#my hair is long and shiny and slightly wavy

[fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow]

hair cuts that in my head the bat siblings have

dick- wolfcut its wavy and reaches just below his jawline

jason- fluffy and long on top but short on sides

cass- slightly longer pixies cut with some sort of bangs

tim- either a short bowl cut-esk or a thin wolf cut

steph- long shiny hair with layers and face framing pieces

duke- shaved sides and short top

damian- short hair with slightly longer top that’s spiked

[chaos-and-sparkles]

In Which I Ramble About Pavitr's Character Design and the Indian Cultural Stuff Related to It

DISCLAIMER: I'm an Indian, and these are all my thoughts and analyses, but I'm also just one person and by no means am I speaking for everyone. I am not all knowing, and I am not immune to being wrong sometimes. These points are all my own thoughts and stuff that I know through my lived cultural experiences and some history and book knowledge, but I've not particularly researched any of these. I'm just out here giving my take from what I know. This is mostly just going to be me rambling, okay? Okay. Let's go!

Anyway okay so I just wanna go from the top down:

No. 1:

First of all his hair

His fucking hair

This is one aspect that i k n o w I'm overthinking and probably wasn't as significantly thought out in the design but it just Spoke to me and by all accounts I'm not the only one

But I'm so glad we have him with his thick gorgeous fricking hair, especially them being like curly/wavy and slightly long instead of straight and cropped or whatever

Like. Indians usually have very thick and luscious hair, not everyone ofc but generally it's a thing, and it's considered a point of pride to have long dark thick hair.

And the thing is for the longest time the beauty standard in India was to have very straight and shiny hair, all the actresses and heroes were doing it, even though that's literally not the realistic case for a lot lot LOT of Indians. There's a pretty big variety of hair texture in India; some of it is regionally concentrated too, eg. in South India you get a lot of frizzy, tightly coiled hair that's rough textured, whereas curly hair is usually silkier and looser curled as you go Northwards,, Bengalis tend to have very wavy thick hair,, etc. By no means a rule or anything, it's just a thing that there's a lot of curl variety and a lot of it was for the longest time considered ugly and unkempt (there are some classist/regionalist elements to this stereotype also unsurprisingly) still is by some people,,, bc the standard was Shiny Straight Hair. It's a standard that's slowly shifting. It's currently leaning more on the wavy and voluminous side. But it's def a thing still.

All that to say, it makes me so so happy to see Pav with his curly-ish lush hair that he wears with such pride and style,, that are a symbol of his own pride and self care too!!!

Also the line about "coconut oil, prayers and good genetics" - I LOVE THAT REFERENCE AHAHABSSK, using coconut oil for the hair is a very common thing here, it's so so good for the hair and the scalp alike and it's relaxing to massage it in too.

I've seen people try to write Pavitr in fics as "quickly brushing some coconut oil through his hair" as part of his morning routine and. Um. That's not how it's done askaskjas, I don't mean to be rude to the writers at all, everyone does the best with what they know and no one knows everything, but also practically speaking that would be greasy and awful.

There are multiple ways to apply coconut oil, ofc. Coconut oil is often massaged into the scalp and rubbed into the hair like an hour before washing, sometimes with lemon juice mixed in, and then washed off when bathing. Some people, especially those with drier and finer hair, apply it as a regular after-hair-wash thing, too, but even so it needs to be rubbed in.

A really beloved thing we have is coconut oil champis, too! This is basically when you sit down cross legged in front of youe mother/grandmother, and she massages the coconut oil into your scalp and hair in a way that literally cures all tension and headaches and leaves your head reeling and is so so good for hair and stress and everything. It's a family bonding thing more than just a hair routine. It's not always done by the mom/grandmother ofc, it's just how most of us first experience it, and they have a technique that none of us can ever quite replicate to the same effect later. As we grow up, we often do it for ourselves and for others. It's a weekly or monthly or even just occasional thing depending on who you ask. But yeah that reference was great I love it dearly!

Also about the hair length

So in the current modern "civilized" standard (Indian schools and society in general tend to do a lot of shit trying to assimilate us into western culture and stamp out our own,, for example all my life I've been in schools where speaking Hindi and Telugu and stuff in class or in the hallways was Wrong and Forbidden and We Must Speak Only In English Bc We Are Educated And Cultured. This is so fucking hypocritical bc they would also have Hindi and Telugu classes and then criticize us for not getting it right or whatever), boys are meant to have short hair. Teachers literally single boys out in class for leaving their hair longer, not the exact length they set as the limit. This was my entire school experience; thankfully it doesn't seem to be the case in college, but that may just be bc I'm in an artsy college. In the workplace it's less stringent but it's still a thing.

HOWEVER, historically and culturally, long hair was considered good and even Important for both men and women. There's huge regional variations in this ofc; Maratha peshwas and higher classes and stuff for example wore a "pilaka" (idk what else it's called), which is the head shaven clean except a tuft in the middle that's sometimes braided. Brahmins still do it too.

But my point being, long hair was considered good for the most part, at most it would be worn in a bun for fighting and working,,, braids are a pretty big deal too. Having to cut your hair short=a symbol of dishonour and/or exile, or reserved for menial workers and so called "low classes".

(This is not stuff you even get explicitly told btw. This is stuff I've mostly inferred and studied from history and mythology and stuff , so there's no guarantee I'm 100% right)

Also, in Sikkhism (I'm not Sikh myself so correct me if I'm wrong, this is just what I know) having long hair is super fucking important for men. The hair is wrapped up in the turban, and the turban is a symbol of honour and pride and literally considered life. The long hair is considered sacred.

Removing the turban is basically a symbol of literally losing your honour pride and sense of self,, not just in Sikkhism, just generally at this point. Cutting your hair? Insult on injury.

Pavitr doesn't have particularly long hair ofc

But having grown up with such rigidly enforced things abt boys having very short cropped hair, it makes me so happy to see an Indian character who defies that.

Also!! Quick tangent about braids and their significance,, they're considered very beautiful and another symbol of pride, intricate buns and what not too! Just wanna drop this to give you an idea of what i mean:

In the Hindu myth of the Mahabharata, Draupadi, the wife of the Pandavas (she's a very interesting and important and beloved character, regionally also considered a goddess, she was a princess born of fire married to five princes and the vengeance for her honour literally fuelled the war for righteousness etc etc) vows never to braid her hair again until she has washed it in the blood of Dushasana, a man who forcefully tried to disrobe her in court (it's a whole myth of its own). At the apex of the war, Bheem, her husband, brings her his blood. She washes her hair in it and then for the first time in thirteen years, she braids it.

Braids are not as significant now but it was basically a Pretty Big Deal and I just wanted to talk abt it.

In Hinduism too the gods are portrayed with long hair, it's a Thing.

No. 2:

Okay so moving more downwards,, I have a bunch of Thoughts abt Pavs mask design!

Okay so obv we have the spiderweb-pattern that's a given.

But. The interesting parts are these:

The bindi-like design on his forehead.

Bc my point is

Sure that looks like a bindi. And that's beautiful in itself but I HAVE ANOTHER TAKE

Bindis are traditionally worn by women as a symbol of beauty, prosperity, and again, pride. But while nice, that's not quite a symbolism that fits imo

You know what else is ver similar where my mind immediately goes? A tilak.

The shape is kind of off for a tilak actually, a tilak is more of a U or a V with a dot or a flame-like stroke in the middle. So in that case it looks more like a bindi

But i really like thinking that it's inspired by a tilak too, bc

While a bindi is a decorative mark stuck or painted on a woman's forehead as a symbol of beauty and prosperity

A tilak is basically a mark that's finger-painted on the forehead of , usually a man but there's a softer smaller version for women too and ofc there are women warriors who got tilaks, for auspicious and blessing reasons. So in a Puja or ceremony, a tilak is put as a blessing and an auspicious thing, also meant to impart strength. The head of the household usually gets the most striking or biggest one.

Pandits usually wear tilaks for blessing purposes too, although their design is different and more elaborate than the ones given to others

Gods and goddesses had their own tilaks, some of them very distinctive like Shiva's

The part that applies to Pav is the warrior tilak

Basically before a king or warrior went to battle, it was customary to do a small sending off ritual and for the wife or mother to put the tilak for them and say "Vijay bhava" (may you be victorious)

It's still done for big undertakings and challenges like exams and new jobs and stuff.

It's basically for strength, bravery and victory

The main difference in a bindi and tilak is the intent:

Bindi is for beauty

Tilak is for valour

Which. For a HERO. Just. Chef's kiss.

2. the markings around his eyes!!

I'm sure this has been said before, but it's very very reminiscent of kathakali makeup.

Regionally there's a lot of eye makeup stuff also btw. There are some absolutely beautiful tribal designs and regional designs with a lot of colours but I cant remember specifics rn

Also!! The very distinctive black lines around Pav's eyes?? I love them sm bc they feel so so based in kohl and kajal. Another huge beauty and often pride related thing.

There's even a whole thing where a mother or older sister will often rub a bit of her kohl off on her fingertip and press it behind their loved one's ear so that "buri nazar na lage" (no one's bad gaze catches you). It's called a kaala teeka

The idea being that you're so beautiful and/or cute and bright and lovable and nothing should jinx that and nothing bad should happen to you. It's very rare now and I've never experienced it myself but it's so so precious <33

3. the white markings on his cheeks!

I've seen that explanation of how it's reminiscent of Ganesha, the elephant headed god who is kind of a symbol of new beginnings, intelligence, prosperity, and a ton of stuff I don't even know how to explain honestly, but he's very cool and beloved and has a lot of Good Vibes™ and i love him basically.

I personally am reminded more of kathakali makeup again!! But that explanation is very cool too and i like it!! I don't know if I agree bc i think it m i g h t be a blasphemy to have that imagery on your face, afaik no one here does it for any reasons and we have literal festivals and pujas dedicated to Ganesha

But then again I am a human with limited knowledge and i don't know everything

I personally think the tusk like designs are very cool. However, I also think it would be a bit of a No No for religious reasons. I also think it reminds me more of classical dance face makeup and stuff.

I also think if they meant to make it a Ganesha reference, then he should only have a tusk on one side, bc there's a huge deal about Ganesha being "ekdanta" (transl: one toothed) bc he has a well known myth of breaking off one of his tusks to write a mythologically and culturally significant epic.

There are also a lot of actual cultural face painting things in India that are way cooler than the Ganesha thing in my opinion. So while that theory is cool, I don't personally agree with it. I could be wrong, again, idk what the design intent was exactly.

No. 3:

Next thing: this is a very very small thing and i only have a sentence on it, but i really appreciate Pav's neckline in his suit.

The neckline here? That's the kind of cut that's most typical of kurtas. Especially more ceremonial, kingly, wedding sherwani, or generally festive attire; a regular kurti might have a v-neck or something, but this curved collar? Very Indian and classy in a way I can't fully explain.

No. 4:

This next thing I'm going to go completely ballistic about, everyone hold on to your seats!!!

THE FUCKING MOTIF ON HIS UPPER ARMS. IT'S EVEN ON THE MEHENDI-ISH PATTERN ON HIS WRISTS AND HANDS. THE SPIDER SHAPE TOO. I AM NOT NORMAL OKAY

LISTEN.

LISTEN TO ME

TBIS IS CONFIRMATION THAT KRISHNA PAVITR IS CANON

HE IS SO SO KRISHNA CODED

Idc if I'm delusional, i DARE you to look at that blue design and tell me it doesn't look like a peacock feather

THE SHAPE OF HIS FUCKING SPIDER IS OH SO SUBTLY CURVED TO BE PEACOCK FEATHER SHAPED TOO

There is no human way for me to be normal about this i need a minute

Okay for context:

Krishna is a very important and beloved god in Hinduism. I cannot overstate the love I have for him, even being mostly non religious myself.

There is SO MUCH about him he is such a big deal and thanks to him being made a character in popular Indian cartoons and so many animated and live action movies being made about him, he is literally woven in the fabric of our collective consciousness and love for our culture

He's a mischevious and fun and chaotic and lowkey antiestablishment kid deity. He contains the literal universe. He has a deep abiding love for his people and his family and loved ones and the world he serves. He is a dancer, flute player, sweetheart, lover of life. He has a thousand wives, yet one Radha who he never married but is his literal immortalized soulmate. He guides heroes to duty. He is full of wisdom but also silly hijinks. He is so so beloved.

The peacock feather is his symbol! You could see the peacock feather anywhere and it's immediately OH KRISHNA! He wears a peacock feather, famously. In all his iterations, from childhood to adulthood. Peacock feather is his emblem.

Krishna is depicted through the peacock feather. It's become a very common motif in arts like mehendi and various textile arts to have peacock feather and peacock patterns; I'm sure that existed before Krishna too in several cultural circles but he is definitely a huge part of it since. There is a chikankari motif that is very recognisable that's reminiscent of peacock feather but I'm mostly unsourced on that, going off my own interpretation

But there's a definite link between peacock feather=Krishna=inextricable part of culture and art.

At least in North India. He's less of a big deal the further south you go. Still very widespread and overall loved tho.

So anyway seeing that peacock feather type motif on Pav?? Mixed with his Spiderman identity??? Is so amazing to me.

Krishna coded Pavitr real ✨

(Also yeah people have already pointed out that Pav's hand designs are based on mehendi so I don't need to go into that askjasjkas)

No. 5:

Also. Huge fan of his arm cuffs. It's just another Indian warrior thing; often in ye olde times and in mythology, the cuff would be a lot simpler, often just a thread with an amulet to grant you protection. But it steadily became fancier, and now it can be decorative or a valour thing or both

Very often just decorative now actually. Often seen in weddings and ceremonies too

No. 6:

Okay about his bangles now:

I absolutely LOVE THEM I love them so much I am so obsessed with them actually!!

So. First of all

I remember there being a confusion in like earlier fics especially on whether they were bracelets or damrus or bangles or what

And i have Thoughts

So first of all

They are not damrus/damarus.

Damarus are a musical instrument made of wood and with two beaded ropes to beat on the small drum-like ends. They're also symbols of lord Shiva who uses a damaru.

They are very different from what Pav wears and i remember my fucking whiplash when earlier fics called his bangles damarus. I think i choked on my maggi.

I don't mean to be rude to the writers ofc, they were doing the best with what they knew. But it's just very jarring to me to hear that

I think an explanation I heard was that Pav's web shooter design was inspired by damarus? Which yeah I get that and I actually wanna talk about it bc I very much see it. But they are very much NOT damarus themselves

So

First of all i personally have never seen nor heard of the kind of bangles Pav wears which appear to have a strip of cloth in the middle? While being gold cuffs on both ends? Which is new and interesting actually and opens up aspects abt his character that i find really interesting

Bc first of all: that implies he made them himself from stuff he already had inspired by things he saw. It seems, at least to me, like he used bangles/kadas he had to make the shooters he uses, which are designed the way they are for easier slinging and his cool tricks with them which would be harder if they were solid gold, and also the shape when he does the cool yoyo-y trick and hits The Spot with it and everything is very damaru shape. Which is also pretty cool if it's meant as a reference to Shiva and his damaru (he's a very fierce god with the damaru) or a reference to the street performers who use it nowadays.

