrasting most politicians' wives. It wasn't really risque but it still pushed conservative ideals. It was based heavily on 1930s style and that wasnt by accident, that was obviously before the war and is considered a high point in Ostanian history so her stylist references made her more beloved by the public.

Her 3 most iconic fashion moments was:

3. her pregnancy coat: a oversized fur coat she wore while she was conceal her second pregnancy. it was midthigh and she wore heals. It was extremely cunt

2. Demetrius' first public appearance: after years of rumor infidelity, Melinda made an shinning appearance with her new baby with a the biggest grin ever. she wore a white blouse with a long black polka dot skirt and a long black velvet trench coat and a matching polka dot blanket for Deme's drool

Her wedding dress: it was this long 30s inspired wedding dress with a low cut in the back, her veil having blue floral detailing that was subtle but really pulled the outfit together. Also popularised the weird bun hairstyle with the two strands at the side and the rest of her hair tucked away (ie Yor's hairstyle, of course hers was curly)

[karume-selfshipper]

My Hero OC: Circa; The Performance Hero

More info under the cut

She is All Might's adult daughter (age 27 at the start of the plot). She spent her childhood in America under her Mother's care until she was 17-18 when All Might helped her move to Japan and assisted her in getting her Hero license. This all happened at the same time Sir Nighteye just managed to become All Might's sidekick.

He was jealous about this but kept making excuses thinking Circa (haven't come up with her real name yet) was All Might's cousin/niece, or that she's only here for the same way All Might studied abroad. Though when Circa revealed she was his daughter, Nighteye didn't believe her (until he overheard All Might talking about it with David). He then had to come to terms with the fact that he had a crush on All Might's daughter (as well as All Might...). The two eventually become friends and start dating which becomes a massive point of contention between All Might and Nighteye since All Might is a little overprotective.

All Might being protective is from knowing that her Mother was neglectful. Yet he went in the opposite direction in trying to support her (things like covering her rent and utilities though she never asked and he still pays her for being his sidekick). She has been raised to be hyper-independent and was uncomfortable with All Might doing this. Nighteye helped convince her to say something (helping her break other toxic mentalities in the process) which All Might thought was a form of manipulation or that Nighteye was holding something over Circa. But he calmed down when she put her foot down.

She wasn't around for the main event when Nighteye and All Might yelled at each other. Though she did listen to both sides of the story and got reasonably upset over different parts of their story/actions. Neither man apologized to each other, but also never cut ties (besides occasionally communicating through Circa to keep up to date with new phone numbers and such).

Yet Circa has had a little petty revenge fun in bullying All Might with kindness (taking care of him to an excessive degree from his diet to cleaning his whole apartment when he's not home). He doesn't know how to bring up stopping her because he is a workaholic who does appreciate the thought and effort and would end up not doing the chores nearly as well as he needs to.

Her Hero costume is based on various stage performers. Dark red, steel-toe ballet slippers that wrap up to her knees, a large, black exterior, dark red velvet interior, trench coat-tail coat hybrid with mid-thigh splits on the side and tail bone split in the back, a black and navy blue waistcoat, lighter navy blue trapeze singlet with white tiger stripes on her thighs, and a mostly useless wand. Though the wand/baton is similar to a police baton and is registered as a tool/weapon.

She doesn't have All Might's signature "M" bangs, but she does have prominent bangs that she styles upward. Not to mimic All Might, but to mimic Star and Stripe. Since she grew up in America and all... Though her hairstyle is a short bob with longer sides than back, similar to a 1920s flapper girl/magician's assistant.

Her main Quirk Glyph is highly versatile and powerful. Partly because All Might is her father (theory that OfA can have residual effects on user's children) but the quirk comes from her Mother's side of the family. There are four types of Glyphs: white, blue, black, and yellow. White is a simple platform, when placed on a wall it acts like a rock climbing handle, when in open air it acts like stable ground. Black is a trapping platform, slight gravity distortion that can keep anything in place if it touches the platform. Blue is a summoning platform, as long as Circa knows what the animal does/how it moves/what it looks like, the glyph morphs into the animal and is capable of attacking sorta free from Circa's input. Yellow creates an area of effect for time dilation, both speeding up and slowing down time for the being/area inside the glyph. All of these depend on Circa's ability to focus.

Premonition is more a passive quirk that Circa doesn't ever realize is a thing. She only ever takes notice of it when she's tired or stressed, never connecting the dots even when she is in the middle of the situation she's seen. Though she is constantly messing with the outcome of her premonitions. She has single-handedly overturned 98% of her premonitions because of this without ever realizing what was happening. (Stubbornness runs in her family lol).

