#henna mix for hair

[inga-don-studio]

I know I should just try to get to bed now that my Friday’s finally over & I’m fighting for my life just to stay awake, let alone get something resembling dinner together at 2am …

… and yet …

… and yet … :)

[millialani]

Had to go to work with henna still in my hair you can hear the plastic bag crunching under my veil everytime I move

[rooksamoris]

I've come to humbly request and spread propaganda for Jamil L/N.

Jamil taking his s/o's name strikes 3 birds with one stone: freedom from the Asims (you can't tell me there hasn't been a single Viper who didn't marry into another family and adopt their trade), freedom to marry the love of his life, and guaranteeing freedom for his descendants. Depending on how things go with Najma, they could erase the Viper name and, by extension, their servitude.

Also how does he react being called Mr.L/N?

💞 — in which jamil marries you and takes your last name.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: none, this is pure fluff and romance

💞 — 1.2k words. i ended up writing a mix of drabbles and headcanons <33 your propaganda turned into me making even more propaganda for this idea. honestly, seems very plausible that he would do something like this.

“I’ll take your last name. If we want to get married, I have to take your name, or else you’d be stuck serving with me,” Jamil said, breaking the silence. His eyes remained on the book in his lap, looking through the various pictures from his parents’ wedding. He would be wearing his father’s old garments. 

The man had an intricate belt with a jambiyah (dagger) tied around the waist of his thobe (long dress-like garment), and his hair was done in various braids with a shemagh (men’s headscarf) tied over it. He had a few ornate pieces of fabric draped over him like a cape and a spot of henna on the inside of his palm. The usual kohl (eyeliner) was a bit smudged from all the festivities—Jamil had never seen his father look this happy. 

His mother was dressed similarly, with old pieces of gold and silver jewelry about. Her big earrings had matched the rings his father wore, and she had kohl drawn on both her eyes and her chin, in the shape of ancient tattoos. Here hair had scented plants interwoven in the strands, and Jamil wondered if he should do the same with his hair, draping a shemagh over it. It seemed like something you would enjoy, and he would enjoy you taking them out at the end of the night. He spoke again, “What do you think of that?” he asked, concerning him taking your name.

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder, flipping the page to another picture of his parents’s wedding, this one featuring his mother shyly lifting a piece of her sitara (long piece of fabric with various designs which directly translates to ‘curtain’) to hide her face from her husband, “I think it's a wonderful idea.”

🩷 — Taking your last name was probably the best decision he could have made. He indulged in the marriage festivities with you for both your sake and his parent’s sake. What he was excited about was signing the contract that officially gave him your surname—freeing him from the shackles of the Viper clan.

🩷 — He did it after the festivities when it was just the two of you guys and the imam as well as a legal advisor. You both were still in the wedding clothes, sitting on an ornate rug with a little table in front of you. 

🩷 — Jamil could feel the tremors of his heart in his hand as he lifted the pen and signed his name beside yours. This time, Viper was nowhere to be found.

🩷 — With that, Jamil shook hands with the imam and then handed the page to the legal advisor to be put in the Scalding Sands’s records. It all felt so surreal. He glanced over his shoulder to see you gleefully talking to the imam about the marriage and showing off your wedding band. 

🩷 — It was a thin gold ring that he had made with the antiquities left by his family. Nothing fancy—he wanted to give you diamonds, and yet you were so smitten with it and him.

Once nightfall came, Jamil lay beside you in your bed. A bed for the both of you. It was a bed he bought under his new name, Jamil (L/N), under the surname you gifted him. His charcoal eyes watched as you sat down at the edge of the bed, your night robe dipped down your back. It matched his nightgown, save for the patterns. He helped you fall in love with the comfortable garb of his homeland.

You turned slightly to see him, your eyes growing tender at the sight of him all disheveled. This was a sight just for you, “What are you thinking about?” you asked, reaching out to take his hand.

Jamil pulled you closer to him by your hand, forcing you to lay on top of him. He kissed your knuckles, “Thinking about you, hayati (my life),” he muttered, before letting his hand trail up your arm and to the back of your neck. His gaze had softened and his features relaxed, “Thank you,” 

You did not need to ask why he thanked you. You knew he felt indebted to you for being patient with him and becoming his spouse. You gave him the greatest gift ever, freedom. Free to be yours, free from Kalim Al-Asim. You freed his descendants… he would spend the rest of his life as your husband, repaying you with kisses across your skin and warm meals in your belly.

🩷 — It takes him a long time to get used to his new name, as well as his newfound freedom. After your wedding, he takes you out to do many of the things he could not do before, such as travel to another country, but even simple things like going out to parks.

🩷 — He did not have to worry about Kalim anymore, just your and his enjoyment.

🩷 — Jamil still has yet to get used to being called by your surname. When he notices it, he is filled with a smug and quiet pride, but most of the time he just ends up ignoring whoever is calling for him, or glancing over at you in confusion, thinking that they are speaking with you and not him.

🩷 — This was particularly apparent when it came to the reunion at Night Raven College.

🩷 — He did not want to go, but he could not reject you either. You were excited about seeing your silly friends, and who was he to stop you from going? Instead, he just sighed and went along with you, standing off to the side and watching as you ran about to gather Ace and Deuce, as well as greeting your other friends.

“If it isn’t the new Mr. (L/N),” Azul approached his former classmate with a suave grin. He had grown up, but it was clear he still kept that usual ‘evil businessman’ charm to him. His suit was freshly pressed and his hair, which had grown a bit, was brushed back neatly. Though, he was still wearing the same thin-rimmed glasses.

Jamil turned around when he heard your surname being called, and it took him a moment to realize what was happening. He was your husband. Sure, he remembered your wedding—he carried a picture from it all the time, but it was still strange hearing it affirmed by someone else. He tried to hide how happy he was to hear it behind a raised brow and his usual frown, “What do you want, Azul? My spouse isn’t going to be pulled into one of your schemes anymore,” he said, arms crossed.

Azul laughed at that, tilting his cane a bit as he leaned away from Jamil, “You wound me, Jamil. As if I would try anything like that anymore,” he replied, and the irony was not lost on him at all. Instead, he sighed and watched as Jamil’s eyes found your figure again. You were chasing Epel around, trying to get a hug from your old friend. It was just like before, except now you wore a ring from Jamil and he wore a name from you.

“You don’t seem so poor and unfortunate now,” Azul said.