Either way - and also additionally the fact that PAV LITERALLY DOUBLED HIS BANGLES AS WEB SHOOTERS WHICH IS SO CREATIVE AND SMART - and developed his own whole signature skillset with it?? And made his own bangle/shooters as I said before????

My boy is PEAK jugaadu

He is the embodiment of jugaad

Never has anything been so true to the Indian spirit than jugaad

Okay so for context, the jugaad that I keep talking about:

It basically means makeshifting and/or inventing stuff you need from the limited stuff you have. That's a very simple way of explaining it. Just imagine that, but up the silliness level x100.

For example, a guy jugaaded a showerhead by poking holes in a sprite bottle and putting a hose in it and routing it to the tap.

Jugaad can be both very smart, and very funny and silly

And it usually involves combining useless stuff/trash/just stuff you had lying around to make smth that you didn't wanna waste money buying, and often ends up having more functions than the stuff it was meant to replace. This but it's also very crackheaded. Like idk how to explain. It's basically makeshifting, but it's just developed into such an Indian Spirit Thing™ that we have a word for it

So i love that Pavitr's bangles do all of that. He is a true Indian boy to his core!

No. 7:

Okay I have thoughts on his dhoti too!

So.

Blue.

I know why they used blue for his dhoti, what with the spiderman colours, the need to complement his bright red with smth softer, and everything. I get it and i love it so so much. What I'm about to say next is not a complaint against this at all, it's very good design imo

But.

Everytime I look at him in his fucking blue dhoti

I just remember all the times my grandmother has apprehended me and made me go and change for trying to wear blue or black at a Puja

Bc they're apparently unholy colours ;_;

Basically yellow, saffron, red are the appropriate holy colours. Now that i think about it, I've never seen a god or mythological king depicted in a blue dhoti or generally blue clothing either - farthest they go from the three i described is pink or green

I never really thought about it until my Nani pointed it out. I'm still not sure if anyone except her even knew or cared about it.

But that is the memory that bonks me on the head every time i Perceive the blue dhoti

Bro upgraded from funeral colour (white, which is his dhoti in the comics and absolutely infuriates me on a visceral level) to unholy colour askaskjjska it's so funny to me

Purple was still a luxurious colour, but generally warmer and/or lighter colours are The Done Thing. It's an old notion and the cultural connotations are now very diluted by Western influence and also none of us Caring about a lot of it anymore (not necessarily a good or bad thing particularly)

Indigo also has. Loaded connotations.

Because Britain did a Colonialism and a lot of Indians suffered for it. It's a whole history lesson.

I would rather not get into the whole details but basically Indigo (the plant from which the dye was made) was a valuable commodity and Britishers essentially forced farmers to grow only that, ignoring their need to grow food or sustenance or care for the land in general, especially in the Bihar-UP regions. There were eventually a lot of revolts where many people, esp farmers, died.

Basically a double whammy of starvation and death as a direct result of colonialism. It was a major part, historically, that sparked rage for the freedom movement

If you wanna learn more abt it you can search up Champaran farmer revolts!

Also about the drape of Pav's dhoti:

I've seen a couple of memes and reels abt how Pav, in an emergency, suiting up for Spiderman duty, would be taking an hour to drape the dhoti and stuff

And those are hilarious and i love them

But also

That's literally not even a proper dhoti -

So the thing pav wears is basically more of dhoti-pants with a cummerbund.

So okay I need to explain this better hold on

A dhoti is basically a sheet of fabric that is draped around the waist and down. The elaborateness of the cloth can vary vastly from intricately patterned silk and brocade, to plain white cotton with a thin gold border optional

The drape of the dhoti varies even more depending on region, occasion, occupation, and status. You can have everything from the casual simple towel like drape and tuck that some men wear to relax on a daily basis, to an intricate thing with many folds and pleats and tucks and the middle part that hangs (I forget the name for that) that would actually legitimately take hours and is often adorned with jewellery . To a thing that's flexible to move in and also looks very pretty and is genderneutral some dance forms call for.

Basically. The drape varies vastly. And it's all one cloth, maybe a second one for a separate cummerbund sometimes, I'm not that well versed abt dhotis tbh.

But the thing Pav wears?? It doesn't seem to me to be folded the way I've ever seen any dhoti

The way it's folded and shaped is not how those style of dhotis work. There would be a lot more pleats and folds, for one. But it's not shaped the way to match the less-folded dhotis either.

Now, I'm no dhoti expert, but that leads me to believe that's not a full on dhoti. What it's more likely to be is dhoti-pants

Dhoti pants are this fusion thing. It's in the name. I haven't seen it much but I know/think/am pretty sure its a thing, bc most Indian guys now don't know how to drape a dhoti either and it's a good solution. Worn like a pant, looks like a dhoti. Simple. A cummerbund for the middle drape, and you're set!

Also side note: the fold with the distinct two legs and the middle drape that Pav has? Is the most commonly depicted warrior and king drape,, at least in North and Middle India, I'm not as well versed about the South but I think it's the case there too. The gods are depicted in that drape too

I have fewer comments on his leg design, I like that it's reminiscent of mehendi even on his feet bc yeah that's also done on the feet, although rarer now and also a bridal thing

No. 7:

He has gold cuffs on his ankles that I really like!

Okay so here's the interesting thing:

I could be wrong, but

But that kind of thick ankle cuff is not actually an Indian thing?? At least not in the warrior hero context that a lot of his design seems based on. At least not of that shape and width.

What we do have though are very simple metal ankle cuffs put on (I think) one ankle of young kids for protection,, again a tradition I'm not very familiar with, it's more localised

The other thing we have that's more interesting tho:

We have payals and ghungroos!!! Which opens up so many exciting prospects to me because those are both dancer things

Like. The payals are ornamental. They are beauty things as well. All women would wear them, their elaborateness and style depending on status, money, and region ofc

They double as dance and performance things too ofc

But ghungroos are specifically dance things

Very very sacred and honoured to the dancers, too. Quite personal

(These are all little bells on the ghungroos btw!! Hundreds of them. They ring out when the dancers dance)

This is what Pav's ankle cuffs most remind me of. It's not the same thing ofc, and idk if the designers were even thinking of this.

But it would be really cool if he was inspired by ghungroos to have cuffs of similar thickness and placement on his legs. Perhaps even familiar to him hmmm?

This is me theorizing HARD to support my headcanon, but combined with Pav's classical dance-n-martial-arts-y moves, i present to you: Pav learning classical dance when he was younger (a thing that a lot of Indian kids do and only a few seriously continue for their lives) is real.

I rest my case

Like yeah it's known at this point that Pav's moves are based a lot off the martial art of kalaripayattu. Which is SO AMAZING AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!! But I also think this would be a cool influence alongside that, bc it really feels visible too.

No. 8:

The fact that Pavitr is barefoot is so so important and dear to me!!!

In Indian culture, you're supposed to take your shoes off as a mark of respect, before entering the ranabhoomi (literal transl: battleground, but not in an actual war with swords and shit ofc)

Being barefoot for pujas and in temples and on sacred ground in general is very important

As is being barefoot when you're walking onto a kabaddi or wrestling ground,, basically any fight that's supposed to be important and/or with honour. It's a respect thing for the opponent and for the earth you fight on.

There are a lot of contexts where being barefoot is important or a given

There's the prayer ground bc it's sacred and holy and you can't be dragging your dirty ass shoes there it's super disrespectful. You gotta enter with clean feet specifically, dirty feet are considered disrespectful too. that's also why there wil often be feet washing areas outside of temples here

Then there's the ranabhoomi that I just said, which is more of respect for your opponent and the earth. Respect to the earth especially is very important in the combat forms and sports I know of at least

Then there's the basic respect and tbh the hygiene thing too, of always taking off your footwear before entering another persons house. That one is more flexible, sometimes you can take it off inside, but the done thing is to take them off outside generally. Especially if you're a guest who's not particularly close. You'd be considered really rude if you didn't take them off at all. But again that still varies by person,, the older generations are way stricter abt it

Then the bride thing,,, it's actually a whole small ritual. The bride and groom will enter the groom's house for the first time,, which is considered the bride's new home bc misogynistic tradition so yeah. But basically it's supposed to be an auspicious beginning to a new home and life. (Btw being barefoot during the wedding ceremony is also generally required)

Usually, at least in North Indian tradition, a small vessel of rice is kept at the threshold that the bride must tip over with her foot when entering. It's for prosperity. Then she steps directly into a plate of a red liquid I forget the word for, but it's basically a sindoor paste type of thing. Her first steps into the house must be taken leaving those red footprints behind. That's for auspicious beginning

So Pavitr being barefoot is so so cool from a cultural and a character building standpoint

He takes his job seriously, he does it with respect and honour!!! He seems so chill and happy go lucky, but he's deliberate and respectful abt it!! And he's super connected to his culture too, bc you could just Not and no one would care, but it's so important that he does!!

So yeah!

That has been my full ramble askjasjkas. If you made it this far, have a cookie! Thank you and I hope this was interesting <33

[moutainrusing]

secret identity

991 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Wizarding society sucked. Sirius couldn’t wrap their head around the fact that magical people judged each other for whether or not they were spawned from people who were magical who were spawned from people who were magical—

At sixteen, they decided to run away from not only their blood-supremacist family, but the entire wizarding world.

They assumed the identity of a Muggle named Stubby Boardman.

At first, Sirius didn’t fit in, sticking out like a sore thumb trying to glue itself onto a hand which already had five digits. But Sirius glued themselves on anyway, and like the fact that a hand with six digits seemed a bit different, Sirius let themselves maintain their originality. After all, a hand was a hand. A person was a person.

The digits on your hand would always be different to another’s. The attributes of your person would always be different to another’s.

Muggles had this way of being expressive in different ways to magical kind. While wizardkind would dress in robes, brightly-coloured and flowing, dark-coloured and billowing, Muggles had a bit more than that.

Long, flowing clothes were called dresses, typical for women. Sirius had been surprised when this only made them want to wear dresses more. Have lace swirling around their feet as they swung their hips, their visible hips. To be visible, seen as a beautiful human wearing dresses because they were feminine.

If people wanted to gender clothing, Sirius would take it and mix it up all over again. They wore leather trousers and jackets lined with fur, they wore jeans and hoodies, they grew their hair to their collarbones, where it curled into the dips as if it belonged there. They tied their hair in a ‘man’ bun, in a ‘womanly’ bun, they combined the buns and found their bun, hair sticking out, strands tickling their face, and they had never felt more like themselves.

Sirius let themselves be loose in the right places when they wore dresses, tight in the right places when they wore jeans, conforming and nonconforming, embracing their body in every shape it could come in, emphasising their curves, owning the breadth of their shoulders.

Everywhere they went, they were themselves; everywhere they went, they made friends. Store owners, artists, pub owners, waiters, everyone who was someone. Who was themselves.

The one problem Sirius had was that they weren’t completely themselves. They still introduced themselves as Stubby. Sometimes they thought about dropping the act, risking their parents finding them… then they let go of that dream immediately, because their parents finding them would be a nightmare.

So, taking a breath, Sirius plastered on a grin, ready to introduce themselves as ‘Stubby’ to the shopkeeper of this new charity shop which had caught Sirius’s eye. Talking to people, good people, always made Sirius’s grin real. Which was why they made it their mission to greet everyone they saw, in case it was someone worth grinning for. Because if it was, they deserved the grin so much.

Sirius leaned against the counter. “Hey, I’m Stubby. Nice shop you got here.”

The shopkeeper looked up, shaking his head to the side to move his hair from his eyes. It was very ordinary hair; mousy brown, slightly wavy. Neither shiny nor smooth. But the person who owned it seemed anything but ordinary. Someone to know. Sirius felt their grin widen.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat, “Uh, hi. Thanks, Stubby.” His eyes flicked to the corner, searching for something to say. “I’m John.”

Ordinary name, ordinary hair, but Sirius could dig deeper.

Or John could, because his eyes flicked back to Sirius, lingering on their face. “Sorry, but, uh, what’s your gender? It’s just, I can’t tell, and I don’t want to be rude, but am I rude for asking? Sorry.”

Sirius’s grin became so toothy they felt like a child succeeding in walking. “No, you’re not rude for asking. Don’t be sorry. Actually, thank you for asking. Made my day.”

“...You’re welcome?” John tilted his head to the side, smile shy and crooked.

Sirius tilted their head to meet John’s eyes and matched the smile. “I’m non-binary. Pronouns are they and them. You?”

Blinking, John reeled back. “You can’t tell?” He frowned, “I’m a man.”

Barking a laugh, Sirius cooed, “Aw, have I hurt your fragile masculinity? For what it’s worth, I did use he and him pronouns for you in my head. I just think it’s nice to ask, just in case. Gender isn’t outward appearance. It’s how you feel on the inside.”

John flushed, stuttering, “Yeah, sorry. I know, gender is internal. Um…” He looked up at Sirius, biting his lip, debating something. “When I was younger, uh.” In one rapid breath, “I used to get bullied for not being manly enough.” He flushed even more, and Sirius wanted to cup those cheeks in their palms.

Instead, they crouched down to be on the same eye level as him. “Well, John. You’re the most handsome man I’ve met.”

John seemed hesitant, lips parting, closing in an involuntary smile. Quietly, under his breath, “You’re the prettiest person I’ve met.”

“Oh, person, eh?” Sirius pressed a hand to their chest. “That means I’ve beaten everyone on the planet for you, haven’t I? Sorry, John, but you’ve only beaten all the men for me.”

John laughed, as if that made sense. Which it didn’t.

“I’m kidding,” Sirius admitted. “You’re also the prettiest person I’ve met.” They added, “Men are pretty.”

John timidly whispered, “All.” He cleared his throat, “All are pretty.”

Sirius nodded wisely, “First time you’ve said that aloud, huh?”

“Um. Yeah. I’m telling you a lot of things, even though you’re a stranger I just met. I… sorry.”

Sirius shook their head. “I get it. I like talking to you too.” I want to tell you everything. My name’s Sirius.

Split-second decision. “Secret. My real name’s Sirius.”

John grinned. “Secret. My real name’s Remus.”

“I knew you weren’t ordinary!”

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi mouse! Been a fan of your writing. (I love it) uh could you do one with the sve bachelor/bachelorettes (+krobus, if it isn’t too much work) reacting to a farmer w/ really long har, but they put it up all the time.

Hope you are having a very good day :)

Hey hey 👋

Thank you, dear anon, for your ask! Glad you liked my silly headcanons ☺️ Enjoy some more, and have a wonderful day as well!