Her hero name is a play on circus and the word circa (meaning approximately i.e. circa 1987). The tag "The Performance Hero" works whether before or after her hero name. She plays around with this when she enters the scene constantly, being very over-the-top whenever she can.

She is rather popular, usually sitting between 20-30 in the overall Hero ranking.

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue October 15, 1971

Karen Graham wears Calvin Klein's classic calf-length trench coat in water-repellent purple velvet (Crompton fabric), a Ship'n Shore shirt. Beauty note: Yardley's new Blue Angel Sigh Shadows brightens the eyes, Psychic Coral makes the lips shine. The easy, pretty wig with a side parting that keeps its momentum in all weathers – Blaise, from General Wigs; from Ultra Dynel. Styled by Christophe Carita.

Karen Graham porte le trench mi-mollet classique de Calvin Klein en velours violet déperlant (tissu Crompton), une chemise Ship'n Shore. Note beauté : le nouveau Blue Angel Sigh Shadows de Yardley illumine les yeux, le Psychic Coral fait briller les lèvres. La perruque facile et jolie, avec une raie sur le côté, qui garde son élan par tous les temps – Blaise, de General Wigs ; d'Ultra Dynel. Stylisée par Christophe Carita.

Photo David Bailey vogua archive

[hoetachi]

IS IT A CRIME? — [PART 4] J. KUJO

❝… and it ripples like the deepest oceans ❞

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

you lure men in — uttering sweet nothings and forgettable promises, saying anything to get them to stay and give the attention you longed for, but you rightfully deserve their attention and praise for being such a being of seduction

you’re a siren

but specifically, you are jotaro’s siren

he would be lying if he said what the both of you had was just in the past and it was just lust, however there’s a fine line between both lust and what you two had experienced

now look at him. a married man that’s fighting to keep his wife with a daughter that he barely spend time with — he sometimes guiltily wondered if he were married to you, would he still be here? seated in the shadows, waiting on the performance of the woman he once had the pleasure of exploring certain parts of his life with

problem is, he would never reveal himself to you out of fear you may— or moreover is resenting himself for not committing to you. surely he knew it would amuse you that a so-called happily married man would attend such an intimately erotic and alluring show when a love-sicken wife awaits him back home, naively making a hot homemade meal for dinner as well as a little girl that imaginatively draws the creatures of the deep blue from memory as the praise she’ll receive from her father for drawing such wonders fill her with delight

but all thoughts of a loving & loyal wife waiting for his arrival seems to withdraw once he notices small ripples of movement against the velvet crimson curtains. the lights dim and alters to a blue that mirror the sea on a moonlit night

the sharp and erupt sounds of an alto saxophone followed by drums and trumpets with a piano blending with the melodic chaos, but are soon brought to an almost whispering halt as the curtains draw back and reveals a curvy mocha figure dressed in glimmering jewels all across of her abdomen as well her feet; whistles and other expressions of approval sounded through venue before shortly dying down.

his turquoise hues scanned upwards to the enormous headpiece with white feathers infused with crystals corresponding with the warm undertones of your exposed back. if the back had him so intrigued like this, he’s only curious about how the front may look

just as if his mind was read, you turn slowly on your heels revealing a sight for tired and sore eyes. chocolate eyes smize towards the once rowdy crowd of men as they wait like obedient puppies for the slightest movement. your glossed lips are teased by the tip of your tongue as you readied your voice

this may come.. this may come as some surprise but i miss you

i could see through.. all of your lies

but still i miss you

your eyes lands on his hidden figure and almost feels as if he’s now under that soft blue spotlight as you hold eye contact that felt like an eternity before shifting your gaze to the rest of the audience

he takes her love.. but it doesn’t feel like mine

your fingertips danced as well stroked the length of the stand and it brings him a ghostly feeling from his naval to his pecs, which causes him to shrug off the white trench coat as his skin emits a heat he never felt before unless with you. as dainty as you hands may seem, he still remembers the vicious scratches left on his muscular back that would be greeted by your soft plump lips

he tastes her kiss.. her kisses are not mine

they are not mine

speaking of your lips, he watches them intensely as they quiver and cracks small smiles every once in a while. to him, your lips were his favorite part of your body next your hands; it’s just something about how the little kisses you would leave on his birthmark would make him feel so small and vulnerable. jotaro was known for being strong and unheard, so having someone that could make him vulnerable and listened to was uncomfortable for him and now looking back he wish he was more accepting of it instead constantly being this emotionless wall to people; you made him feel down to earth… normal… human

he takes.. but surely she can't give what I'm feeling now..