Jamil could not bite back the slight twitch of his lips, “Not at all.”

[bobemajses]

Jewish wedding photo from Hamadan, Iran, 1910. The bride is sitting in the middle row, left.

This photograph captures the mix of traditions that influenced Persian Jewish wedding customs, each designed to ward off curses and ensure fertility, economic success and safety for the bride and her future children. The wedding jewelry functioned both as a decoration and as a talisman against the evil eye. The fear of “cheshm khordan” (lit. translated to being struck by the eye), has been embedded in Iranian culture since the time of the Zoroastrians, and is deeply rooted in Persian Jewish tradition as well. For another ritual, known as henna-bandon, women gather in the home of the bride’s family to put henna on the bride’s hair and hands and to light esphan, the seeds of wild rue, in order to keep the evil eye away from home and loved ones. The esphan is placed on a stove, and once it starts popping, the fire is turned down and the bride inhales the scent of the herb.

[runningwithscizzorz]

Do you have any other drawings of Redboy (JTTW ver)? I absolutely love your design for him, and the henna is a beautiful touch, I'd love to see more if you have any other drawings of him! :)

I also wanted to know how you came up with your design for him, and what inspired different aspects of his design?

(I really admire you btw and your art is so beautiful!)

Thank you! Red boy is based a lot off of where I set him in the story. To me, Princess Iron Fan is Bengali and Demon Bull King is southern Chinese.

I believe he’s a total mommas boy since she misses him so much when Wukong meets her, so the pants and henna come from his love for her. I really really need to work on his design more, I’m not entirely happy with his outfit and I need to change his hair, but he’s still my cutie.

A lot of how I draw Red Son in LMK comes from my JTTW design for him, like his horns and tail, so I definitely need to mix it up haha. Truth be told, I’m actually nervous about showing my JTTW work here, since people have already started copying my designs for certain characters, but I suppose it can’t be helped haha.

[cupids-chamber]

VIL SCHOENHEIT driving you home, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS cooking for you, and JAMIL VIPER doing your henna...

Content tags: Gender Neutral Reader, Iffy writing (Haven't wrote in awhile), Un-edited witting, Slightly self indulgent (In some parts), fluff.

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The sun shined brightly in your eyes, the pain stung but was numbed by the feeling of his cold hands around your own. His hands were calloused, a bit rough, a contrast to your own softer hands. The pattern of his breathing was quite comforting, the way his chest rose and fell back as his eyes were focused onto you, his voice soothed the aching thumbing in your head and chest, you felt hot all over as your thoughts kept spiraling around, all over the place.

The cold ink was a comforting contrast to the warmth of the sun and the ache in your ears, this position hurt but the complaints were all muffled in the comforting solace of his voice, the small words of praise as he went on with his work. Intricate patterns covered your hands, both sides were stained bright orange and dark red inks, the strong scent of henna almost made you feel dizzy, slightly dazed. Flower patterns and weird yet unique patterns were all over your arms.

You could see the way his hands shook, the way he focused so intently on you, the way he'd wrap his free hand around yours and fill up the awkward silence with some random story of his or some sort of babble about his work just to keep you entertained while he worked away. He's always been dedicated to his work, but even more so when it involves you.

You looked at him, from over the counter. Watching as he struggled with the utensils, looking over the instructions that were written in the new cook book that you had recently gotten him. Frankly, you doubted he'd be interested that much, but the way he'd react, his expression of excitement as he shared his creation with you, just the way he’d be so giddy after he successfully made a new recipe was something that you were reminded of while book shopping. So, you couldn’t really stop yourself from buying the book, especially when you realized that it was a dessert book. 

He was focused intently on cooking, mixing away, you could see him shift through the kitchen in search of ingredients, the way he'd pace back from the pantry and back to the kitchen. You could see the ways his facial features would contort, as he whispered some muffled curses to himself while cooking. It was adorable really. 

At the end of the day, he wouldn't admit it, but he loved the way your eyes would light up when he made the recipe just to your liking. He is slightly embarrassed by it, but he would never address the fact that he made sure to slightly adjust the recipe and sweetness to your liking, every now and then. He’ll never tell you that he's willing to make subtle changes to see you smile or the way your smile makes all of it worth it. 

The sky was cloudy, everything was a blur really tonight. Your mind was still a bit dazed, and in the back of your head you could hear a small voice telling you you'd regret the drinks that you had back in the bar. The traffic lights flashed, as he steered the wheel; the lights were much more vibrant at night, it hurt your eyes, so much so that you debated pulling down the sun visor.

The windows were rolled down, the same pop song repeating in the radio as you stared at him, dazed, eyes glazed over as you felt yourself grow tired. The wind blew through his hair, flowing in the wind. Your bangs would blow in your face due to the harsh wind, and you regretted rolling down your entire window but was too distracted to really do anything about it.

You could see him, looking at you, checking in on you every now and then, sometimes reminding you every now and then "fix your posture, or else the cops might pull us over", you'd hum in response, continuing staring at him. You probably didn't notice the way he'd turn around, ears slightly flushed red, and that lovesick grin on his face every time he noticed you staring at him.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[mieczyslawhale]

I hate knowong that if stiles was a female character her and derek would of ended up together. So fem stiles ideas that are mixed with stereotypes prudocers of teen dramas love.

My vision of fem stiles is a woman with long hair she keeps in a pony tail. Many layers of shirts like a muscle shirt and then an over shirt on top of that and then a sweater over top of that or just a regular shirt with a shirt underneath and an over shirt and a sweater over top because this version of stiles is constantly cold because she has an issue with circulation in her body. She wears really long skirts that go down to her ankles baggy pants overalls those henna pants that look like parachute pants stop go away leave me alone man. And black dogs with painted daisies on them she also likes to carry a side bag that's filled with things of all kinds she's got something for every occasion and also a bunch of over the counter medicine.

To follow the stereotypes whenever someone talks about her friendship with Scott they always state that she's madly in love with him and she's always consistently grossed out by it that no one could understand that they're just friends but everyone tries to lump them together as a romantic interest to the point where Allison when she first starts going out with Scott becomes a bit jealous of stiles.

Scott tries to reassure her and with his tunnel vision those feelings of jealousy go away also because stiles quickly becomes obsessed with Derek because them stiles still has ADHD and Derek ends up becoming one of her ADHD obsessions the way that canon stiles did.