_____________________________

SVE bachelors:

Lance:

Pretty, long hair... that definitely needs a lot of attention. Especially considering that when traveling, hair that's not in a bun can sometimes get tangled in bush branches or even distracting in battle. If Farmers are having some trouble caring for their curls, Lance has a recipe for a magical (and safe) gel to share. Hmm? Why the surprise? Of course he cares about his appearance and uses gel - how else do you think he managed to make his hair look spiky and elegant? But it has a practical application as well - this gel keeps his hair from getting wet and protects it from fire. Very useful stuff, Lance recommends it.

Victor:

Wow, Farmer must have been growing their hair for a long time, because it was already up to their knees! Victor is a little surprised that they had the patience to take care of their hair. At a younger age, the spaghetti lover once tried to find his style and let his hair down to his shoulders, but problems in taking care of it + comments from his mom that it looked untidy forced him to get a short haircut. He's not really complaining - he likes the short haircut better. The long hairstyle definitely suits Farmer, but Victor wonders how much time they spend taming their wavy curls.

Magnus Rasmodius:

"I suggest you tie your hair in a braid so nothing falls into my cauldron." No, Magnus is serious - if even a single hair from Farmer's head falls into his bubbling cauldron, the tower will have to scrape off the magical slop for a long time to come. The old wizard doesn't pay too much attention to the length of Farmer's hair, leaving his friend/apprentice to decide for themself what hairstyle they want. Though he can recommend a specially prepared potion to keep even the most unruly locks groomed. Yes, Magnus has such a potion, because he uses it for his head hair. And his beard hair.

SVE bachelorettes:

Claire:

Claire also has long hair, which she gathers into a bun every day. Not as long as Farmer's, but the cashier understands her friend well when they sometimes complain about the tangled clumps of hair. That said, Claire has to point out that Farmer does a good job: they always have strong, shiny curls, with no split ends. When she gets a chance to chat with a Farmer, she'll be sure to ask them what shampoo/conditioner they use, or if they have any hair care secrets. Because her hair has been unruly and dry lately. Maybe because of Joja meals?

Sophia:

Farmer's hair is the most beautiful hair Sophia has ever seen! The long, shiny, slightly curly locks that hung down to Farmer's navel are just a dream for various beautiful hairstyles! Although Sophia realizes that, considering how much time she spends on her own pink hair, Farmer definitely needs to get up early to tidy their locks. If Farmer doesn't mind, Sophia would like to try practicing the beautiful braids that Haley taught her to do. She can braid their hair with pretty ribbons or flowers, whichever they prefer.

Olivia:

Olivia had similarly long hair when she was younger, so she knows that sometimes it can take an hour (or even more) to care for her hair. Even now with her short, above-the-shoulder hair, Olivia can spend a lot of time on it, just like Farmer spends grooming their long locks. But how many possible options for beautiful seasonal hairstyles! Farmer is sure to look great with long hair, whether on a normal day or at the festivals. If anything, let Farmer ask her and she will recommend the best lotions and masks to keep their hair healthy and beautiful.

Scarlett:

So cool! Farmer's hair is so soft to touch and shiny... On the one hand, Scarlett is a bit jealous, because Farmer can do such complicated and beautiful hairstyles with flowers and so (Sophia often showed her pictures). On the other hand, the girl knows that she wouldn't want to have such length of hair, considering how much time and effort is spent on its care. Maybe somewhere up to her shoulders, yeah, but not like that. Different people, different tastes.

Bonus SDV Krobus:

That "hair" is a pretty unusual thing, at least for shadow people who don't have anything like that. So they grow on human's heads? And it's been like that all their lives? So strange. Krobus would like to ask more questions about Farmer's hair, but he's a little afraid of offending their friend by asking, because What if it's considered unacceptable or offensive among humans? But it looks quite beautiful, especially when Farmer tied their hair into long braids. Though it's a little unclear to Krobus why the Farmer leaves their hair so long if it's taking a lot of time to maintain?

[steviewashere]

Be My Lover 🔞Minors DNI🔞

Okay, hi, it's me again. Feral and horny over another thought.

Rating: Explicit CW: Genitalia referred to with actual names (i.e. Stevie's cock, Eddie's vagina.), Alcohol Use, Drunk Sex (They're Both Slightly Tipsy) Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, T4T, Transfeminine Steve Harrington, Transmasculine Eddie Munson, First Meeting, Hookup, Getting Together, Bathroom Sex, Penis in Vagina Sex, Safe Sex, Daddy Kink, Nipple Sucking, Grinding, Fondling, Groping, Making Out, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Princess, Gay Bar, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Gentleman

Title from "Be My Lover" by La Bouche

Read on AO3

🏳️‍⚧️—————🏳️‍⚧️ The club is packed with bodies. Sweaty, dancing bodies. Music thumping, upbeat and bright all around. People shouting over the sounds, drinks sloshing in hand, some of them shirtless, some hairy and big, some small and flexible.

Stevie's freshly out, still in the beginning stages of her transition. A pin on her clothes to signal. But she wanted a night out where she can truly feel and be herself and be respected as such. Hair long to the middle of her back, wavy, and smelling of fresh berries from her hairspray. Her makeup is shiny, heavy blush on her cheeks, lips a light cherry red. Wearing a sequined, baby pink, spaghetti strap, v-neck dress. It's not short, goes right to her knees. Her muscular, smooth, thick (delicious, if you're in Eddie's brain) legs on display. White, closed toe heels on her feet. She's not exactly there to put on a show, but can feel the weight of somebody's gaze on her and finds she doesn't mind it.

She turns to see a man staring at her. His eyes are big, round, and deep. Enticing. Frame lithe and loose. Leaning against the bar, holding a glass of something honey brown—whiskey or bourbon, Stevie can't tell. He's wearing tight black jeans that leave no room for the imagination, white cropped t-shirt that reads something like Accept but the word is faded, and some beat up low-top black Converse. Honestly, he looks to fit better in a dive bar. But he's got a pin by his collar—the bisexual pride flag. And one a little bigger than that, the trans pride flag.

Immediately, she's intrigued.

Instead of continuing to dance with the strangers around her, she strides over to the bar. Her heels clicking against the concrete floor. He startles straighter against the bar once he notices her coming over. But when she slows slightly, giving him more time to really consider the opportunity that's arising, he relaxes. A smirk on his face, eyes not so subtly raking over her body.

When she finally stops in front of him, hands clasped below the small pouch of her belly, he locks his stare. Pupils dilated. Something already heated about them. This guy is a little shorter than her, not by much maybe just an inch, but she thinks she'd be able to pick him up if needed. Which may be very needed if this goes the way she wants it to.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks sweetly, gesturing to the empty stool next to him. Instead of speaking, he gestures enthusiastically to the seat. Even going so far as to pull it out for her to sit in. She settles easily, red flushing her cheeks darker, and gazes at him as he sits down, too. "Thank you," she murmurs.

"Pretty girls don't pull out their own seats," the guy purrs. Now that he's closer to her, she can smell him. His musk, deep and spicy. Like whiskey and cinnamon. The faintest scent of a cigarette freshly smoked. There's stubble on his jaw, most likely prickly if she were to brush her fingers on it. His ears are pierced. And his hair...She's in love with it. Down to the top of his chest, curly and dark brown, the softest thing she's ever seen.

She doesn't even notice that she's checking him out until a hand cups her jaw, raises her head gently, and then their eyes are meeting again. That smirk is back. And there's a dimple on his cheek.

And Stevie thinks she might be halfway in love already.

Eloquently, she mumbles, "Huh?"

He chuckles, deep in his chest. She melts into his hand still on her jaw. His thumb swipes down her cheek in short stripes. "Asked if you wanted anything to drink, babygirl."

"Oh!" she quietly exclaims. Her face heats up impossibly more. Wonders, very briefly, if he can feel it, too. "Oh, uh, just a cold Miller? That's what I usually get."

The guy slinks his hand away and Stevie already mourns the loss. Hums. "Beer drinker, huh? Could you be any more insatiable?"

"Mm, I dunno. If we get some time alone, you could find out?"

His pale cheeks turn lightly pink in the quick flash of white light that hits him. He clicks his, now noticeable, ringed fingers on the bar's counter. "Maybe I could once I get your name, baby?"

"Stevie," she responds a little too quickly. "And you?"

"Eddie," he states warmly. Leans in to her space. Whispers, "Daddy, if you're lucky by the end of the night."

He leaves her space as quick as he entered it, waves the bartender down, orders her drink, and finishes off his own glass. She can only blink, mouth slightly ajar. Wondering if he'll notice her rapidly appearing bulge when he turns back. Finds that she wouldn't mind that at all. Wouldn't mind leaving here tonight a little more peppy than before.

When her beer arrives, they talk back and forth for a while. Jobs. "Mechanic on the weekdays, musician on the weekends," he says. Preferences. "You," he flirts—she squirmed at that one.

She's pleasantly buzzed, but not full on drunk. Aware and slightly floating. They're closer than they were before. Almost sharing the same stool. His right hand is on her back, rubbing lightly up and down her spine. Her left hand on his thigh, squeezing near his crotch, relishing in how he hums at the sensation.

He rests his chin on her shoulder. And in her left ear, husks, "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met." Tentatively, Eddie presses a sticky kiss to her earlobe. "Can't believe I found you first, baby." His nose is buried in her hair, tickling at her scalp. Fingers at the base of her neck, dully scratching at her skin over moles. Lips moving down to her bare neck. Against her skin, "Fuck, you smell delicious, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Ed," she quietly whines. "Not here in front of—"

"Bathroom?" he asks in a hushed voice. "Could lock the door. Muffle your delightful sounds with my palm. Make you feel good. You want that, baby?"

She nods enthusiastically. "Yes, Eddie. Please," she lightly moans.

In a matter of seconds, he's laid out the money for his tab, left their empty cups on the counter, and dragged them bodily towards the unisex bathroom. He shoves first into the restroom, leaving her leaned against the door. Locks it. And presses close into her space.

She lays her hands on his lower back, dangerously close to his ass. He kisses across the front of her neck, over her Adam's apple, down to the dip in her collarbones. Suckles lightly on her bare skin, close to the right spaghetti strap of her dress, over her heart. Nibbling gingerly on her soft skin.

Her head thunks back onto the door. Moaning openly as his teeth work harder. She scoots her hands down onto his asscheeks, cupping them in her palms, and squeezes heftily with his bite. "Ed—Eddie, fuck," she breathes.

He pulls back, a thin string of saliva connecting them. "Am I able to touch you, sweetheart?"

She nods hastily. "Please," Stevie whimpers, "don't wanna come on my dress."

"Fuck, baby, alright," he mewls. Carefully, he pulls down the straps of both her dress and her bra. She's not that big on her chest, not yet, but he eyes her like she's a masterpiece. And that makes her feel brave. His thumbs massage at the top of her breasts, down on the outsides, and then he cups her in both of his palms. Brings his mouth to her right nipple and latches on gently.

The estrogen she takes makes her chest incredibly sensitive. Noticeable, especially now, with Eddie's hot saliva drowning over her rapidly hardened bud. The way her legs shake underneath her, her hands spasming where she still gropes Eddie's ass. She lolls her head back and forth over the door, hair scraping. Eyes rolled back and mouth open in a raspy, breathy moan.

His tongue laves over in clockwise circles. Her lonely breast being gently soothed with his hand. Thumb massaging over her freed nipple. And then, he changes his attention to solely focus on her left breast. She can't help the way her hips buck forward, bulge pressed tightly against his knee. Moaning brokenly and wanton at the contact.

He pulls back again. Eyes heavy, lids halfway closed, lips spit slick. Hungry. His hands move from her still exposed chest down to her hips, at the pudge that's begun to form there. Eddie squeezes gently at her new thickness, moving closer and closer to her crotch. She watches in a daze, already panting heavily, spit rapidly cooling.

"Condom," she finally works out, rasping. "Tucked in the waistband of my panties."

His eyes widen slightly, bouncing back to her. He grins. "Well, you come prepared, don't you?"

"Don't want to make you an actual daddy, do we?" she teases. "Come on," she whines, "I'm so fucking horny right now."

"Alright, babygirl, I've got you," he coos. His hands move down to the bottom of her dress. Feeling underneath the skirt, up her thick thighs, to where the waistband of her panties dig into her hips. The crinkle of the condom wrapper loud between them as she rasps above. "Got it, baby. How do you wanna do this?"

"How much do you weigh?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "That's kind of—"

"I'm lifting you, dumbass." She snorts. "Come on, Daddy. Wanna make you feel good," she teases once more.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the flush is hard to hide in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. "150. Let me get us ready, baby. I'll be quick and careful, promise."

"I trust you," Stevie whispers. And finds that to be the truth.

Something glistens in his eyes when they lock stares again. But it's gone quickly as he ducks down. Puts his hands under the dress again. And peels her lacy, pink as her dress panties down her legs. She whines the moment his warm hand makes contact with her cock. He's slow and meticulous with wrapping the condom onto her. When he's done, he steps back, chucks his sneakers off, works his jeans down to the linoleum floor, and spits into his palm.

With heavy lids, she watches him touch himself. Gently circling where his clit is, teasing the wiry pubic hair on his vagina. He slides his middle finger in to the second knuckle, the same with his ring finger. And rubs gently, yet quickly. His teeth bite into his plush bottom lip. Breathing heavy through his nose. Eyes almost closed with arousal. Sweat building on his happy trail.

Finally, he pulls his fingers free. They're pruned on the fingertips. Vagina slick with want. He wipes his hand on his exposed belly, steps forward, and lifts the hem of her dress.

She wraps her arms back around him, pulling him in tight and close. Ready to come already, just from his display. "You ready?" Stevie husks. "I'll lift you, wrap you legs around my waist. I've got you."

"I know you won't drop me, babygirl. I'm ready whenever you are, no rush."

At his confirmation, she hefts him up underneath his asscheeks. Resting his ass on the shelf she's created with her forearms. He responds immediately by wrapping his legs around her, squeezing at her lower back with his calves. His hands lift up the skirt of her dress, draping it over his legs and where Stevie's cock is about to go inside him. The prickly hair on his legs rubs against her bare sides.

Eddie peels his t-shirt off. Top surgery scars on display, beautiful on the underside of his chest. And he presses against her bare breasts. Their nipples rubbing up against each other.

She moans, squeezes under his ass, and finally worms the first few inches of her cock inside of him. His breath catches, moaning high into her ear. And then his lips on hers, messy and filthy and hungry. She's ready to be devoured.

He raises himself slightly. Grinding down onto her cock. Getting the last of her girth inside of him. Moaning breathless right into her mouth, she can't help but breathe air back into his lungs. Their noses plunge into each other. Chests burning as they rub at one another. His socked feet warm and pressing into the small of her back.

Eddie's kisses are tender, loving, and careful. Each roll of his hips is almost like a love letter to her. His hands resting on her shoulders, squeezing, dull fingernails digging into her soft flesh—all of it like a promise.