she takes.. but surely she doesn't know how..

is it a crime?

is it a crime

that I still want you?

and I want you to want me too…

you sneakily watched him as you sang the song of your lonely longing heart. all these men in front of you could never compare to him. jotaro gave you the world and all it’s finest that it had to offer, yet they weren’t the things you longed for. you longed for him and all his insecurities; you longed for his raw emotions. anger, misery, bashfulness and so much more, but it always seemed he wanted to just show his surface while all you wanted was to peel back the layers of his soul and see him for him to the point he calls you his wife. you wanted him to be human again, but more importantly your human

my love is wider.. wider than victoria lake

he tipped his hat down, hiding the pink that emerged on his cheeks as well as the small smile as the memory of him taking you on a vacation out in the woods near the lake you mention. soft mornings with either him kissing every crevice of your body out of your peaceful slumber so he could latch his lips on his favorite part of you with your acknowledgment or star platinum embracing you as he goes out on the trail near the body of water in search of whatever creatures he come across of.

you noticed the subtle movement and wanted so badly to poke fun at his bashfulness. you remember when he took you to victoria; you thought the trip would be boring with such a man of little words, however that trip made you realize little is so much more. the little kisses over your body as you slept, the warm embrace that lingered even when he left from your side, as well as the small discussions of his latest discovery

you slowly made your way off the stage and all eyes on you like a predator stalking it’s prey. every man’s eyes ever so lustful as they watch your figure maneuver through the crowd of tables — caressing some men on their shoulders or trail up their ties to the bottom of their chins; just any specific touch to draw their attention to you

every step you took towards his way made his stomach twist into bigger knots, he almost felt nauseous. it was too late for him to get up and move away since your scapolite-colored orbs were burning into his being. he had no choice but to be put into this spotlight which involuntarily made star platinum reveal himself and stand before your upcoming path 

he watched from beneath his hat as the spiritual being leaned back against the table and watched you with pure adoration that he never once shown around his actual wife; you’re truly something special 

your stride towards him came to holt, as if you knew something was in your way— not allowing you to get your destination, however it didn’t seem to bother you though because you knew you had his actual attention. even though his eyes weren’t acknowledging you in the slightest, you still felt them elsewhere

my love is taller.. taller than the empire state 

you glanced up with a hearty smile and to him it feels as if you just greeted star platinum and proceeded to inch even closer to the table. at this moment, your aroma invades his nose and he almost lets out an audible moan at how sweet you smell and how it makes him want to bring you into his lap and bury his face into the crook of your neck to really engulf your scent whilst leaving small lovebites amongst your mocha skin

it dives..

it jumps..

you pull out a chair from his table and quickly stood on it, causing the humanoid stand to grip the chair firmly.

you then placed yourself on the table with your back towards him as you leaned back, arching your back as you traveled your hands over your curvy body while star leaned over you, caressing the side your neck whilst you eyed him with such want and need. he almost thought he saw tears in your eyes..

and it ripples like the deepest ocean..

soon you rolled over and arched your back deeply, hues locking on to his being. your knees—one after another—began to crawl towards him and in that moment, he felt a change. him being prey and you, the predator. you stopped once you realized you finally reached him and now it was now your turn to breathe him in. woodsy is how you describe the faint essence that emitted from him, truly invigorating

i can’t give you more than that..

with you now infront him, he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. deep down he knew one look and he’ll fall harder than he has ever before. he was already conflicted with how you may feel about him. he didn’t know if what you were doing now was just part of your performance or something much more, nonetheless you gave him his answer once he didn’t sense the presence of his hat but instead your fingers raking through his wavy raven locs then finding their way to his cheek, finally cracking him to look your direction and fluster once he realized the look on your face

surely you want me back

star platinum, the world” he thought and just like that you were frozen in time as well as everything else around the two of you. he took this limited moment to really gaze upon your undeniable beauty as well as raising from his seat and taking you hand into his and placing the most gentlest kiss he has ever given you. with 3 seconds to spare, he quickly decided to press his lips amongst yours; he desperately wished this moment could unpause itself and have you feel the passion behind his lips and how badly he wants you back in his life

he pulled back, caressing the smooth of your cheek before leaving. he smiled softly to himself as he exited the building, knowing the both of you will indeed cross paths again and let these buried feelings emerge once again for each other.

you blinked at the now empty seat, confused on his sudden disappearance before noticing the white hat that sat under hand. you picked up and examined it with a smile and a loving gaze

is it a crime?

this is dedicated to @dejwrites bc i want her to fall madly in luv w jotaro

reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated <3.