Stiles both hates and adores Lydia she hates her attitude but loves everything else her smarts her fashion sense the way that she speaks sometimes she just really wants to be Lydia's friend but also feels as though Lydia doesn't like her.

Has the show progresses into season 2 Styles is now fighting the Dynamics between Lydia and Allison where stiles and Allison are becoming closer friends and Lydia is getting angry about it on top of everything that Lydia is dealing with with her psychosis and feeling as though her friends are there for her oh she's feeling phased out so she starts lashing out on stiles because stiles is an easy target.

Also if stiles was female in season 2 Isaac would have been captivated by her you know that they would have tried to push some kind of love agenda between Isaac and Stiles but once again stiles is still really obsessed with Derek and head over heels for him and no one else matters in the love Spectrum. Also in my vision the pool scene still happens the only thing is stiles. is wearing leggings instead of her long long skirts or a jogging outfit that looks like the lacrosse colors cuz it's Scott's jogging outfit and it was just cold so stiles was borrowing it.

I'm currently rewatching Teen Wolf so as I continue to rewatch it I will add more head cannons for my female stiles and also tropes that I know that they would have pushed if stiles was a girl

[toxiccrybabyart]

Skeles as humans but with all my headcanons and design choices

Because in my eyes they’re all queer as fuck and no one can take that from me

Ink is nonbinary, uses any pronouns, is aroace and from Filipino decent. They’re a tattoo artist, though his own tattoos are actually just henna. They like to do henna at the local ren fair when it’s open. He also does art commissions on the side, when they’re not prepping for various tattoo gigs.

Blue is a cis guy, uses he/him pronouns, is bisexual, and half Hawaiian half Puerto Rican.

Dream is a trans man, uses he/him pronouns, is pansexual, and from Scottish and fae decent. He likes to garden and do photography. He’s currently a free lance photographer.

Error is a cis guy, uses he/they pronouns, is demiromantic and demisexual, and a black American. Despite his rather closed off and almost rude nature, he finds that he enjoys streaming, and has a decent following. He also enjoys crocheting, and sometimes just streams himself crocheting while talking with chat. He brings string alone with him in his coat pocket, and weaves it between his fingers when he’s overwhelmed.

Cross is a cis guy, uses he/him pronouns, is bisexual, and Dominican Puerto Rican. He works as security for Nightmare, though Nightmare technically doesn’t need it, but he has the money and it makes Cross feel better to make sure he’s okay.

Nightmare is genderfluid, uses he/she/they pronouns (in preference order), is queer, and is of Scottish and fae decent. He is also a natural red head like Dream, but dyes his hair black. He’s embarrassed of the red color, which is silly because he looks lovely with red hair. She’s a gothic model, mostly encouraged into it by Dream, but she secretly loves the positive attention.

Dust is a cis guy, uses any pronouns, is pan, and is a mixed black American. He’s incredibly closed off and is pretty paranoid. She gets the shakes pretty bad, especially in her hands. They’re rather cold. But around his two other friends he lightens up a little bit.

Horror is a cis guy, uses he/him pronouns, is bisexual, and a white American. He tries to be friendly and approachable despite his own issues he’s working through. He’s got a few memories issues and a thing about food, but he’s a great friend, and his friends will kill you if you even imply otherwise.

Killer is gender queer, uses he/they pronouns, is omnisexual, and is a mixed Korean American. He comes across as just a chill relaxed guy despite his morbid sense of humor. Though he’s got issues, you’ll be hard pressed to learn of them unless you’re close to him.

[mustainegf]

hi there! I was the one who requested the MOP Era james. I just want to say I love your work and I think you're an amazing writer! If you ever ever the chance could you do like a fluffy smut with kirk? Like one where they are best friends and the reader is a virgin and kirk offers to help her and they take it slowly and have sweet sex? Again you're an amazing writer! P.s. my name is Henna 😊

I already had something like this written so I hope that’s okay. Its a little tweaked, their both virgins soooo idk I hope you like it!! Also hiii henna!!!

Ilooked into my best friends eyes, and I wanted nothing more but to kiss him. He was so beautiful.

Those big pink lips, doe eyes, and long black curly hair. I held myself back, I couldn't imagine ruining this friendship we had.

I was so scared of what would happen if I did. But tonight, he was staying over at my house. We were watching a movie in my room, and we were both on the bed. The lights were off, and it was just us two in the dark room.

I was wearing a long, comfy shirt that went down to my knees. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

We were sitting on the bed, and I could feel his body heat next to mine. We were both nervous about what would happen next.

"Kirk.." I let out softly, not fully realizing what I had said.

"Yeah?" he replied, turning his head to look at me.

All I could do was stare at him, drowning in his dark pools of eyes. I couldn't fight it anymore. I pushed myself forward, cupping his soft cheek and letting our lips meet for the first time.

I could feel his warm breath on me, and the softness of his lips against mine. It was heavenly.

He pulled away slowly, looking at me with a mix of surprise and desire in his eyes. "Wow.." he whispered, breaking the silence that had filled the room since we started kissing.

I smiled, feeling a rush of emotions. I had never felt this way before, and it was both scary and exhilarating. "Yeah..." I replied, my voice shaky with emotion. He leaned in again, his lips finding mine once more.

This time, his kiss was more passionate, more intense. I felt my body respond to his touch, my heart racing and my breath coming in short gasps.

He pulled away slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm glad you feel the same way," he said softly.

I blushed, feeling my cheeks flush with heat. "I do," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in again, his lips brushing against mine in a soft kiss. I felt the electricity between us as our tongues danced together, exploring each other's mouths with abandon. Kirk quickly pulled away, looking at me for a moment. "Do you have condoms?"

His transparency turned me on, I could see how desperate he was. I shook my head no.

"I don't," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. "It's okay," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. "We can still have fun." He leaned in again, his lips brushing against mine in a soft kiss. "We'll be careful." He murmured.

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel his lips against mine, soft and warm. His hands were on my hips, holding me close to him.

We began to slowly undress each other.

I was in awe of his body. He was so strong and muscular, with just the right amount of fat to make him look soft and cuddly. I couldn't help but run my hands over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath. He pulled me closer to him, our bodies pressed together.

"Wait, Kirk." I hesitated, looking up at him.

"What’s up?" He asked in a whisper, his warm breath almost melting me.

"I'm a virgin." I blurted out, my face turning red.

He looked at me for a moment, then smiled.

"That's okay." He said, his hands still on my hips.