She's never been taken care of like this before. Even as she's slightly tipsy now, nothing's ever been this good. Nobody's ever been this good to her. It almost makes her want to cry.

"Fuck, Daddy," she breathes into Eddie's mouth. "Fuck, you feel amazing." His heat warms her through the condom. She can imagine what it's like without it. With his slick pre-come dripping down to the base of her cock, between where her thigh meets her groin. Getting messy, filthy, painted with it. To be shiny and glistening with it.

"Yeah, baby?" Eddie husks. "You're a fucking dream, Stevie. So lucky," he babbles, "so lucky to have you. Pretty girl, prettiest."

She whines instead of responding, grinding up into him. Faster and faster still. Her orgasm is close. Tingling low and warm and heavy in her belly. Into the tops of her thighs, burning. Her forearms dig into the meat of his ass.

With one final thrust, a broken moan on her lips, she comes undone. Just as he yelps something raw and low into her ear. She swears she feels it, his slick dripping onto the tops of her feet, bare where her heels don't cover.

It's the best thing she's ever felt, sans this night with Eddie.

Carefully, Eddie's legs unwrap from her. Her arms jelly like and hanging limp at her sides once he's back on the ground. Bare chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. He walks back towards the roll of toilet paper by the toilet, rips off a wad, and saunters back.

"Can't," she pants, "can't believe you're basically naked in this nasty restroom."

Eddie shrugs. "I've had sex in worse places," he states nonchalantly. He drops down to his knees, unrolls the filled condom from Stevie's slow to limp cock, and wipes her reverently with the toilet paper.

She grimaces. "Ew," Stevie murmurs, "I don't even wanna know."

He hums as he stands back up, her panties pulled back up, and tosses their mess away. "Next time we'll do it in one of our beds, baby. Don't worry," he says warmly, softly. His bare back and ass is towards her as he wipes at himself, cleaning up the slick slowly dripping down the insides of his thighs. "I'll make sure to have the softest sheets for you, princess. And a cold bottle of water for after. Make you my favorite post-sex sandwich. It'll be better."

As Stevie stuffs her breasts back into her bra and places the straps on her shoulders, she takes a swift inhale of breath. He's still naked and wiping at himself. Acting as if he didn't promise her the world. "Really? You...You wanna have sex with me again?"

Eddie looks over his shoulder. Eyes soft and earnest. "Yeah, if you'll have me. I'm not letting the most beautiful girl get away. Especially knowing that she's the best lay I've ever had."

Something warms inside of her. He saunters back, scoops up his clothes, and begins to redress himself. She takes a tentative step forward, while his t-shirt is hanging on his elbows. Drops a sweet little kiss to his cheek. "And you're the most handsome guy I've had the pleasure of meeting. Maybe...You wanna get dinner with me tomorrow?"

He pulls his shirt over his head. Scoops his hair out of the collar. And then kisses her back. Directly on the lips. Soft and slow and achingly tender. "Of course, princess. I'd be honored."

When she leaves that night, that pep in her step, stomach warm with bar nachos and tender words, and Eddie's number—she knows she's already in love.

🏳️‍⚧️—————🏳️‍⚧️ I wrote this instead of sleeping. I have jury duty in a few hours, so. Gotta make sure y'all are fed before I go offline for some several hours later. ;)

[honeysuckletoast]

Here's a brief description of everyone in the academy loop with Alma peregrine when she was a teen. This is how I imagine they look in my Academy fic.

Esmerelda Avocet 

Bird: pied Avocet

Age: late 40’s 

Nicknames:  Esme (most of the Ymbrynes who are older than her and Miss Bunting.) 

Nationality:  English, French 

 Eye color:  smooth vanilla toffee brown with gold flecks. 

Hair color: silvering black (earning her gray hair from jack) 

Hair type: wavy

Hair length:   mid back 

Build: bigger boned but lean. Agile 

Body shape:  hourglass figure. 

Weight: 138.5 pounds. 

Height:   5’7 

Skin color: ivory 

Distinguishing marks: none

Glasses:  yes. gold framed ones that have been fixed in the center twice. 

Scars:  has a bad shoulder scar that not even Miss Bunting knows where she got it. She won't tell anyone. 

Common colors worn:  black, gray, white, dusty rose occasionally. 

Daily outfit: shift, a stay (prefers this to a corset) petticoat underlayer, a black simple skirt with a white  lacy collared slightly puffed long sleeve shirt. Or a dusty pink wrap dress on Sundays. Black  boots with grey stockings,  and a  black cloak when she leaves the loop. Prefers simple clothing. Has a ring on a chain and wears it as a necklace under her clothing. No one knows where she got it or what it's for, not even miss bunting.

Amelia Bunting 

Bird: painted bunting

Age: mid 40’s 

Nicknames:  Lia (miss Avocet) 

Nationality: African American 

 Eye color: spring leaf green 

Hair color: shiny black

Hair type: kinky curls 

Hair length:  when braided would be about mid back. 

Build:  feisty string bean.

Body shape:  rectangle. 

Weight: 112.4 pounds 

Height:   5’3

Skin color: warm brown 

Distinguishing marks:  none

Glasses:  none 

Scars:  has an odd twisted scar on her ankle from walking into a tripwire/ fishing line as a teenager. Few scars from fights with townspeople.

Common colors worn: green, brown, white, mostly brighter colors.

Daily outfit: shift, a stay, petticoat underlayer,  light green and white blouse, a long light green skirt that has flowers of all different sizes embroidered on it. When teaching embroidery and sewing she has each girl embroider a flower onto her skirt as a test, and so her skirt is covered in them from each girl who came and gone through training. Brown boots but prefers going barefoot. Yellow stockings. Her hair in a bun with a green flower  pin 

Other: 

Roisin Gannet

Bird: Northern Gannet

Age: 17 years old. 

Nationality:  Irish 

Eye color: Pale cornflower blue 

Hair color: red 

Hair type: very kinky curly 

Hair length:  to her butt. 

Build: strong build. Very muscular 

Body shape:  hourglass figure 

Weight: 210 pounds 

Height: 6’4

Skin color: very pale white. 

Distinguishing marks:  Freckles, all over her body. Stretch marks.

Glasses: occasionally has used them after long sessions diving (gannets dive head first at ridiculous speeds, trauma to your eyes is snazzy) 

Scars:  has quite a few scars from her brawls, most under her clothing 

Common colors worn: green, blue, browns, greys and creams

Daily outfit: cream colored blue with either a dark green or pale blue skirt.  Corset and shift, Stockings  Black lace up boots and a clover brass pin for her hair to be pulled back.

Other:  has a  baby face, despises it. On the heavier side. 

Enid Finch 

Bird: American Goldfinch

Age: 17 

Nicknames: honeybun (her aunt) 

Nationality: American, English 

 Eye color:  moonlight blue 

Hair color:  light honey blonde. 

Hair type: slightly wavy 

Hair length:  mid back

Build: proportionate build, shaped like a agile dancer. 

Body shape:  triangle 

Weight: 140 pounds 

Height:  5’7

Skin color:   porcelain white skin. 

Distinguishing marks:  stretch marks on only her right thigh, that's it. 

Glasses:  none. 

Scars:  has scars from falling out of trees as a child. 

Common colors worn:  dark red, dark blue, dark green tan dark burgundy 

Daily outfit:  shift, corset and petticoat layer white long sleeve shirt with  red rose accents on the cuffed sleeves.  (Her aunt taught her how to embroider the roses.   Dark red skirt  with black boots with a slightly larger heel than usual for stability. A necklace with a rose on it (family last name is Rosee) from her aunt that also has her father and mothers wedding rings on them. Also had a metal hairpin to put her up into an upsweep

Other:  her aunt is very picky about buttons and looking clean, Enid carries the same  ideas. Her aunt wouldn't let her makeup, but occasionally wore  red lipstick, but stopped once Jack started rumors she was hooking up with random men in town. 

Myron Bentham 

Age:16.5 

Nicknames:  none

Nationality: English 

 Eye color: sandy brown 

Hair color: toffee brown.

Hair type: slightly curly. 

Hair length: Short and styled properly.

Build:  average looking teenager not really muscular that you can see but is a bit strong. 

Body shape:  rectangular. 

Weight: 165 pounds 

Height:   5’10

Skin color: also milky white. 

Distinguishing marks:  none 

Glasses:   has a pair of readers he only wears occasionally 

Scars:  a few from Jack that he doesn't care about, later down the line, one from Cathrine Glassbill he can't stand to look at. He keeps it wrapped up no matter what so he isn't reminded of her. 

Common colors worn: black, grey, white, burgundy

Daily outfit: dressy outfit, a white button up collared shirt always steamed and pressed out nicely. Black pants and a necktie occasionally. Sometimes wears a gray overcoat, mostly outside the loop.  Black leather boots and a brown satchel that he carries a lot of books in, mainly the ones he's reading and then one or two of Catherine's so they can read together in the afternoons. 

Other: 

Cathrine Glassbill

Bird: Barn swallow 

Age: 16 

Nicknames:  Cathy (everyone) Cat (Myron) 

Nationality: Austrian Hungarian

 Eye color:  dark oak brown

Hair color: dark dark brown, nearly black. 

Hair type:  straight 

Hair length:  surprisingly long. Down to her lower back if not braided 

Build:  muscular, mannish

Body shape: pear shape 

Weight: 145 pounds. 

Height:  5’9

Skin color: warm ivory 

Distinguishing marks:  none

Glasses:  none 

Scars:  hand scars from burning herself while cooking.

Common colors worn: dark red, brown, occasionally pink, dark green dark blue. 

Daily outfit: shift, sometimes a corset but prefers a stay to a corset. Light tan wrap dress with brown leaves. Typically has her dark red shawl on her and a brown apron. Dark brown horse riding boots. A necklace Myron gave her as a Christmas gift that has a cat pennant  he made himself (and was very proud of)  hair always braided in one or two braids. 

Other:  mannish looking and flat faced.  Always has her hair in braids, one day she decided to wear it down and everyone thought she was sick or hurt  and couldn't do her hair sense she had never left it down ever. She  never really unbraided it again in fear of causing chaos. 

Jack has taunted her about being so stoic and mannish, but she just kinda stares, nods, and goes back to whatever she's doing. Miss Avocet is still trying to get her to teach Roisin  this strategy.  

Eleanor- Grace Nightjar 

Bird great eared Nightjar (yes, the little dragon looking Nightjar)

Age: 15

Nicknames:  grace (she prefers  her middle name grace over her first name Eleanor.)   Leni (Millie, short for her first name, because when learned grace wasn't her first name she was fascinated. 

Nationality: Scottish, English, French. 

Eye color: pale gray, look blue when you first look at them though. Don't worry, while she's talking to you she will stare into your soul through your eyes unnervingly and you can see the gray hue.

Hair color: dark silvery black 

Hair type: wavy.

Hair length:  to her butt. 

Build: slightly stronger, but thin build 

Body shape: hourglass, leaning more towards pear. 

Weight: 102 pounds. 

Height:  5’6

Skin color: unnaturally pale. Like a sickly pale color

Distinguishing marks: very few freckles. 

Glasses:  needs them, won't wear them. 

Scars:  has multiple scars from picking, has a really bad habit of picking her scabs when she gets nervous. 

Common colors worn: dark grey, black,  dusty dark purple, burgundy occasionally. 

Daily outfit: shift, corset, her petticoat underlayer, dusty violet wrap dress. Black lace up boots  and her security cloak that's dark gray.  A flower hairpin Millie gave her, and a silver necklace from her late brother.  Wears her hair in a tight bun with two pieces framing her face. 

Other:  she sees better in the darkness. At night she's agile  and graceful, in the daylight she's clumsy. Miss Avocet is still trying to find suitable sunglasses for her. 

Jack/Caul 

Bird: Peregrine Falcon 

Age:15

Nicknames:  would probably smack you upside the head for giving him one.    Prick- (Roisin Gannet) 

Nationality: english

 Eye color:  coffee brown 

Hair color: shiny black

Hair type: wavy, fluffy

Hair length:  kept nearly trimmed and styled. 

Build:  pretty lanky, average guy 

Body shape: rectangle. 

Weight: 96 pounds (female pergeines are normally always bigger than male peregrines. This irritates jack to no end as he fears she will be taller than him.)

Height:  5’5 

Skin color: milky white 

Distinguishing marks: slightly crooked nose.

Glasses:  yes, they are gold framed and as he describes them “more elegant than you will all ever be”

Scars:  has multiple scars from him and Roe fighting, and a few from fighting with hawks. Buddy gets a sick kick out for starting fights with nesting hawks and falcons outside the loop. 

Common colors worn:  browns, white, occasionally red. 

Daily outfit: brown trousers with a tan button up shirt. Brown boots and cotton (have to be cotton) socks.  Occasionally a waistcoat that matches his trousers. His hair is styled into a backwards sweep, but never stays down and becomes wavy/fluffier by the end of the day. Usually wears his glasses. He also would never admit it, but kept and still wears a tiny brass pocket watch Alma brought him when she was really young. She stole it from her father when they were thrown out, and even if he depsies her, he keeps it as a reminder of what he deemed “the long gone days when life was still alright.” 

Other: 

Millicent Thrush

Bird: Song thrush 

Age: 14

Nicknames: Millie (everyone) Soleil (Grace) 

Nationality: Dutch, french. Bit of English mixed in 

Eye color: mocha brown 

Hair color: sunflower blonde 

Hair type: loose waves/curls 

Hair length:  mid back. 

Build:  slim, mousy 

Body shape: rectangle 

Weight: 117.5 pounds 

Height: 5’4 and half, that's very important to her that you don't forget the half. 

Skin color: ivory colored skin 

Distinguishing marks: n/a Literally perfect skin, never gets acne and no scars. 

Glasses: n/a

Scars: small burn scar on her forearm from bumping into the wood burning stove. 

Common colors worn: light pastel pink, yellows, sky blues 

Daily outfit: shift, corset,  petticoat underlayer, light  light yellow floral dotted skirt and a white blouse.  Brown short boots and thin stockings. Doesn't like jewelry, but wears a  really simple necklace Grace got her. Her hair is normally tied into a loose low ponytail.

Other: her teeth are slightly crooked but she doesn't care. Her smile is still contagious. Grace calls her Soleil occasionally since it means sunshine in French and Millie is french. 

Alice Treecreeper 

Bird Eurasian Treecreeper 

Age: 13 

Nicknames: won't respond to them 

Nationality: English 

Eye color: amber brown 

Hair color:  carmel brown 

Hair type: straight 

Hair length: just past her shoulder blades. 

Build: thin like a string bean 

Body shape: triangular. 

Weight:  97 pounds. 

Height: 5’2 

Skin color: light sandy color, very slight tan. 