[morelikeravenbore]

imma be cheeky and ask for 3 and 4: what’s your favourite lines of narration and dialogue? 💚

Well hello there, small green gremlin, and what a wonderful trench coat you have on today!

Thanks for the question! I'm answering yours first because I thought it'd be the easiest. Plot twist: it was hard af (that's what she said.)

✨ Favourite narration. I loove writing prose. One of my biggest inspirations is L. M. Montgomery and the way every single paragraph she writes is just stunningly beautiful — not that I dare compare myself to a talent like hers, but bloody hell, nothing else inspires me quite like her work does.

I remember being stoked on this description of Hogsmeade when I first wrote it, and I don't cringe reading back on it so, that's a good sign, I guess.

Like everything in the Scottish Highlands, Hogsmeade village appeared to have grown right out of the earth itself, all mossy-greens and earthy-browns as if its architects had been garden gnomes and fairies. Rows of precariously leaning shopfronts lined the cobbled streets, their facades reaching toward the sky like twisted tree trunks, crooked and uneven. Aurélie would not have been surprised to learn that Hogsmeade hadn't been built at all, but grown from the soil up. Where she'd come from, everything had been pink, not green. Her home of Toulouse, whose magnificent terracotta buildings had given it the nickname La Ville Rose, was a far cry from the rugged wilds of Scotland. Though, much like Hogsmeade, Toulouse was a maze of narrow streets, there was nothing organic about the Pink City; everything within it had been meticulously crafted, a living fairytale, a refined work of art that glowed pink and gold whenever the sun set over its stunning facade. A rose quartz city, her mother used to call it. More starkly still, Beauxbatons had been clean and white, adorned with trimmings of gold and powder blues. Grand and imposing with its seven stories of gleaming alabaster marble, soaring windows and endlessly high ceilings, it had surely been built by angels, not garden gnomes. Taking in her surroundings, Aurélie was certain there were no Baroque carvings or gilded mirrors in the Highlands; no silk curtains or velvet sofas, no marble fireplaces or tapestries woven with unicorn hair, and surely when the sun set over the tiny magical village, there was not a shade of pink to be seen. And yet, for all its ramshackle structures and muddy roads, Hogsmeade was not without its charm; uneven and loud, yes - but alive. - How to Make a Villain, chapter 8.

✨Favourite dialogue. I freakin love writing dialogue nom nom nom, especially the flirty bickering between Sebastian and Aurélie. Its my favourite. I could write an entire book of nothing but these two pretending they're not into eachother. No plot, only banter.

Merlin, and here he was thinking that Anne had been the most exasperating girl he'd ever known. 'What rubbish!' she snapped, suddenly sounding very French again. 'You can't seriously believe that nonsense! I'm not going to turn into some soulless creature of darkness just because I want to keep my magic under control! What kind of ridiculous concept is that? What sort of Dark-Arts-loving nutjob wrote this book, anyway?' - Sebastian tried really, really hard not to laugh at this, - 'and why should I believe what's written in some crusty old book, anyway? You know what, just forget I told you anything about this whole stupid magic thing! I don't want to talk about this ever again! And don't you dare tell another living soul, Sebastian Sallow, or I swear -' 'Please,' he scoffed, 'who am I going to tell?' 'I don't know!' she burst out. 'All your girlfriends probably!' Sebastian choked. 'Girlfriends?' he spluttered. 'What girlfriends? You think I have girlfriends? Plural?' 'I don't know!' 'I don't even have one girlfriend, let alone several!' 'Well, you seem...' she gestured at him, visibly flustered, 'popular!' 'I'm not popular!' 'Well, I don't know, do I? I don't know anything about you, but you know all these secrets about me and I don't even know if you-' '-have a girlfriend?' 'No! I mean - that's not - I don't care if - that was just an example!' - How to Make a Villain, chapter 11.

OOP OKAY THIS WAS LONG. THANKS AGAIN FOR THE QUESTION. SORRY IF I WENT OVERBOARD LOL.

How to Make a Villain: wattpad | ao3

[novafire-is-thinking]

12. Name one article of clothing that you own, that you think this character would wear, for tfp soundwave?

I’ll do one better and show you.