"Um... so am I" Kirk admitted quietly.

"I wanna be your first, and I want you to be mine" He said softly. God he was cute.

My eyes trailed down to the tent in his boxers. Holy shit.

"See something you like?" Kirk breathed, glancing down at the clear buldge In his boxers.

I nodded, my eyes widening. "Good" He said, his hands moving to the waistband of his boxers. He pulled them down slowly, revealing a 7 inch dick.

It was thick and uncut with a large head and veins running up its length. Oh my god.

I couldn't help but stare. "Like what you see?" He asked, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock and stroking it slowly. "Yes." I whispered, my eyes fixed on his hand as it moved up and down the length of his cock. I gulped, my eyes locked on his cock. "You can touch it if you want" He said, his voice low and sultry, and a little awkward. I moved closer to him, my hand reaching out to grab hold of his thick member. I wrapped my fingers around it and started stroking up and down the length of it.

Kirk immediately let out a gasp of a moan, just at the feeling of my hand on his cock. "I didn't know you were so sensitive, Hammett.." I teased, softly kissing his chest.

"I'm not," he laughed, "you just know how to touch me."

“Oh really?" I asked, teasingly. "You want me to show you how I know what you like?" He nodded eagerly and then bit his lip. He was so cute when he did that. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes of his and I couldn't help but lean in for a kiss.

I slid my hand down his cock, applying a slight bit of pressure to the head. Kirk flinched, moaning loudly.

I took my hand away, and then slid it back down.

"Ahh..." Kirk moaned again. I could tell he was enjoying this, but I wanted to tease him a little more before taking the next step.

I slid my hand up his cock again, applying more pressure this time.

"Ohhhh.. fuck.." Kirk moaned. I started to slide my hand up and down his cock, slowly at first, but then faster.

Kirk moaned louder and louder as I continued to stroke him. I could tell he was getting close to cumming, so I slowed down my strokes again. He was quite vocal, and that only aroused me more.

I gently leaned down, setting a soft kiss on the tip of his cock.

“Oh my god.." Kirk whimpered.

I kissed the tip of his cock again, and then licked it.

"Ohhhh..." Kirk whined as I started to stroke him again. "Oh my god... oh my god..." he whimpered as I continued to stroke him faster and faster. "I'm gonna cum... aaahhhh..."

I watched his face twist pleasure, his hands gently holding my hair.

"Yes, yes.." he whimpered as I kept stroking him. Kirk moaned as his cock started to twitch and throb in my hand. "I'm cumming!" Kirk whined out, and I quickly took his cock into my mouth, sucking on it hard as I continued to stroke him.

I felt his cock pulse in my mouth, and I swallowed the first few spurts of cum that shot out. His body tensed up as he came, and I kept sucking on him until he was done. "Holy shit..." he moaned as his orgasm subsided.

I pulled his cock out of my mouth and gave it a few more strokes. "Fuck..." he moaned as I milked the last few drops of cum from his cock. I stood up and looked at him, smiling as I licked my lips. "How was that?" I asked, teasingly, still unsure if I had really done it right.

"Fucking amazing." He replied, breathing heavily.

"I've never cum that hard before.”

“You liked it?" I asked, my heart racing with excitement.

"You wanna return the favour?" I asked sneakily, running my hands past his chest. "Please..." Kirk growled.

Kirk grabbed my waist, laying my down below him. He nudged himself back, carefully reaching for my panties.

He pulled them down my legs, throwing them on the floor. I had always been a little self conscious about my body, but Kirk seemed to love it. "You're so fucking hot." He said, before lowering his head towards me. I felt his warm breath against my skin as he began to kiss me all over. His breath teased my pussy.

I was so wet, and he knew it. He began to kiss my inner thighs, working his way up to my heat.

"Fuck." He said, before sticking his tongue out and licking me. I moaned loudly as he continued to lick me all over. His tongue felt amazing against my clit as he sucked on it gently.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I moaned as he continued to suck on my clit. He slid his finger inside me and began to pump it in and out of me. His tongue felt amazing against my clit as he sucked on it gently.

"Fuck, Kirk." I moaned loudly as he continued to lick me all over.

"Ohhhh.. Kirk.. baby..." I whined, bucking my hips slightly. Kirk smirked from between my legs.

He used his free hand to snuck around my and hold my hips down.

I was squirming in pleasure. "You’re so wet." He said as he continued to lick me. "You taste so good." He added, taking his finger out of me and replacing it with his tongue. "nghh..." I moaned loudly at the feeling of his tongue darting in and out of me.

He look his tongue out of me, very slowly licking all the way from top to bottom. It was so slow it made me writhe.

"Kirk, please... please Kirk I need you inside of me." I moaned, as good as it felt, I couldn’t wait anymore.

Kirk grinned, as he continued sucking on my sensitive skin.

"Mmm, you want me to fuck you?" He asked. I nodded, but he just continued to tease me. "You want my me inside of you?" He asked again. I whimpered in frustration and tried to push his head away from my pussy, but he was too strong for me.

"Kirk, please. I need you." I pleaded.

"Mmm, you want my dick?" He asked again. "Yes! Please Kirk!" I moaned as he continued to tease me with his tongue and lips. He finally stopped teasing me and started to lick the length of my pussy again, but this time he was faster and more aggressive in his movements.

I was so close to cumming.

He moved his tongue faster and faster, he licked my clit and I finally gave in. "Ohhhh, fuck I'm cumming!" I screamed as my body shook in pleasure.

Kirk slowed, still teasing waver so slightly. "There's what I was looking for" he grinned. "Kirk, please! I need you." He sat up and started to kiss me again as his cock brushed past my swollen pussy lips.

Kirk hovered over me, propping himself up with his one arm. I kissed down his neck. "Okay, are you ready?" Kirk asked gently.

I nodded, "I'm ready." Kirk watched me with carful eyes. "Alright, please tell me if it hurts, okay?"

"I will." I whispered, holding his arm for support.

Kirk smiled, "Okay." I felt his cock slide against my entrance. I gasped as he pressed into me. "Are you okay?" He asked, looking down at me with concern. I nodded and he began to push further in. I moaned as he filled me up completely, his cock stretching my hole to its limits.

"Let me know when I can move" Kirk said softly, his face contorted at the new feeling enveloping his length.

I nodded, taking a second to get used to his size

I felt him twitch and he let out a small moan.