Distinguishing marks:  small bridge of freckles on her nose. Occasional acne that irritates her. 

Glasses:  yes. Can't see in the distance without them. They are golden framed. 

Scars:  only a few acne scars on her face. and a birthmark on her hip bone, just a dark brown patch 

Common colors worn:  light brown and cream. Dark orange/ rust. 

Daily outfit:  shift corset, (no petticoat to fluff her skirt up) long rust colored wrap dress with brown accents. Always has her bag with her journal and the book she's studying (typically medical knowledge and enjoys romance novels but wouldn't ever tell anyone that)  brown loafers  and thigh high brown stockings. Typically always has her brown cloak while leaving the loop. Wears her hair simply down or in a low bun. 

Other: very introverted, but can and does enjoy her sisters. Better listener.   Wants  to be a doctor. 

Isabelle cuckoo 

Bird Common cuckoo

Age: 12.5

Nicknames: belle  (everyone) isa (Alma) Izzy (Alma rarely) 

Nationality: french 

 Eye color: warm brown 

Hair color: dark brown (she dyed it silver later) 

Hair type: she burns it straight, she loves the look of it straight 

Hair length:  nearly trimmed at her shoulders. 

Build:  lanky 

Body shape:  triangle. 

Weight: 116.5 pounds. 

Height:   5’6

Skin color:  cool brown 

Distinguishing marks:  has a birthmark on her ankle, looks like a lopsided heart 

Glasses: none but in the future she will be rocking sunglasses. 

Scars: none. Her mother chastised her early on for picking and making scars so she consciously avoids it now. 

Common colors worn: she wears every color of the rainbow, but mainly she loves  blues and purples, indigo being her favorite shade. Reds,  greens, anything but brown. She doesn't like the lack of life in brown. 

Daily outfit: shift, corset, an extra fluffy petticoat, dark red skirt with a silky creamy tan colored top that has red accents. Brown lace up boots with a sizeable heel and her hair either braided or pulled into a bun. She occasionally wears it down. Red stockings and a silver feather pendant necklace Alma gave her for her birthday. 

Other: 

Alma Lefay peregrine 

Bird: Peregrine Falcon. 

Age: 12 

Nicknames:  Al (everyone) 

Nationality: English

 Eye color:  forest dark green 

Hair color:  raven black

Hair type:  wavy 

Hair length:  butt length 

Build:  petite tiny little thing 

Body shape: hourglass 

Weight: 105 pounds 

Height:   5’1

Skin color:  pale porcelain 

Distinguishing marks: freckles on her nose in the summertime, they fade during winter. 

Glasses: yes, silver framed ones Miss Avocet gave her. They used to be Miss Avocet when she was a child. Alma kept them in perfect shape until jack caught wind of where they came from and how important they were to Alma, and smashed them with a book in front of her. Miss Avocet got them repaired by a peculiar craftsman and was able to put new (better) lenses in them and gave them to Alma as a birthday gift. She cherishes them. 

Scars:  multiple scars from Jack and Myron's torment and scars from a fight she got into with another falcon when she got too close to her nest one day.  

Common colors worn:  blue (dark and light) red in the wintertime, blacks and creams 

Daily outfit: shift, a looser fitting corset (doesn't like the constriction)  petticoat underlayer, dark blue day skirt with a white or cream colored long sleeve shirt with a ruffle collar. Her silver glasses and her hair braided  into a bun with two pieces framing her face. A feather hairpin that Isabelle made with one of Alma's molted feathers for her. Long dark blue stockings and black boots with no heel.

[lenreli]

saved from the cold [Dreamling Week Day 7 - Assassins]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

Title from Diablo Swing Orchestra's A Tap Dancer's Dilemma!

M, 2.1k. Hob smiles, charmed and endlessly grateful for being shot in front of the other’s house.

-

The forest is wild ― and cold, a thick layer of snow on the ground, on the shrubs and trees as he runs, voices nearing. Looking back, he can see shapes over the horizon and his heart races, off-setting the winter in his bones as he runs and runs― 

Until he hits something, and Hob was expecting a tree, but walking back, he sees a small house, the land cleared and white around it. Fuck. 

And then he feels a stabbing, piercing pain in his leg, making him scream and fall to the floor. His blood splatters on the snow, and the last thing he sees before pain overtakes him is the arrow, all the way through his shin.

-

Hob’s quite surprised to wake up, feeling hot with a fire he can feel nearby, as well as a luxuriously thick blanket, black and possibly the softest thing he’s ever touched as he stares at it. 

“You were hurt,” a voice says, clipped and impersonal as Hob looks up, breath leaving him. Pale skin, glowing in the light of the fire, black clothes blending in with the darkness, and long black hair, shiny and wavy, the only pops of colour being pink lips and blue eyes. “I believe the people went past this house, leaving you for dead.” 

Hob sighs in relief, grimacing as he moves his hurt leg, pulling back the blanket slightly so he can see the black fabric covering it. Looking around, he sees the man sit next to him, a bed on the other side of him, and the fire in an ornately decorated fireplace, a length of black rope coiled near a chair. “Sorry for uh, the,” he gestures to himself with a sheepish smile and the man blinks. 

“It was no trouble ― I was not sleeping when you screamed,” the man says. Hob cringes. “May I ask why they were going after you?” The man asks, tilting his head, and Hob clutches the blanket tighter, as to not see if the man’s hair is as silky as it seems. 

“Ah, well. I haven’t,” he bites his lips, then sighs, “I wasn’t the best person, when I was younger, and so one of the people I crossed in the past, probably very rich, decided to send assassins after me.” The man’s brows furrow. 

“After all this time?” 

Hob shrugs, “apparently so. And I don’t blame them ― I was pretty horrible, though I’ve been learning…” trailing off, he blinks at his saviour. “Why are you out here, stranger?” 

The stranger shifts to stare into the fire, blue eyes reflecting the flames, “I have been hiding, in a way, also,” the man says softly, voice soft and deep in a way that Hob wouldn’t mind hearing every day. 

Getting the sense that he won’t get more of the man, he asks a more pressing question. “Can I get a name, stranger?” The man blinks, blue eyes wide, “I’m Hob.” 

“Hob,” the stranger repeats slowly, his nickname stretched out deliciously. “I am Morpheus,” he says eventually. “How are you feeling? I am unused to taking out arrows.” 

Stretching his limbs, he winces, the pain dull, and he can feel the build-up of blood on the fabric, “well, you got both bits out, which is a win in my book,” he says with a smile. “Just ― pain. Fuck, walking is gonna suck,” he despairs, “may need to get a stick or something so―”

The man interrupts him by standing up, expression determined and Hob blinks as the man begins to whisper, doing a slow circle with his hands. Black sand, glistening in the firelight seems to come from Morpheus’s hands and Hob gapes, amazed at the sight as a black stick eventually forms, obsidian and heavy, by the way it thuds into the other’s hands. “I am no good with human anatomy, but this I can do,” Morpheus says, putting the stick next to him. 

Hob blinks, taking a deep breath, “beautiful,” he whispers and Morpheus starts, blue eyes somehow even bluer as they stare at him. Getting a hand out from the warm blanket, he feels the stick, thicker at the top than the end of it ― and he can feel textures, engravings on it. 

“Many people do not think that,” Morpheus says shortly and Hob looks up from the item the other man made. “Including my own family,” Morpheus’s brows furrow, “some of them.” 

“It’s amazing! Did you make this, too?” He grins, arms pulling the blanket up, and Morpheus nods. 

“The snow was quite heavy and you were covered in it, and so it is enhanced and can also stop frostbite from setting in,” Morpheus says quietly, pale face now a light red. “The crutch you use will also be quite light for how heavy it is.” 

Hob smiles, charmed and endlessly grateful for being shot in front of the other’s house, “thank you, Morpheus,” he says, and Morpheus seems to get even redder, face focused on the fire. Blinking, he stares at the blanket, warm and weighted, then at Morpheus, “come over here. We can share.” 

Morpheus blinks and brings his arm tighter around himself, “I am fine.” 

Sighing, Hob picks up his new crutch, using the bottom end to drag himself over to Morpheus, who looks bewildered, then startled as Hob throws an edge of the blanket over the other’s shoulders. “There,” he smiles, leaning closer to bring the blanket edges together, making sure not to touch the other man. Even though he wants to. 

“That is not―” Morpheus gapes, brows furrowing as he cuddles into his side of the blanket. “Thank you.” 

 Morpheus relaxes next to him, hair―a mess, can feel it brush against his shoulder, “can I? Your hair?” He asks, causing Morpheus to look over, pink lips so close and eyes so blue―and confused, yet he nods. Carefully, Hob gathers the long black hair in a hand, taking a sharp breath at the softness of it as he lightly twists it together, resting it on the other’s shoulder, long black hair pooling in the other’s lap. 

 “Is this a tactic of yours? Sharing body heat?” Morpheus asks, blue eyes dark through his lashes and Hob can feel his face heat. 

“Once or twice, I won’t deny,” he mumbles, tugging his ear, and he resists freezing up as their shoulders touch. “Entirely up to you, of course, we can just share this and it’d be perfe―”

He’s cut off by the other’s mouth on his, lips as soft and plush as they look, his hands going up to cup Morpheus’s jaw, soft, slightly-cold skin. The kiss itself is chaste, Morpheus stopping as they connected, and it takes some coaxing for Morpheus to respond as he licks the other’s mouth, one of his hands stroking down a pale throat, feeling a shiver as Morpheus starts to respond, joining into the kiss.

Morpheus presses forward, hands going through his hair, down to his beard and he shivers at the touch, moving to lean over the other man―”ow,” he winces, shin twinging at the movement, Morpheus pulling him away to give him an unimpressed look.  “Well, the bed looks comfier than the floor anyway,” he says, nodding to the bed in question.

There’s a huff from Morpheus as he stands up with his crutch, Morpheus putting a hand around his waist as they eventually get to the bed, Hob groaning at the soft feel of it. Appreciation of the bed over, he brings Morpheus in from his leaning near him, bringing the blanket over them as they begin to kiss more. 

Hands go under clothes, explorative and blissfully warm as they gasp and kiss, the eventual orgasm slow and gentle as they rut against each other. Morpheus pants against his neck as he gets another blanket from the bed to clean themselves up, and Hob laughs at the way the other man glares down at the white staining his other black sheet.  

Afterwards, Morpheus curls on top of him as they fall asleep, blanket a cocoon around them. 

-

The guard’s nod at him as he begins to walk up the lengthy path, trees on all sides, and Hob hopes that this visit to the royal palace won’t end with him in pain ― or jail. Or worse. Though, from what he’s heard, there’s mainly celebration and good tidings, their absent king returning, not that Hob paid much attention to royalty aside from when they paid him.

And it’s weird, the way guard’s nod to him, letting him pass without incident as he makes his way into the huge entrance, spiraling stairs and people milling about ― and someone, a darker-skinned lady in a purple suit, motions for him to follow, which he does. Eyes wide, he looks at the various portraits and gilded ceilings with awe.

Eventually, the lady stops in front of a door, ravens etched onto it as he turns on the spot, opening the door for him. There’s the sound of the doors closing, but he’s too distracted by all the art, watercolour and like a whole other world ― a huge castle on the edge of a cliff, a bridge with human hands holding it up, so much that he’s overwhelmed by the time he sees there’s a person in here, waiting as he gapes― 

―The first thing he sees is a halo on top of the person’s head, bird feathers and gems intricately put together, the sun shining between it, the person’s hair black and― 

―He kneels to the floor, eyes getting even wider at seeing Morpheus, face amused, so beautiful in daylight that he’s speechless, only able to take in the beauty in front of him. Morpheus’s hair, tied into a braid and going over his shoulder, a soft robe draped over him, pale hands clasped in front of him. “Beautiful,” he breathes, almost not hearing himself with how his heart races at the sight. 

Morpheus’s neck turns pink, bright blue eyes looking away from him, “there is no need for that,” Morpheus says, swaying forward to grab his hands, pulling him up softly, the smell of lilacs and lavender strong. 

“There was for me,” Hob says, staring down at the soft hands holding his own, gripping them closer so he could kiss the knuckles. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, unless I came across that cabin somehow,” he whispers. 

Of course, he treasured the memory anyway, even with Morpheus protesting that he didn’t have to go, although Hob pointing out the people after him at the time was enough to quiet them, Hob not wanting to leave as he gave Morpheus a goodbye kiss, too worried with what they’d do with the fey-looking man. “I am happy to see you,” Morpheus says, voice hushed between them. 

“You did call for me, I assume,” Hob grins, rocking on his heels and Morpheus sends a look to his leg. “Your crutch was very useful, and I still have it, of course,” he smiles, thinking of how he tied a variety of blankets and rags over it, hiding the intricate carvings, and so people would feel less inclined to take it. Though, it did come in handy when beating the people attempting to take it, of course. “At most, my leg just twinges weirdly with changes in temperature, but otherwise.” 

“I am glad,” Morpheus sighs, leaning in until their foreheads are pressed together, the other’s hands clutching his own firmly. “When we met that night,” Morpheus starts, eyelashes dark as he looks down, “I was hiding―from myself, mainly. And in that night,” Morpheus trails off. “After, I kept thinking of you all the time, your amazement, your enthusiasm for my gift, which I so often thought of as a curse…”

“It is amazing,” Hob grins, still thinking fondly of the black sand he saw that night and Morpheus’s cheeks go pink, almost matching the pink of his lips. 

“Some of my family have told me that, but I found it hard to believe, until that night, a glimmer of sunlight in that dreary winter when I was―” Morpheus cuts himself off, lips thinning and Hob wonders what he was going to say. “I,” Morpheus steps away, their hands still joined as Morpheus takes a deep breath, blue eyes steeling as they stare at him. “I have called you here, if you approve, to become part of my retinue, whichever―”

“Yes,” he grins, leaning in, nose brushing against the other’s cheek before he stops himself from the kiss he wants. “I’d love to be a bodyguard for you, maybe?” 

Morpheus’s eyes crinkle, their hands joined still, “whatever you desire,” Morpheus says quietly, looking up through his lashes and Hob’s heart goes to his throat, mouth dry as Morpheus continues to stare at him. 