I have a dark blue velvet trench coat that a human TFP Soundwave would look absolutely amazing in:

(guest-starring some of my model horses lol)

I promise it looks better in person. I feel like a queen walking around in the thing, and all I can say is:

Put that guy in a velvet trench coat.

(For this ask game)

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Lillie H. Tyler Season One Bio

Full Name: Deliah Holmes “Lillie” Tyler

Age: Eighteen (Six months younger than Rose; was born at six months old.)

Stolen Quote: Bill Potts: “Are you secretly a badass?”

Nardole: “Nothing secret about it, baby doll”

Real Quote: “Yeah, I’ve been faking a smile to hide my pain my entire life and it’s gotten me nearly eighteen years without anyone noticing, I’ve come realize that maybe no one will ever see through my mask.”

Birthday: October 31, 1987

Human Appearance: Curly dark brown hair, blue eyes, five foot three.

Relations: Rose Tyler (Older sister), Jacklyn "Jackie" Tyler (Mother), Pete Tyler (Father; Deceased, hit by a car on November 7, 1987)

Personality: Loyal to a fault; Kind; Compassionate; Fierce; Protective; Intelligent; Scary when angry; Geeky; Witty; Sarcastic; Goofy; Tomboy; Just; Selfless; Shy, Kind, Hufflepuff, Brave, Curious, Soft, Insecure, Secret Badass, Observant, Strong, Fighter, Trusting, Loving, Violent, Impulsive, Scatterbrained, Pessimistic, Eccedentiast (Hides her pain with smiles), Paradoxical (Little Bit), Perceptive

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Hogwarts Hybrid: Gryfflepuff (Hufflepuff/Gryffindor)

Fatal Flaws: Excessive Personal Loyalty — (Think of Percy Jackson) She will risk her life and the world for her friends.

Feeling of Inferiority — (Think of Leo Valdez) She will always feel like she is the least important and feels that she is worth sparing

Low Self-Confidence/Low Self-Esteem — She doesn’t trust herself to make the right decisions, she thinks of herself as useless and invaluable

Fears: Claustrophobia — Fear of small, enclosed spaces — Leaks through the suppression cloak

Likes: Freedom, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Reading, Helping, The Color Purple, Halloween, Kindness, Mischief, Doing the right thing

Dislikes: Being Bored, Feeling Trapped, Most People, Wearing Dresses, Looking Girly, Being Called Girly, The Color Pink, Valentine's Day, Conformity

Favorite Singers/Bands: Queen, the Police, the Velvet Underground, Linkin Park, Imagine Dragons, Dolly Parton, Taylor Swift

Skills/Abilities: Acting, Mild Sherlock Scan (Look on tvtropes.org), Intellect, Weapon Proficiency Instincts, Fighting Instincts, Martial Arts Instincts, Hacking

Possible Disorder(s): ADHD (Her alien counterpart had ADHD which leaked into her human counterpart), Directional Dyslexia (Also leaks through)

Sexuality: Heteroflexible Demisexual

Wardrobe: Flannel; Plaid; Leather Jackets; Beanies; Graphic tees; High tops; Boots; Trench Coats Accessories: 3D Glow-In-The-Dark Galaxy Ball Pendant (Origin of unknown)

Friends: Rose Tyler (Older Sister/Best Friend), Mickey Smith, Sarah Jane Smith (Acquaintance), The Fourth Doctor (Acquaintance), Lars South-Woods (Ex)

Enemies: Weeping Angels, Bullies

Etymology: Deliah – The Delilah is a type of dahlia; The Delilah symbolizes beauty, commitment, and kindness. Another meaning is finding inner strength; the Victorians used the flower to signify a lasting bond and commitment between two people. They can symbolize elegance, inner strength, change, creativity, and dignity. They can also symbolize positivity, resilience, wildness, and happiness. Generally, dahlias symbolize new beginnings, fresh starts, enduring kindness, and even grave in challenging times.

Lillie – Variation of the nickname “Lily” – These flowers represent purity, innocence, rebirth, and resurrection just to name a few. Lilies may represent mourning and to some they symbolize death because represent the moment when the soul departs the body.

Holmes — Surname of literature’s most famous detective (and possibly one of literature’s earliest cases of a character with ADHD).

Face Claim: Young Lillie - Malina Weissman

Young Adult - Katherine Langford (Hannah Baker/Morgan Stark/Nimue/Leah Burke/Meg Thrombey)