"I'm ready." I said, my voice hoarse. Kirk nodded and began to slowly move in and out of me. I gasped as he pulled back, then moaned as he pushed back in. He kept up this slow pace for a few minutes before picking up the pace slightly.

"Oh my god..." Kirk's head fell into my shoulder, his long curly hair resting over my boobs and neck.

I felt his breath on my neck and it sent shivers down my spine. He started to thrust faster, our bodies slapping together. "Fuck!" he groaned as he kept up the pace. His hands moved from my hips to my breasts, cupping them in his large hands and pinching at the nipples gently.

"Oh god, Kirk," I moaned. My legs were shaking and my toes curled as he continued to fuck into me.

This whole new feeling took over my entire body, as I gripped at Kirk's back. "I love you" Kirk mumbled as the room filled with wet slapping.

"I love you too" I said as I arched my back and moaned.

"Ohhh... Ahh." Kirk whined.

I never wouldn't thought my first time having sex would be this good. And I never thought it would be with Kirk. But god, I'm glad it was.

I was laying on my back, with my legs wrapped around Kirk's waist. I could feel his cock going in and out of me, and it felt so good.

The room was filled with the sound of our moans and the wet slapping of our bodies together.

I was in a state of euphoria, my mind was hazy and I could feel the pleasure building inside me. I had never felt this way before, it was like nothing else mattered except for the feeling of Kirk inside me.

“Oh, fuck!" I moaned. "You feel so good." Kirk groaned in response, his hips moving faster as he fucked me harder. The bed creaked beneath us as we moved together in a rhythm that was both primal and intimate.

I could feel his member throbbing inside me, and the sensation was almost overwhelming.

"Fuck.. you're so pretty..." Kirk moaned, watching me as he brushed some of my hair out of my face.

He looked so good. Never in my life would I have guessed I would ever see Kirk like this. Hovering over me, groaning and thrusting as he lovingly fucked me.

I was so in love with him. "Kirk..." I whimpered, feeling my body quivering as he continued to pump into me. His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back, but I could see the slight smile on his face as he fucked me. Iloved his cute crooked teeth.

I loved his nose. I loved his lips. "Fuck... Kirk..." I moaned, my eyes rolling back as he continued to fuck me with such love and passion.

He was so gentle, but the way he fucked me made it feel like he was taking control of my body and making it do what he wanted.

"Kirk! Oh god your gonna make me cum!" I cried out, feeling that familiar knot forming in my stomach.

"You're gonna cum for me?" he asked, his voice low and sultry. "Yes! I'm gonna cum!" I whimpered, my hips bucking. "I want you to cum all over me." Kirk groaned, his thumb finding my clit.

"Oh god! Oh my god!" I cried out, my body tensing.

My pussy clenched around his cock as I came, the orgasm ripping through me like a tidal wave. "Ohh kirk, I love you..." I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Just a bit longer... I'm so close.." Kirk whimpered into my ear, his thrusts continuing.

The overstimulation was a lot to take, and it made me writhe in pleasure. I knew he was so close to cumming.

"Oh god, oh my god... I'm cumming!" he cried out, his cock twitching inside me. Kirk quickly pulled out of me, jerking himself off before spurting his seed on my stomach and hip bones. "Ahhh.... Oh.." Kirk shut his eyes, riding out his orgasm.

"Hammett... oh that was so good..." I panted. Kirk fell beside me, locking his fingers with mine.

"God I've been wanting that for so long.." Kirk breathed, kissing my cheek.

"I can't believe we actually just had sex" Kirk chuckled softly.

"I can't believe it either... I never thought you'd be the one to take my virginity" I smiled. "I hope that was okay for you?" Kirk asked, a little worried. "It was more than okay" I reassured him, pulling him into a kiss.

"We should go clean up" Kirk laughed gently, kissing my cheek again.

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[inky-duchess]

Let’s say an icy blond Prince was trying to escape death and his hair kept getting him recognize, aside from cutting his hair how could he dye it in like medieval times so it looked like dark blonde or something?

Brown hair can be obtained by mixing indigo and henna. It is not permanent but can be after a few rinses. This is likely what Sansa Stark is currently using in ASOIAF. (Green hair like Wylla Manderly's would be obtained by either fucking up a dye job or mixing the blonde with blue.)

[runawaycarouselhorse]

When you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool!) 🌟

Awww, this cute ask meme again. Sure! (I'lll tag some folks that I can recall off the top of my head, but everyone's free to donit or not. ^^)

I'm pretty content and happy in most places and situations!! I can grumble a bit about certain aspects, but if I've got food, a place to rest my head, and some internet connectivity, I'm pretty content!!

I like that I never lost my imaginative sense and out-of-the-box thinking, because so many people give up when they can't use the "normal" solution to a problem and act like it's impossible, but I can look at what's available, and make a possibly funny, but functional, solution!

I love the way my very dark brown hair shines gold in strong light (I never bleached it or used any dye other than natural stuff like henna a handful of times during my life) and the bits that get exposed to sun (because it's long and the ends peek out or the hair framing my face accidentally slips out a lot—although I think I finally solved that issue by using those chunky metal hairclips for kids to keep my headscarf from sliding around) take on a coppery, red tone. Oh! Sidenote: since I don't uncover my hair outside or go to the beach often (working in a landlocked village...), trying chamomile for the first time followed and sun from the window to see if it'll give a similar colour throughout after a few goes. ^^

I feel braver and more adventurous lately!! Which is good, because I have to go on longer misssions for work to different places.

I like that I already know I'm strange-lookibg and will look foreign or out of place anywhere in the world because I'm mixed and the way I move, emote, and talk are all strange/off to people even if they don't know what autism is, so I'm relatively free of the burden to "fit in," because there was never any chance that I could. It's not "if only you did (xy), you'd seem normal and popular," there was never a chance of that remotely happening. It's an impossible goal and I was happier before I was forced to mask so much, but it's needed for studying and working, even if it makss you stressed and tired pretty much all the time... at least people are pretty much forced to take you seriously when you've gotten this far, even if they find you odd. So! Pastels and an odd combination of stereotypical granny tastes and cutesy kiddy stuff.