[Fin]

[burninface]

weekly tag wednesday

thank you @spookygingerr for this week's tag game, and thank you @kiennilove @energievie @lingy910y @sgtmickeyslaughter @mmmichyyy @deedala @transsexual-dandelions @samantitheos for tagging me🫶

what is your current hair like?

long(right above my 7th rib), straight(can't knot it myself, can't keep curl or wavy for long but has knots in it all the time😅), black(so black like #000000 black), without any special hairstyle

what is your natural hair like?

straight, black, extremely shiny and lustrous, and gets all knotted whenever I keep it long

what’s you favorite hair style/color you’ve had?

my bayonetta stage or now

what hair style/color do you find most attractive on other people? (if you have a preference)

dark long hair… saying most but its just slightly more attractive then others, I can love all the hair styles and colors (including bald) if I love the ppl under<3

what’s your biggest hair regret?

when I first went to college with my ada wong (down left) haircut and glasses, all other freshmen (even some of sophomores and juniors I think) thought I was a professor. I was frequently greeted with and asked questions about campus for the whole first week, and I had to arkwardly answer sorry idk I'm new here too all the time💀

then when I did my internship in my senior year with my phara haircut (down right), some of patients thought I was the most senior one in the room and asked me a lot of questions (sometimes they had just asked same questions to their therapist minutes ago), that always made me nervous and under pressure also embarrassed😥

what’s the longest your hair as ever been?

now I'm having it

what’s the shortest your hair has ever been?

like kageyama here in the picture:

What’s your go to style when you’re due a hair wash?

I do nothing, since my hair is too lustrous that even looks greasy under the light. I was always asked what's the last time I washed my hair EVEN WHEN I JUST WASHED IT THAT DAY MORNING AND IT SMELT GOOD, so fuck it, there are no differences anyway

and I'm tagging: @atthedugouts @vintagelacerosette @reganmian @gallapiech @creepkinginc @blue-disco-lights @jademickian @gallawitchxx @mickeym4ndy @doshiart and my lunch break is over i gotta go now so if you wanna do this plz just go ahead!!

[purpleajisai]

Drop your Madara headcannons 🧠 💣

Hi! This is going to be quite a long list. Didn't add every single hc because I'm planning on writing a little fanfic and don't want to spoil some details to you hehe. Anyways, hope you enjoy! Some of these are very oddly specific, this man occupies at least half my brain if not more.

🔥 misc!

* He drinks his tea boiling hot. Burning your tongue? Never heard of it

* Is actually good at cooking and makes the most out of any ingredient available. Growing up in war, he knows how to make meals out of anything.

* Has a pillow to cuddle in bed! The dude is lonely.

* Very elegant and expensive hanko to stamp his documents. A clan leader needs to be fancy sometimes!

* Neat freak. Never has his house messy or his clothes out of place. Even his hair strands are calculated.

* Is actually able to mend/sew his clothes very well if some stitches are damaged during training.

* Sleeps a maximum of 6 hours a day, minimum of 30 minutes. The amount of sleep he gets is like playing a roulette (ever seen the eyebags? yeah)

* Speaking about the eyebags. His eyebags are both sunken and protruding (based on my personal experience of being sleep deprived+stressed) the lower eyelid pops out a little and the dark circles extend more.

* The man is physically unable to go out in social settings during the day. Only has social battery for the night. If he has to do some sort of diplomatic celebration with other clan leaders or kage during the day, he’ll leave the talking to someone better at social gatherings like Hashirama. 

* Has houseplants both for decoration and for cooking. We’re talking pretty succulents and mint plants or peach trees.

* The type of guy to wake up and immediately jump out of bed. Things have to be done everyday and he doesn’t trust people to do things the way he likes. 

🎀 appearance!

* Shaves to perfection every single morning, no excuses. Takes a little razor to missions, hates the feeling of facial hair growing. Trims his eyebrows as well. The Sharingan needs a pretty frame, right?

* The gloves have 2 purposes: protecting his hands from getting calluses or any form of damage due to the metal handle of the gunbai, kusarigama, etc and to hide burn scars (courtesy of @madaraservingcunt go follow her!)

* Continuing with the gloves, they’re made out of leather or thick cotton. Maybe has several sets of them for different activities.

* Smells like a mix of wood (cedar or pine), soot/ash, aloe and maybe lavender or wild daisy.

* Skincare and haircare? He’s VERY serious about these. Aloe vera facial masks for soothing the itchiness of constant katonjutsu, washes face with caution, rice water to keep his hair shiny, protective hairstyles to not damage the long hair strands, bamboo hairbrush to retain the natural oils, etc.

* Either has thick straight hair or textured and slightly wavy hair, definitely cut in layers. The wavy hair would make more sense as it poofs up when dry but looks rather straight when wet, taking into account the scenes of the battle in the Valley of the End (thank you Indra for the wavy hair and gorgeous mane genetics). Definitely loves his hair, fav part about himself.

* The bandages above his ankles are to keep the pants in place because his calves are thin and not very muscular, a small insecurity when he was a teen.

* Speaking of the terrible teens, he got grumpy whenever he got a breakout, zit, etc.

* Has mixed/dry, sensible skin. Dealt with painful and itchy sores due to lack of skin hydration while in war.

* Is a bit ashamed of his height and body proportions (i.e. wishing he was taller, less lean and more bulky, broader shoulders). These were regular nuisances during his teens but he eventually controlled the insecurities in adulthood, not managing to make them disappear completely nonetheless.

🍡 food!

* The databooks say that his fav food is inarizushi, so I've added that he likes similar things: onigiri, temaki, nigirizushi, tamagoyaki or even gyoza.

* Eats with little pleasure, only to fuel his body or whatever. That changes when Konoha is founded and he can actually enjoy and taste his meals.

* Dislikes greasy foods. Not a fan of ramen or katsudon, gyoza has to be boiled and would never eat tempura or ebi furai.

* Has a sweet tooth. We're talking dango, wagashi, dorayaki and more. However, only Izuna knew about this. Can't have a clan leader that eats candy like a little child.

* Prefers his sake cold and drinks mostly umeshu in informal gatherings.

* Actually likes fruit. I have no reason for believing this but he has the face of a man who likes fresh fruit. Fav fruit is persimmons or apples.

* Was malnourished as a child, giving away his food to his brothers or clansmen. Eventually took a toll on his muscle growth and height.

* Eats very light breakfast (maybe tea and some rice with nori or miso soup with wakame), heavy lunch (meat or fish, rice, more tea and other side dishes), no dinner.

* Favourite tea is jasmine or pu'erh, mostly drinks green tea and actually enjoys a good ceremonial matcha.

Thanks for the fun ask! I legit have a google docs of 4 pages full of hcs 😭 please send more asks about him I need to dump my brainrot

[the-three-last-brain-cells]

Oh boy, you made a mistake in asking for character design headcanons. I will go insane if you don't stop me. I'm gonna make this be small text so the ask doesn't get too long.

First of all: Hair. Because not even the authors seem to be able to agree on that. I might send more asks on other topics, so beware.

Peter has the messiest hair. Partially because it's messy by nature (it's that sort of hair that just does not cooperate), partially because he's out surfing so much and the salt in the air at the ocean does things to your hair. Speaking from experience. I don’t really know how to describe it but it gets slightly wet from the air droplets and also firmer and more textured so it kinda stays wherever you brush it to? Kinda like hairspray or gel put kinda not? Anyway. I would love to say Peter has soft hair, but no. Not with how much saltwater it gets into contact with. Saltwater is not kind to your hair. Also, his hair is reddish-brown and moderately straight but probably gets a little wavier when met with ocean spray air (once again, speaking from experience). Probably outgrown haircuts from time to time.

Justus has somewhat floofy hair, but it's definitely not as floofy as Bob's. Our beloved Erster probably puts a bit of effort into how he looks but not too much. Definitely doesn't miss hairdresser appointments because he needs his hair to look organized because everything else just icks him. Black hair, maybe slightly to not-so-slightly wavy.

Bob, my beloved! Curly blonde hair and lots of floof. I imagine it's a moderately light blonde, in any case lighter than Jelena's. Takes to styling his hair from time to time but his hair doesn't listen, so he just starts wearing it naturally and absolutely rocking it. I can’t decide whether his or Justus's hair is softer but both are definitely soft. Also, not entirely hair-related headcanon BUT: Bob has tiny scars at the back of his head from his various concussions and if you run your fingers through his hair and look for them, you can feel them.

Skinny, in my head, is blonde, but his hair is bleached blonde and not naturally blonde. I imagine he probably plays around with hair dyes and so you can find leftover traces of those in his hair from time to time. Pretty messy hair but that's because he doesn't brush it. He thinks it's cool. The general vibe is: Tries so hard to look rebellious™ and cool that it ends up being not cool.

And finally (because I'm me and I can't help myself): Jelena. Jelena has straight, dirty blonde hair that goes until about her chest/just below her shoulder blades. She experimented with bangs/curtain bangs for a bit and they're growing out now, which looks a bit messy from time to time if she doesn't feel like pinning those stray hairs back. But otherwise, she takes good care of her hair. Very soft but not very shiny.

There we go, long ask over! Hope this is what you wanted...

EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED YES YES L, danke! Vor allem Peter's Salz-haar situation und Bob's Narben.... very very good

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

...the unholy flames of ♥kink!week♥ burn brightly... (don't know what kink week is? click here!)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ the unholy week nears its end, and today we venture into the murky waters of dubious consent — what monsters await us there? ∼

∼ day six brings us our beloved villain ♥ Captain Phasma ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

tags: #rape/non-con elements #tentacle rape #tentacles #tentacle sex #tentacle monsters #dubious consent #extremely dubious consent #face-fucking #triple penetration #double penetration #anal sex #power dynamics #power struggle #choking #fainting #dom/sub #forced submission #rape #multiple orgasms #kink!week

easy prey (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

Captain Phasma sometimes manages to catch a breath in-between missions. Sometimes, she has a night off, and sometimes, on such nights, she lets herself blow off some steam — always, she does it by picking up a pretty thing, usually at a bar, and having some fun with her. She has a type she usually goes for — she prefers a pretty, human(oid) female that appreciates a firm hand. 

She isn’t too picky, however, after weeks spent aboard a stuffy spaceship. 

She’d never been to this bar — nor this planet. She doesn’t know much about this part of the galaxy, nor does she care to learn. Her plan for tonight is to hang out by the bar, get reasonably tipsy, and see if there’s a pretty girl she could have a good time with.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. 

She’s gorgeous. Long, wavy hair down to her waist, dark, glowing skin so smooth it doesn’t look real, full lips that are made to appear ever plumper with glittery lipgloss, broad shoulders, skimpy bright blue dress that looks almost neon against her skin tone and barely covers anything. She’s just the right balance between muscular and soft. She dances alone with a drink in hand, paying no attention to the swarm of people trying to approach her and talk to her. She firmly pushes away anyone who tries to grind against her or gets too handsy. 

Phasma needs to have her. 

She waits until the girl gets bored of dancing and goes to the bar to buy another drink. The girl leans on the bar as she waits, her bare, toned back partially turned to Phasma.

“Not interested in a good time?” Phasma asks.

The girl turns towards her. Phasma is immediately struck by how unnaturally — how beautifully — blue her eyes are. If Phasma knew — or cared — about particular colour shades, she’d call them ultramarine blue. They are accentuated by glittery eyeshadow, and seem to shine in a way that’s just slightly unnerving and uncanny, indicating she might not be quite human, despite appearing so — but Phasma doesn’t care to analyse her genealogy. The girl seems human enough for activities that Phasma has in mind.

The girl smiles. “Not with those desperate bastards over there, that’s for sure.”

Her teeth are pearly white and shiny, and perhaps a bit sharper than Phasma had expected — but her voice is smooth, melodious and lilting, and Phasma forgets all about the teeth. She wants to hear more of that voice, wants to make this girl moan her name — or, preferably, her title. 

“If you’re tired of desperate bastards groping you on the dance floor, you could sit here with me — have a nice chat.”

The girl eyes Phasma up and down, lingering on her muscular arms before looking her in the eye and smiling even brighter. Her blue eyes and her sharp teeth seem to shine in the dim light — the visual is a bit eerie. Phasma feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she doesn’t think anything of it, distracted by lust and the pleasant fuzziness from all the alcohol she’d already had. 

“And I suppose you’ll only grope me if I ask nicely?” the girl asks, sitting down on the stool next to Phasma.

“Ah, see? We already understand each other very well.” 

The girl laughs. Her laugh is like a babbling brook, bright and melodious.

“I might ask you that later — but first, I’d like a name.”

Phasma isn’t keen on giving her actual name to one-night-stands. 

“You may call me Captain,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

“And are you a captain?” the girl asks with an amused glint in her eye, shifting on her chair. 

It is in that moment her drink arrives. Before the girl can react, Phasma pulls out a crisp bill from her pocket and pays for the drink. She never breaks eye contact. 

“I am.”

The girl takes a sip of her drink — some sort of sugary concoction that’s probably stronger than it looks. She nibbles on the pink, neon straw. “I could believe that.”

“And what should I call you?” Phasma asks.

The girl grins mischievously, straw in her mouth. “You could call me Lucy, but you could also call me something else, if you prefer.”

“Lucy is a lovely name.”

There is no way in hell her name is Lucy — but then again, Phasma’s name isn’t exactly Captain, either. She can understand the desire to keep one’s identity private, and she can appreciate a girl with a brain — even if the dumb ones are way easier to bed. 

This one will probably be way more fun, though.

“So, Captain,” she purrs, raising her hand to caress Phasma’s bicep. “Wanna continue this pleasant conversation somewhere more private?”

Phasma is a bit taken aback by how eager the girl seems to be all of a sudden, especially since she seemed so disinterested in physical contact on the dance floor. Usually it takes a bit more flirting, and usually Phasma is the one to suggest going somewhere quieter — no girl wants to seem easy, after all. 

Phasma doesn’t need to be asked twice, though.

She towers over Lucy as they walk through the crowd, enjoying how much smaller the girl is compared to her. She puts her hand on the small of her back — her skin is smooth like marble, but way hotter. 

As soon as they exit the bar and step onto the dark alleyway, Phasma pins her against the wall and kisses her. Lucy nips on her lip with her sharp teeth and draws blood. Phasma enjoys it. 

Easy prey, she thinks as they head towards Lucy’s residence. 

It never crosses her mind that Lucy might be thinking the same thing. 

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Something about Lucy isn’t quite right — and Phasma, unfortunately, only becomes aware of that once they’re making out on Lucy’s couch. 

Phasma is straddling her, pinning her wrists down with one hand, and the other one she runs over her throat before lightly squeezing. Lucy whimpers. 

“Like being choked like a filthy slut, hm?” Phasma asks. Lucy shakes her head. “No? You’re out of luck then, pretty girl, because I enjoy that very much.”

She squeezes again — not too hard, but enough to let her know who’s in charge. She feels herself getting wet at the sight of Lucy squirming underneath her. The straps of her skimpy dress slid down and one of her nipples is exposed — it’s dark and pretty and perfect. Phasma can’t wait to put it in her mouth. Oh, she’ll love fucking this pretty thing. 

Lucy is noticeably smaller than her, and a head shorter — she shouldn’t be able to throw Phasma off of her like she weighs nothing — nor climb on top of her and pin her down so she can’t move an inch — and not for the lack of trying.

And yet.

“Had enough of your little power trip?” Lucy says, smiling, and her teeth somehow seem sharper than before. Her blue eyes are glowing. She gives Phasma a look that makes all the hairs on her body stand up — predatory, lecherous, hungry.