Tagging (but anyone is free to answer or not!):

@a-dream-deferred @spagonia @mukkuruingly @otesunki @owls-den @blxnc @greenmanwiththesauce (I can't tag you for some reason!) @kashphia @perelka-l @aanbella

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the mad cultist composer. ﹚:  rishen 9948v .𖹭 ݁

. . . if he can't have you baby no one else in this world can !! 🍒 : “ I need you at my side — where I can see you, feel you. please, my dear. let me take care of you. ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 9948v

꒰ species ꒱ blood cultist, necromancer, cultivator

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ mexican-indian

꒰ age ꒱ 25

꒰ gender ꒱ genderfluid, amab ( can physically switch )

꒰ mbti ꒱ intj

꒰ alias ꒱ 

the cursed, the scarlet sanguinist, the glitch, the scarlet thorn, the scarlet sentinel, the disappointment, the copycat, traitor, supernatural lynche

꒰ story ꒱ 

a flick of the wrist, the splatter of blood.

is he writing his compositions or casting another ritual?

rishen herrera, otherwise known as the scarlet sanguinist. a blank and blunt individual. often found silent and staring with those beady scarlet eyes of his. a cultist known for his callous ways and the monotone expression he keeps throughout them.

while his hands know many melodies and vast horrors, he is also what one would call a tracker. mercilessly hunting down his own kind when given the order.

in his personal time he serves the primordial rhytaari himself — yet something else brews beneath the surface. a slew of unidentified rituals and vast measures taken; eggs broken and heads stepped. but for what?

what does it even matter? it’s not as though he is even himself half of the time. an ever-shifting face to versions of himself across the multiverse

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

maroon eyes that either strike admiration or fear into people who dare gaze into them, enhanced sometimes when his scleras have black veins in them. usually after post ritual or during divine connection

medium-length, fluffy and curly dark brown hair that tickle halfway down his neck and frame her already beautiful face perfectly. and when the sun is out and the brightness of it hits

has beautiful bronze skin, that is adorned by beauty spots on the left side of his face and along his forearms.

has a very androgynous face that leans more towards feminine features rather than masculine, yet you see the clear features there as well. his face is a combination of soft and sharp edges and corners

lots of red and black makeup, often wandering with puppy-liner and dark red eyeshadow, with a lighter red, but still dark, lipstick. with a subtle blush.

has a vermillion mark on his forehead. complementing his makeup and facial structure.

stands at the height of 5’10” ( 177cm ) with an slender body

sometimes wears henna on his hands, with intricate designs and artistry, he either does them himself or he borrows a hand from a certain verseless jìngyí.

veins glow deep red when magic use, and if overexerted the hue will brighten gradually.

tiny ruby jewel on his tongue that shimmers gently whenever it catches the light.

carries standard lobe piercings with a helix piercing on his right, often with rubies inside of them into them.

has a beautiful nose ring that connects to his right earring, and sometimes he switches it out for more detailed ones depending on the events.

labret piercing to sit there perfectly on her pretty soft bottom lip, designed as a gold strip with small red jewel in the middle of the upper part of the piercing.

gold rings cover his fingers, thin and thick, while bangles upon bangles cover his arms and wrists, shining in the reflection of the sun and when his veins glow.

wears lots of red and black clothes, which range from an elegant style, to a more casual to traditional styles from her cultures, at times, it is also in a mix of modern and traditional.

typically switches between genders whenever he feels like it, and is able to alter through spells.

 

꒰ personality ꒱

considered the silent type, he’s more of an observer than anything else. quite reserved

monotone, he’s not one to change expression often. is considered to be quite blank and also has a dry tone to the way he speaks

has a sort of effortlessness to him — as though he doesn’t quite care about the world around him or how he does things

speaks in a rather blunt, but quiet manner. some might see him as soft spoken but that is far from the case

teaming with sarcasm and quick wit

easily agitated, does not show it however. he must remain in control of himself

if he does joke, he has a rather dark sense of humour

a bit of a perfectionist admittedly

often referred to as heartless or even callous. he is unafraid to break a few eggs or step on a few heads. to those that know his reputation, he is said to have no care

can be envious at times, not that he actually shows it

rather cunning and able to deceive easily

merciless in his work and some aspects of his life. he has been said to have turned off his emotions. can be a tad bit sadistic

unpredictable, and willing to do whatever it takes to complete his goals

push him far enough and he’ll go erratic

the voices —

his personality may shift slightly depending on which rishen variant he glitches into ( refer to strengths )

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

at times he falls himself falling into awkwardness when he wishes to be verbally affectionate. he wants to love bomb you and he tries to, but he sometimes doesn’t know how to, sometimes he also gets worried he may overwhelm you if he does — will try his very best to make sure you feel good always.

though in contrast to that of the above, he is very physically affectionate. he prefers expressing verbal affection through nicknames, and give physical affection to you to show all of his love for you.

the second you join him in bed at night, he all but clings onto you to fall asleep comfortable, and doesn’t want you to leave the bed too early in the mornings. he will miss your warmth and touch, and get a little moody as well possibly.

will cook for you whenever he has the time and will assure that all of the meals you get are nutritious and are ones you enjoy. just so that he can see you happy and at ease after long or hard days.

casts spells on you so that he knows where you are. . . he cannot help it, he is paranoid about your safety. he has lost too much to just let you wander alone, and oh he only hopes you do not think anything of it other than him wanting to keep you safe.

enjoys asking you riddles and confusing questions, it’s one of the way he messes with you. if you get it right he’ll sometimes reward you, which can be through a large assortment of affection. such as giving you kisses, sweets, trinkets, food, even more physical affection.

will paint henna on your hands, so you both have matching patterns. also because he loves to hold your hands and watch the patterns interlink and let people know you are hers

and oh this woman will stare at you for hours, ever so lovingly and with adoration. even when you catch her looking, you watch her melt, not physically, but through the softness of her stare. like you are made of the purest kind of happiness to her.

not only is he possessive, he’s paranoid. he can and will have a meltdown if he can’t get a hold of you and doesn’t know where you are, and in very severe times, he has kept you at home for a few days. assuring doors and locks are sealed shut.

secretly has sanguinist marks on you. . . he needs others to know to back off and not touch you. you are his, as he is yours. and he will not tolerate at all if anyone touched you.

will fight tooth and nail to keep you safe. you are the one who will actually drive him insane — it’s a price he’s willing to pay. especially because a particular phantom keeps stalking around every corner the two of you are. he needs to keep you close and safe. he has to.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

sanguinist magic: a magic that flows from copper resentment himself and allows them to cast an array of spells, perform rituals and create defensive/offensive attacks

sanguinist necromancy: able to puppet people on the brink of death and the dead as well ( granted their soul is still nearby )

blood magic: don’t spill blood around a sanguinist. other than being able to harness it into dangerous attacks, high-level sanguinists can also manipulate a being through their blood

dark magic: knows various spells, rituals and curses in regards to dark magic

cultivator magic: born a cultivator, he is able to use cultivator magic; purifying, seals, rituals and other mystics

glitches: he has a special quirk. . . he is able to glitch into different versions of himself across the multiverse. mimicking both their appearance and abilities. he could be rishen 781, 209, 1311, 9948e and so many other rishens. . .

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

over-exertion: can tire himself out immensely with his magic

glitches: he does not have full control of them and it can spiral out of control

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

jìngyí verseless: complicated, bad terms

alessio 209: complicated

zhào hàoyŭ: enemy

zhào talisen 164: close companion, ‘god’

alessio agresta 164: close companion

alessio agresta arias 9948e: enemy

rishen aryielus 9948e: enemy

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he is known as the scarlet sentinel because he works as a ‘supernatural tracker’. being forced to hunt down his fellow supernaturals. not that he seems to mind.

context: in his world ( verse 9948v ), supernaturals are discriminated against and governed to such a degree that those that ‘hide’ or are considered ‘wanted’ are hunted down by law officials or other supernaturals that are coerced into it

plays the violin

he is a sanguinist, which is a group that serves copper resentment

he often composes music in his spare time ( sometimes he does so with blood )

has an incredibly big sweet tooth

quite well-known within the realm of abhorration

when he glitches into one of his variations, he becomes an exact replica of them, however with his own thoughts and quirks still

[the-whispers-of-death]

i NEEEEED stone with an older reader i literally need this man to be in love with a burly man on his fifties

Who would I be if I didn't talk about Stone's daddy issues and how that led to him having not only a praise kink but also being very attracted to older men?

Stone had come back from deployment to find that the neighbor to his left had moved and in their place was a very handsome, burly man who had graying hair (but his hair wasn't fully gray). He was intrigued because he knew when people bought the houses near him, they were told by other neighbors about how reclusive and cold Stone was and that usually caused potential buyers to move into other houses in the neighborhood.

Despite his curiosity, it wasn't in Stone's nature to seek out new neighbors, so he went about his first week home like normal. He got henna done on his hands, he adjusted himself to sleeping at normal times, he got the neighbor to the right of him to get his groceries. All was normal.

Until you showed up at his door, wanting to get to know your new neighbors.

Stone was already up and had finished his morning run at four in the morning, it now being eight. He was sitting in his armchair, reading a medical book when he had heard the knock on his front door. That was his first sign that this was something new, considering the neighbor who bought his groceries knocked or rang the doorbell three times to signal it was him.

So Stone put down his medical book and stood up, slowly making his way to the front door. He cracked it open just a peek, the crack small enough that you couldn't attack him but large enough for him to see you.

"Hello there, I'm your new neighbor," you said, the crow's feet around your eyes deepening as you smiled. You were holding a plate of brownies, something to hopefully endear your enigmatic neighbor to you. "I wanted to say hi and give you these brownies I baked. I find food is a wonderful way to start friendships."

That was true to some extent, but you also had wanted to make friends with Stone specifically. You heard all about his reclusive tendencies, the way his driveway was never filled with cars and people hanging out with him. You thought that was a bit sad and you wanted to be his friend.

Stone opened the door a little bit more, enough for him to see the plate of brownies in your hands. He was normally wary of taking food or drinks from others, having retained his father's paranoia when it came to thoughts of someone poisoning or drugging him. However, your smile, the calmness you exuded, it was all making his cold heart melt.

And well, you being attractive helped.

"Thank you," he murmured after a lot of internal debate, opening the door further. He took the plate of brownies, his eyes fluttering at how delicious it smelled.

He then awkwardly shifted on his feet, because he didn't really want to engage you in more conversation. Not today, at least.

You saw that and kept your gentle smile on your face. "Perhaps I'll see you around?" you asked, making your exit.

Stone nodded. "Sure, I'll see you around," he replied despite himself.

You turned on your heel and walked off his porch, heading off his driveway and onto the sidewalk. He watched as you turned left and went to your own driveway, heading inside your house.

He then closed the door and locked it, taking the plate of brownies into the kitchen. He set it down on the counter and took a bite of one of the brownies.

The brownie was crunchy but soft at the same time, the perfect mix. The chocolate melted in his mouth, nice and warm. It was rare that he had something so good, something homemade that wasn't made by him.

Perhaps not all neighbors were bad, he concluded, thinking he'd have to find some way of returning the favor.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[ffxivaltaholic]

Prompt #10: Stable

#FFxivWrite2024

"Aaaaand Done!" A delighted bristling of the Miqo'te's fluffy tail would accompany her pleased grin. "Now you look perfect for your date!" Taking a small mirror and bringing it to the Raen woman, N'akani beamed with pride at her handiwork. While the Seeker was a bit of a lazy freeloader, she had a talent with makeup and henna. Taking the Mirror and shifting to look at her face, the Raen woman offered a dazzling smile in response. "You are truly gifted." Ame examined her eyes, in awe of the color blending and flawless finish she'd been given. Standing with hands parked at her hips, N'akani gave the Aura a once over, checking her for any loose whisps of hair, and the makeup for anything out of place, down to a single lash. "You're going to look so pretty that he's going to be weak the moment you grace his presence!" She chirped and circled the regal blonde Raen for one final look, fixing a strand of hair. "Will you be back tonight?" Trying to hide her envy as she cleaned up her brushes and makeup. Sitting as if a lady in a painting, Ame folded her hands on her lap. "No, but we'll be back in the morning." The Seeker's ears immediately drooped, and it was obvious that her disappointment loomed over her. The Raen did her best to hide a little, knowing, smirk. "You should dress up as well, go out for the night." Not that N'akani needed to much encouragement to glam up, but she wanted to go out with them. Even though they both got their individual time with him, she wanted both of their attentions equally. "Yeah I suppose..." The energy had depleted and as Ame rose to start dressing, the Miqo'te sat in her place, applying her own makeup. Few words were exchanged and it was becoming increasingly difficult for Ame to stay quiet about the evening, but she had to pretend until the right moment. An hour passed before both were dressed and ready, looking as if they were going to a high-end restaurant or a fancy show. As expect, waiting out front the tall Raen man tried to be patient. He had learned that anything involving N'akani was never, ever, on time. "Kaze!" Ame waved to him, pulling N'akani along gently behind her. It was finally time and she could barely contain her excitement, coming to a halt in front of him. A small, knowing, nod was exchanged between the Aura and they both shifted their gaze to N'akani, the gloom hovering over her like a little storm cloud.