She holds Phasma’s wrists down in the same fashion Phasma held hers moments ago, her long hair tickling Phasma’s neck. Phasma tries to throw her off of herself, but finds that she can’t — Lucy’s grip is iron. She keeps squirming, but Lucy doesn’t even break a sweat as she holds her down.

“You can’t escape, handsome thing,” Lucy purrs. Phasma stares at the glitter on her lips — remnants of her now smudged lipgloss. 

“Fuck,” she says, giving up on trying to escape Lucy’s grip. There isn’t much else to say. 

“Yes, that’s what I’m about to do,” Lucy chuckles, then surges forward and pushes her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. Phasma makes a guttural noise as Lucy kisses her and assaults her mouth with her tongue — a tongue that, now that Phasma thinks about it, feels a bit too smooth, and is perhaps just a bit too long. The girl isn’t human, that much is clear, but Phasma has no idea what she is. 

“Like being choked, Captain?” Lucy purrs, breaking the kiss, her breath hot in Phasma’s mouth. 

Before Phasma can react in any way there is a tentacle wrapped around her neck. 

For a couple of seconds, Phasma can’t breathe. The tentacle feels smooth and slimy and slick, with little suction cups latching onto the skin of her neck hard enough to bruise. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees more of them appear above her. They seem to be sprouting from Lucy’s back, eight of them — thick, dark blue and glistening, with pink, fleshy suction cups. 

Lucy releases the hold on Phasma’s neck, and Phasma gasps for air. The suckers painfully tug on her skin as Lucy removes the tentacle. It feels like getting a dozen hickeys all at once. Phasma hisses in pain.

“I love dominant women,” Lucy whispers in Phasma’s ear. “I love how helpless they look as I fuck them, and I love it even more when they realise they fucking love it.”

She licks Phasma’s neck, cleans up the slick left on it from the tentacle. Phasma actually enjoys the sensation, and would perhaps enjoy it even more if she wasn’t distracted by the fleshy blue and pink tentacles wiggling around her. She stares at them, wrists pinned down, frozen, as Lucy kisses her neck.

“Like them?” Lucy asks. Phasma can feel her grin into her neck. 

They are horrifying, gross and slimy, but there is something mesmerising about the way they move — and they are attached to the most beautiful creature Phasma’s ever seen — that certainly makes a difference. 

“Feel them,” Lucy purrs and pulls on Phasma’s wrists, bringing them behind her back. Phasma tries pulling back, but Lucy’s grip on her wrists is too strong. She guides Phasma’s hands to slide along the tentacles. Phasma’s entire body tenses up. “Mmm, that feels really good, you know,” Lucy murmurs into her ear, licking and placing lazy kisses onto it. 

The slick tentacles and the sticky, bulbous suckers are unlike anything she’s ever touched. They feel weird, but not unpleasant — and mixed with Lucy’s hot kisses on her ear and her soft body pressed against Phasma’s, it’s… it’s…

Phasma settles on confusing.  

“You must have thought I’d be such easy prey,” Lucy whispers as she grinds her hips into Phasma’s and slams her arms back onto the couch. “Pretty girl you could throw around a bit, get some frustration out on, hm? Have a quick, dirty orgasm while you choke me. And if you accidentally squeezed too hard, who’d know?”

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Phasma says, trying to keep her voice level, not wanting it to show how much she’s affected by Lucy grinding on her, the feeling of Lucy’s tits against her own, Lucy’s tongue on her ear. It’s not exactly a lie — she wouldn't kill her on purpose. If it happened accidentally, however… 

Well — she wouldn’t dwell on the life of a pretty whore from a bar.

“How generous. Perhaps I won’t kill you either, then. It would ruin the mood just a little bit.” She takes Phasma’s lower lip between her teeth and bites on it, drawing blood. Phasma sucks in a sharp breath. “I’d much prefer to fuck and humiliate you. It’ll be super hot. I promise you’ll love it.”

Phasma feels both relieved that she probably won’t get killed tonight and completely horrified at the prospect of what this girl — this creature — might do to her instead. She wistfully thinks of her blaster, left by the door as they entered the apartment. Oh, what a fool she was to think she wouldn’t need it in a makeout session with a pretty alien.

Lucy seems to notice the dread in Phasma’s eyes, because she laughs, showing all of her sharp teeth. Her laugh is lovely sound — one that Phasma still finds charming. She wonders if the girl is some sort of siren-like creature. 

Lucy caresses Phasma’s cheek — not with her hand, as she is still pinning Phasma’s wrists down — but with one of her tentacles. Phasma shivers at the feeling of the slimy, slick limb on her face leaving a wet trail of sludge. 

“Afraid, hm?”

“No,” Phasma spits out. She’d rather die than admit to fear.

Lucy chuckles. “I can tell you’re a crazy bitch. And you know what?” She leans in closer. “It takes one to know one,” she whispers, and then laughs — it send chills down Phasma’s spine.

“I’d say you happened to meet your match, but I could eat you for breakfast without even blinking. Now, my advice for you would be to try to relax and enjoy yourself. It hurts more if you’re all tight,” she purrs and crashes her lips into Phasma’s again, forcing her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. It’s definitely too long for a human tongue, and she sticks it so far down Phasma’s throat that she gags.

“Aww, not a good gag reflex?” Lucy coos, breaking the kiss. “Poor thing. Let me give you a little treat as a reward.”

She sits up on Phasma’s lap, and before Phasma can use the fact that her wrists aren’t being held  down anymore, Lucy replaces her hands with tentacles. Two wrap around her wrists, and two slide under her shirt, groping her tits over her sports-bra, wetting the fabric and leaving a disgusting trail of sludge on it. The suckers latch onto her skin — it feels bizarre — but she doesn’t dwell on the sensation too long. Her attention is taken by Lucy making a show of removing her dress, slowly sliding the straps down her shoulders. One of her nipples is already out from all the grinding and wrestling on the couch, but the other she reveals slowly — painfully slowly — letting the silky fabric slide down her perfect, round tit. Phasma watches her, mesmerised. Lucy is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. 

Lucy maintains eye contact with her as she undresses, ultramarine eyes sparkling in the dark apartment, plump lips curled into a wicked smirk. There’s glitter on her face from all the smudged makeup, and her long, wavy hair falls onto her shoulders in beautiful, fluffy tresses. Her dress now pools around her soft belly, and rides up her thighs. She isn’t wearing anything underneath, and Phasma can catch a glimpse of dark hair between her legs. She can feel the heat radiating from there against her own pelvis. 

Lucy lazily starts rolling her hips into Phasma’s. Phasma’s eyes wonder up towards Lucy’s exposed tits that are lightly bouncing up and down as she grinds against her — perfect, round, soft tits, with small, dark nipples that she wants — needs — to have in her mouth. She watches, spellbound, mouth agape.

There is, however, a disturbing addition to the otherwise very arousing visual — the tentacles — slick, thick, deep blue and soft pink limbs that sprout from Lucy’s back and sides, four of them floating around her, and four pinning Phasma down and groping her over her bra. Phasma is only able to feel so much over the thick fabric strapping her tits down tight, but it still feels surprisingly good — better than Phasma would like to admit. And as she watches the alien goddess grind her hips on top of her, slimy tentacles surrounding her like a halo, tits bouncing, plump lips parted and smirking, she can’t deny it. 

It turns her on. 

She feels the wetness pool between her own thighs, and she's frustrated that she can’t do anything about it. She isn’t used to being helpless — or pinned down. She squirms underneath Lucy, unsure of what she’s really trying to do — escape, get some friction between her legs, or gain some semblance of control. 

“Poor baby,” Lucy says, smiling wickedly. “Craving some attention, hm?”

Phasma is pissed. Nobody dares talk down at her like that — and if they do, she makes sure they never talk again. She squirms some more, exasperated, trying to sit up, and she almost manages — but then the tentacles slam her down into the couch, and she realises she was only able to get up even a little because Lucy let her. She’s fuming — Lucy is toying with her like a cat with its prey. Phasma tries kicking her legs, but that does precisely nothing. 

“Fuck,” she grunts in frustration, and Lucy laughs. That bitch is laughing at her. Phasma thinks about blowing her head up with her blaster, and then each of the tentacles. She imagines how they’d twitch and fall down, limp and lifeless. 

“You’re so cute when you can’t get what you want,” Lucy chuckles, then rips her dress from her torso in one swift move, throwing it on the floor. Phasma is so mad she doesn’t even register the fact that Lucy is now naked on top of her. She’s seething with rage, her vision blurring.

“You fucking bitch,” Phasma says through her teeth, “I’ll fucking kill you—”

“Ah-ah,” Lucy interrupts her. “You might wanna keep your pretty mouth shut, Captain. I’m the one who could kill you, after all.”

Phasma cries out in frustration, but then there’s a slimy, thick tentacle in her mouth. She almost gags on it. She tries to scream, but the only thing coming out of her mouth are muffled groans. She throws her head left and right, trying to get the thing out of her mouth, but there’s no way she can manage that. Tears fill her eyes. The sensation of sludgy, sticky suckers latching onto her tongue disgusts her. She tries screaming and squirming some more, but to no avail. Finally, she stills, realising her defeat. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to gag.

“All done with your little tantrum?” 

Phasma just stares at those stunning, glowing, blue orbs mocking her, her chest heaving and her eyes wide. 

“Good. Now, stay still while I undress you,” she says, as if Phasma could do anything other than obey.

Phasma stays as still as she can, but she’s shaking, unable to help herself. She feels her cheeks burn with shame and disgust for her own helplessness.

Lucy undresses her almost gently — using her hands, thankfully. First she removes Phasma’s boots, then she undoes her belt. 

“Lift,” she says, and Phasma lifts her hips. Lucy pulls down her pants, then her underwear. Phasma trembles the entire time.

“Awww, don’t be scared, pretty captain.” She kisses Phasma’s knees, then up her thighs, strokes her legs and hips almost reassuringly. “You’re gonna get fucked so well — you’ll love it.”

Phasma just stares at her, hyperaware of the slimy tentacle in her mouth. Dread weighs down her stomach. She’s unable to do or say anything. 

“I’ll free your mouth to remove your shirt now, hm? And if you’re good and stay quiet I won’t gag you again. Nod if you understand.”

Phasma nods. She tries not to think about the tentacle shifting in her mouth as she does so. 

“Good girl,” Lucy says, and Phasma somehow manages to refrain from recoiling at the phrase. 

The suckers tug painfully onto her tongue, releasing with little pops as Lucy pulls out the tentacle. Phasma lets out a throaty whimper and furrows her brows in pain. Once the limb is out of her mouth, she moves her jaw and winces at the sludge it left behind — not enough to spit out, but enough to be gross. She swallows bits of it. It’s salty. 

“Like that, hm?” Lucy taunts her as she hooks her fingers under Phasma’s shirt. “Up.”

Phasma sits up and Lucy pulls the shirt over her head. “Stay.” She removes Phasma’s bra.

Phasma is fuming with rage at being talked to like a dog, but she says nothing — just closes her eyes and inhales deeply, trying to calm down. She is completely naked now. She can’t remember the last time she felt so exposed, so vulnerable. 

“Open your eyes, Captain. Look at me.”

Phasma does as she’s told. She gives Lucy a look full of hate.

“So easily provoked,” Lucy chuckles. “Come ‘ere.”

She kisses Phasma — surprisingly gently. She nibbles on her lip, caresses her neck and runs her fingers over the short hair at the back of Phasma’s head. She presses herself flush against Phasma and wraps her legs around Phasma’s hips. Her breasts feel soft against’s Phasma’s own as she slowly grinds against her. 

They make out for a while, and it almost feels normal, as if they’re just two naked women kissing instead of an alien and a war criminal playing a sick power game — with one side most definitely winning.

After a couple of minutes, Phasma slowly starts to relax into Lucy’s touch. She can’t resist her soft curves — she runs her hands over her breasts, grabs her hips — firmly, but not too hard, aware she’s not the one in control here. She’s very careful not to touch the tentacles. 

Lucy, however, doesn’t hold back from exploring Phasma’s body — and Phasma must admit it feels nice. She usually isn’t very keen on letting people pleasure her, as it requires giving up too much control — but since any semblance of control she may have felt in this situation is long gone, she finds that she enjoys being touched for once. Lucy drags her fingernails across Phasma’s back, fondles and squeezes her tits, her hips, her legs, her ass, runs her hands over Phasma’s muscular arms and taut stomach. She seems to really like Phasma’s muscles, and Phasma can’t help but feel just a little bit smug about that. 

Lucy quickly catches onto the fact that Phasma enjoys a bit of pain — she tortures and teases her by digging her nails into Phasma’s skin, biting her neck and her tits, leaving painful hickeys, slapping her face, tits and ass. Phasma feels herself go red with humiliation when Lucy spanks her really hard as she's kissing her, making her let out an embarrassing, needy whimper into her mouth. 

“You’re just a needy whore, aren’t you? You just need someone to spank and fuck you properly,” Lucy murmurs and Phasma’s hand flies towards Lucy’s neck on instinct, anger and humiliation filling her, but Lucy just laughs and catches her wrist, bringing it down. “You could use those in a more productive way,” she says, smirking, and guides Phasma’s hands towards her tentacles, making her caress the place where the sludgy limbs sprout from her skin. 

“Mmm, yes, do that,” Lucy purrs. 

Phasma hasn’t really got a choice, so she does as she’s told. She massages the tentacles, runs her hands over Lucy’s waist and back, sludge coating her fingers, and Lucy stars producing sinful moans that make Phasma grow instantly wet — not that the previous activities haven’t already riled her up. Much to her horror, she realises she doesn’t find touching the tentacles that gross — not when it makes Lucy moan like that. 

Lucy grinds her hips into Phasma’s, her movements growing more urgent and desperate by the second, and Phasma does the same. They dryhump on the couch, both moaning and grunting and groping each other, not concerned with being gentle. 

Phasma craves Lucy’s pretty tits in her mouth, and she decides to grant herself that wish — Lucy lets her. Phasma sucks and bites on her nipples, moans at the feeling of the soft, heavy tit in her mouth. However, when she tries sliding her hand between Lucy’s thighs, Lucy slaps it away. 

“I think we’ve had enough foreplay,” she says and roughly pushes Phasma down onto the couch.

Phasma is almost okay with Lucy fucking her at this point — she’s wet and turned on and Lucy is so attractive Phasma could forgive her most things. She even feels herself growing excited by the idea of Lucy’s fingers inside of her. 

However, when instead of Lucy’s hands she feels Lucy’s tentacles on her body — wrapping around her arms and torso, spreading her legs apart, grabbing her tits, squeezing and latching onto her skin — a horrifying realisation hits her.

Lucy won’t use her hands to fuck her.