"N'akani." His voice smooth and gentle as he tried to coax her to look at him. It took a moment before those fluffy black ears would perk up and her attention shifted to Kaze's face. "You look lovely." Even though she was upset, the Seeker couldn't help but take the compliment with unbridled joy, her tail swishing back and forth. "I hope you two have fun tonight..." Trying her very best to be sincere and supportive, N'akani forced a small smile at her partners. In truth, this was the first time in her life she had truly been stable, with a consistent roof over her head, food on the table and trusted people... Safe people. A bit of guilt hit as she realized her mood was going to negatively impact the evening, after all they had done for her to ensure her happiness. It was only one night. Individual dates were not even unusual and he had taken her on one the previous week, but she wanted to spend time with them together. Finally Ame could not take waiting any longer and she nudged her partner, getting a slight look of 'what the fuck' from him, until it clicked a moment later and he muttered. "Right.. yes." Before shifting to grab a small container from a pocket. "Uh N'akani." He watched the Seeker perk up again, her face a mix of confusion and joy, thinking perhaps they would come back this evening instead of staying in Kugane. "You're coming too..." The truth of their little plan was revealed, the suggestion to go out on her own, a ruse by Ame to get her dressed up so they could take her out with them. There was a moment where silence reigned between the three as it seemed to process like slowly turning cogs for the Miqo'te. Then it clicked. "A-ah... Really?" Both ears perked right up, though her attention shifted from their faces to the small box Kaze held, confused but piqued. As he turned to look at Ame, she opened the container, with a small promise ring inside, bearing three colored stones in it, one black, one pink and the last a vibrant yellow. Stunned at the thoughtful gift, N'akani looked between them before her eyes welled up and a few tears fell. "Of course. We should get going though, we are on a timeline." Kaze chuckled and took hold of her hand, sliding the little gold ring on while Ame dabbed under her eyes to catch the tears and spare the makeup from smudging. Those gestures nearly brought more tears to the Seeker's eyes, but she managed to compose herself, for the sake of the makeup.

But by the twelve... It felt so wonderful to be loved.

[nickeverdeen]

hey boo! I was hoping to get a Arcane and/or Spiderverse match up :)

🌺The basics: I go by loony or (Luna), I'm bisexual with a slight fem preference, I'm AFAB but dont really care about specific pronouns- and ESL (I know sign language, (technically) as a first language).

🌺Appearance: I'm ashamed to say I'm pretty short ( 5'1") but pretty toned with some lower body gains, I dress in a mix of gyaru fashion and makeup, as well as general 2000's stuff (mainly hand-me -downs or second hand), I have brown eyes (slight lazy eyed💀) chubby cheeks and short curly/wavy dark brown hair, to top it off I have naturely long nails that I love getting painted or adding charms to <3.

🌺Hobbies: I really like art, my bedroom is full of graffiti and other sketches, I also do henna tattoos, I did sparing (martial arts in general) for a while, knitting and crocheting, ive got a BIG spot in my heart for old trash t.v (Jersey shore, daisy for love, americas next top model, dance moms- name it) and I love shopping, I'm a thrifting god at this point-

🌺Trivia+Likes: I'll listen to any music, curent fav genres are r&b, j-rock, 2010 white girl pop-, I love blankets and plushies (I get cold easily), diet coke, ive been trying to stay sober but edible gummies are up there, and I 100% fw racing games despite being a horible driver-

Hope that was enough to go off of lol, take your time and make sure to take care yourself pooks-

Byyyeeeeeeeeee~

Your Arcane match is…

Jinx

Jinx would be captivated by your artistic skills, especially your graffiti and sketches

She’d love brainstorming and collaborating on chaotic and colorful projects with you

Both of you have a high-energy, spontaneous vibe that would make your time together unpredictable and exciting

Your love for martial arts and racing games aligns with Jinx’s adventurous and daring nature

Jinx’s chaotic mind would find comfort in your willingness to listen and your empathetic nature as an INFP

Jinx would appreciate your unique fashion sense, and you might even exchange style tips

Your love for blankets and plushies would create a cozy environment for Jinx, who often seeks comfort and security

With your eclectic music taste, you could introduce Jinx to new genres and enjoy music sessions together

Your chatterbox nature would match Jinx’s talkative streak, leading to endless conversations

Jinx would enjoy your sense of humor, and you both could engage in playful banter

You could engage in thrilling activities together, from graffiti adventures to racing games

Jinx would appreciate your ability to provide emotional support, helping her navigate her tumultuous emotions

Your thrifting skills would come in handy when hunting for unique items and materials for Jinx’s projects.

Your Spider-Man ATSV match is…

Gwen Stacy

Gwen would admire your artistic talents and enjoy creating art together, whether it’s graffiti or henna tattoos

Both of you have a unique style, and Gwen would appreciate your mix of gyaru fashion and 2000s aesthetics

Your martial arts background would impress Gwen, and she might even join you for some sparring sessions

Your love for racing games would resonate with Gwen’s adventurous spirit

Gwen would love your collection of blankets and plushies, making your space a cozy retreat for her

You could introduce Gwen to your favorite genres, and she might share her favorite tracks with you

As an INFP, your empathetic nature would help Gwen open up about her struggles and fears

Your joking nature would mesh well with Gwen’s lighthearted side, leading to lots of laughter

Gwen would love engaging in thrilling activities with you, from parkour to gaming

Gwen would appreciate your listening skills and emotional support, helping her navigate her dual life as a superhero

Your thrifting expertise would be a fun activity for both of you, finding unique outfits and accessories

Gwen’s protective nature would make her a caring and attentive girlfriend, ensuring you feel safe and loved

Gwen would respect your need for personal space and time to process emotions, making her a considerate partner

You could collaborate on creative projects, combining your artistic skills with Gwen’s precision and attention to detail

Your ability to stay strong and supportive would help Gwen feel more confident in facing challenges

Gwen would enjoy your playful and fun-loving personality, making your time together enjoyable and lighthearted

Gwen would encourage you to pursue your passions and support your personal growth