Lucy is sitting on the couch, back prettily arched, hand between her legs. She’s a beautiful and terrifying vision — the most alluring monster. Her smooth, dark skin glistens with sludge and sweat, her lips are parted, and her face and neck are full of makeup glitter. Her piercing blue eyes glow in the dark, and her round tits and soft belly look enticing enough to bite. Blue and pink tentacles wiggle around her — horrid, thick, disgusting, sludgy limbs.

The tentacles wrap around Phasma’s tits and squeeze — Phasma suppresses a moan . They caress her torso, her neck, latch onto her skin, give her painful hickeys. They keep her legs spread and hold her arms firmly in place. One of the tentacles slowly makes its way up Phasma’s legs. 

The tentacle touches the inside of her thigh. Phasma would recoil if she could move — instead, her stomach muscles spasm. “No,” she says, as the tentacle slides up her thigh. “No, no, no—”

The tentacle touches her vulva. Sticky suckers latch onto Phasma’s skin, onto her clit, and she cries out in pleasure, pain and horror. “Fuck,” she cries through gritted teeth. 

“Feels good, hm?” Lucy asks, voice breathy and gaze hooded as she touches herself. “My handsome captain. I’m gonna fuck you so well.” 

She slides the tentacle down towards Phasma’s entrance. Phasma wonders if that thing can even fit inside of her. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces herself for the pain of being stretched out — but the tentacle slides further down, over her pussy lips and towards her ass — and then she feels it probe around a much tighter hole.

“No,” Phasma says, squirming as the tentacle pushes against her muscles. “No, stop — stop! Stop!”

She knows there’s no stopping what’s about to happen, but she fights it anyway, squirming and screaming. She tenses up when she feels the tip of the tentacle push inside of her. The thing is sludgy and slick enough that it doesn’t burn and sting too badly — but it still hurts.

“My advice would be to relax, Captain. It’ll hurt much more if you’re tense,” Lucy says, voice thick and breathy, as she rubs her own clit. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

Phasma hates to admit she’s right — the smartest thing would be to relax as much as she can, if she doesn’t want it to hurt much more than it needs to. Taking a deep breath, she does her best to unclench her muscles. She feels the tentacle slide a bit further in and she grimaces, but doesn’t tense up again, instead letting it slowly fill her. It stings, and it feels wrong — but then the tentacle touches a good spot and she moans. It starts slowly sliding in and out of her. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to make any more embarrassing sounds — but then it suddenly picks up the pace and starts pounding into her, and she cries out in pleasure and pain. 

Before she can get used to the feeling of being fucked, another tentacle slides into her pussy without warning, filling her and painfully stretching her. “Fuck!” she cries.

She’s being fucked in both holes — it hurts and it burns, and she can feel the two tentacles touch over her inner walls. The slimy suckers provide a different sensation than the smooth, slick part of the tentacle, and Phasma hates how good the different texture feels. One of the suckers latches onto her clit, and then Phasma can’t hold back her moans anymore. With each thrust she lets out a puff of air and a whine. Her cheeks and chest burn in shame — but then Lucy fucks her harder and the suckers latch onto her nipples, and she forgets all about shame. Delicious pleasure overwhelms her. 

Lucy continues to touch herself as she watches her. The air is filled with moans and cries and wet noise of tentacles pounding into Phasma, as well as the slick sound of Lucy rubbing her own pussy.

“Does it feel good, hm?” Lucy asks, her voice breathy. “Tell me.”

Phasma doesn’t have it in her to form a coherent sentence — she just whines as the both tentacles keep hitting the right spots. That, combined with the sucking on her clit and nipples, makes her unable to think about anything else except the orgasm that is starting to build deep inside her belly. She’s never experienced anything quite like this. Tears are streaming down her face and she’s producing sounds she never thought she was capable of making. Her entire body tingles with pleasure.

Then, Lucy stops. 

Phasma is breathing heavily, frustrated by not getting enough stimulation to keep the delicious pleasure building. She still, however, considers herself above begging. She avoids looking Lucy in the eyes, her shame too deep — but Lucy will have none of that. A tentacle grabs Phasma’s chin and forces her head towards Lucy. Phasma closes her eyes.

“Look at me.”

Phasma slowly opens her eyes and meets Lucy’s bright blue ones that are shining with lust. She looks absolutely beautiful, and somehow ethereal — she’s almost glowing in the dark room. 

“Wanna come?” she asks her. Phasma is silent. “Tell me, slut.”

Phasma makes a quick and practical decision in about a couple of seconds — she figures that since she’s already completely and utterly humiliated, she could at least get an orgasm out of it. 

It still isn’t easy to say it.

“Yes,” she manages to utter. She doesn’t recognise her own desperate and raspy voice. 

“Then beg.”

They stare each other down for a moment. Phasma knows she’s lost — she disregards the last bits of dignity left in her and begs.

“Please,” she breathes out, barely audible.

“Louder.”

Phasma averts her gaze. “Ah-ah, look at me.”

Phasma obeys and begs again, this time louder. “Please.”

“Say, I need you to fuck me like a filthy slut.”

Phasma takes in a shaky breath. She struggles to maintain eye contact, but forces herself to do it nonetheless. “I—I need you to… fuck me…. like a filthy slut,” she utters, her voice breaking. Her cheeks burn and her stomach twists with humiliation.

Phasma will never admit it to anyone — you could hold her at gunpoint and she’d deny it — but there’s something erotic about giving up control — about letting yourself be somebody you aren’t, somebody who begs to be treated like a filthy slut. She’s never been fucked like this before, and she didn’t think she’d enjoy it — she’s never craved it, never fantasised about anything of the sort.

And yet.

Lucy grins, and it’s downright evil. “Well — since you’re begging, Captain.”

Without further warning, Lucy starts fucking her harder than before. Tentacles slide in and out of her, suckers latch onto her body, her clit, her nipples. She whines and moans, unable to help herself, but then a tentacle is forced into her mouth again and it muffles her desperate sounds. Phasma is almost grateful for it — she can’t bear listening to her own embarrassing cries.

Lucy rubs her own clit, brows furrowed in pleasure, beads of sweat dripping down her face and chest. She lets out quiet little huffs as she works herself towards her own release. Phasma watches her, and feels an orgasm build in her belly again, deep and potent. She gags on the tentacle, completely helpless as it fucks her mouth relentlessly. She feels the burning sting of her holes being stretched, revels in the delicious pleasure of her clit and nipples being sucked. She can’t move, she can’t scream — she can only watch Lucy cry out and come around her own fingers, before she herself tips over the edge of ecstasy. 

The orgasm washes over her like a wave. She would scream if she could, but instead she just grunts and convulses, her eyes rolling back in her head. She shakes and trembles, and Lucy doesn’t stop — instead she fucks her into another orgasm. 

Phasma is vaguely aware of a sticky tentacle wrapping around her neck and squeezing — she can’t breathe for a couple of seconds, and then she can again — and then she comes even harder than before. Somewhere around her third orgasm Lucy squeezes onto her neck a bit too hard and too long, and Phasma loses consciousness. 

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

When she comes to, she doesn’t know where she is. She’s in pain, her head is throbbing, and she feels nauseous. 

She lies on the floor for a while, fighting the urge to throw up. She rolls onto her side, pressing her aching body against the hard concrete and hissing in pain. She blinks furiously, trying to stay conscious and clear her vision. 

A neon sign catches her attention, and she blinks some more to try and read it. She quickly realises it’s the sign in front of the bar in which all of this started. It’s not the dead of the night anymore, however — dawn is breaking.

She somehow manages to lift herself from the floor and not throw up. Her head is pounding, every muscle in her body hurts, and she can barely walk. She’s sore from the fucking. She’s relieved to see she’s in the clothes she came here in, even if they’re wrinkled and dirty and have dried tentacle slime on it. 

And she’s, of course, also relieved that she’s still alive — she figured the girl wouldn't kill her, but she couldn't tell for sure. What a stupid way to go it would have been. 

She looks at her wrists. They have disturbing looking hickeys on them — rows of purple dots in the shape of tentacle suckers — she figures the rest of her body probably looks similar. There’s also makeup glitter on her hands. She shudders. 

Somehow she manages to get back to the ship. Nobody dares ask questions.

She spends the entirety of that day in a hot bath, fuming with rage, grunting in pain, trying to fully remove makeup glitter from her skin with little success, and thinking about the best orgasms of her life.

A year later, she’s on the same planet again — and yet again, she has some free time before a mission. Before she can overthink it, she finds herself in the same bar.

She doesn’t know why she does it. There’s no way that thing will be here again. 

When she catches Lucy’s gaze in the crowd, her belly tingles with excitement.

“Missed me, Captain?” she purrs as they dance, bodies pressed flush against each other. 

Phasma grabs her face and kisses her.

She comes several times that night. When she wakes up unconscious in the alleyway again, she swears not to do this ever again.

And she doesn’t.

...

Not until the next time she comes to town.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

big thanks to lovely @opheliauniverse for editing <3

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @alexusonfire @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz

[inamindfarfaraway]

My Wreck-It Ralph Sugar Rush OCs

Name

Bicky Chocrisp.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has brown skin and dark brown eyes. Her kinky hair is black with light brown streaks, in box braids and woven into a shoulder-length ponytail with a red band that imitates a plaited pastry. She wears a glossy chocolate-brown leather jacket with a gold zip over a white T-shirt with a red heart symbol in the middle. She also has fawn leggings and dark brown shoes with red laces. Her white helmet is modelled after a chocolate-drizzled meringue.

Theme

Biscuits, sandwich biscuits in particular, pastries and meringues.

Kart

The Tartful Dodger. It has an eclair body, Oreo-esque wheels, a chocolate tart steering wheel, and the seat is two halves of a chocolate sandwich biscuit with cream cushions.

Fans

Chocolate wafers.

Catchphrase

"It's crunch time!"

Bio

Bicky Chocrisp: Smart cookie.

What Bicky Chocrisp lacks in raw power, she makes up for in control and cunning. She’s a master of timing, boosts, powerups, and all the other racing tricks that technically aren’t cheating - even if they may feel like it to those she overtakes. She’s clever, creative and sweet. But she can put up brittle walls of bravado to hide her soft, gooey centre and sometimes worries about being good enough. She likes to watch and analyse races and conversations as much as participate in them.

***

Name

Roxy Fizzlepop.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has fair skin, cyan eyes and dusty purple hair in a choppy, spiky pixie cut dotted with sparkly cyan crystals. She wears a sleeveless dark blue puffer jacket over a purple top with short, spiky ripped sleeves, a shiny cyan foil skirt, and dark blue boots with silver laces and cyan crystalline studs. Her helmet is dark blue, smooth and has a purple fuse on the top.

Theme

Popping candy and fizzy sweets and drinks.

Kart

The Tangnado. Its body is a soft drink bottle of purple glass containing tubes of cyan sherbet, its wheels are cyan fizzy tablet sweets with purple jelly ring tyres, its seat is dark blue and its steering wheel is a silver bottle cap.

Fans

Gummy bears.

Catchphrase

“Shake it up!”

Bio

Roxy Fizzlepop: Lift your spirits.

Roxy Fizzlepop is bubbly, buoyant and bold. She loves the thrill of the race. Win or lose, no outcome will deflate her overflowing cheer as long as she’s done her best, and she always does. Her strategy in everything is charging hard and fast ahead. She’s eccentric, easily distracted but tending to notice details others don’t. She feels all her feelings very intensely. If you manage to set her off by being mean, you’ll find that her temper can be explosive.

***

Name

Juicica Tutti-Frutti.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has tan skin, silky jet-black hair in pigtails with bands that imitate pineapple rings and green eyes. She wears a yellow T-shirt with brown seed prints, a translucent pink sweet wrapper skirt, yellow and green striped knee-length shorts and pink shoes. Her helmet resembles a raspberry and matches her shoes.

Theme

Snacks and desserts containing fruit.

Kart

The Boltberry. Its body is a slice of fruitcake. It has pineapple rings wheels, a steering wheel made of a caramelised apple slice and an orange segment spoiler. Green markings of star fruit cross sections decorate the bonnet and sides.

Fans

Toffee apples.

Catchphrase

“Zest wishes!”

Bio

Juicica Tuttifrutti: Fruits of labour.

An apple a day keeps the rivals away in Juicica Tuttifrutti’s book. This athletic health nut can be slightly overbearing, but she has her friends’ best interests at heart and dedicated diligence is how she shows she cares. Her spirit is patient and resilient, full of positive energy. She holds herself to high standards and would never grab the low-hanging fruit. She believes that practice makes perfect. It certainly makes her a great racer!

***

Name

Scoffia Confectionaire.

Gender

Female.

Appearance

She has fair skin and blue eyes. Her wavy white hair is styled in a chin-length bob that alludes to a popcorn flake. She wears a boxy jacket and trousers with thick vertical red and white stripes like a popcorn carton and gold buttons shaped like pretzels, and a golden shirt underneath. She also wears black patent leather shoes with gold buckles. Her helmet is gold and encrusted with glittering salt crystals.

Theme

Salty snacks like popcorn, nuts and pretzels that are often found at public venues and eaten while watching movies.

Kart

The Crackerjack. Its body is a normal kart shape, mostly red with white stripes. It has salted nut cluster tyres supported by straight pretzel spokes and popcorn flake hubs, a pretzel steering wheel and a seat made of golden-brown crackers with white cheese cushions. An exhaust pipe and rocket booster at the back are fitted into popcorn flakes.

Fans

Breadsticks.

Catchphrase

"It’s showtime!”

Bio

Scoffia Confectionaire: Worth her salt.

Scoffia Confectionaire claims that she isn’t here to make friends, and the only challenge more intimidating than overtaking her seems to be winning her over. She’s proud, sharp-tongued and loves to be the star of the show. But her integrity will always outweigh her ego. She would never lie or play dirty and doesn’t mean any real harm; she just thinks a compelling racing story needs a little drama. Earn her respect and you’ll find that her grit really enhances her subtle sweetness.

[wynn-ing]

hey hey i LOVE your OCs from What Remains, i doodle eti all of the time in my class notes. i was wondering if you had any more detailed descriptions for any of the characters like Violet and Kyra and Ghost that you haven't drawn any references for!! i want to doodle them all!!!!

!!! Thank you so much!! I'd love to see your doodles sometime if you want to show them, that makes me so happy! I do want to draw Ghost and Kyra at some point but I can absolutely give you some descriptions!! I'll pop them under a readmore so the post doesn't get too long <3

Violet:

Violet is a short woman with a streak of colour in her otherwise dark brown hair. Her skin is slightly tan, with a soft nose and thin brows. She gets freckles in summer, but not all of the time. She straightens her hair, which reaches just below her shoulderblades, although it's naturally more wavy, and her fringe is long and messy, even though she tries to keep it neat. The dyed streak used to be red but it's currently purple. She plans to go green next time. She has warm hazel eyes that are slightly more green than brown, but since her hair often falls in front of her eyes it can be a little hard to see.

When she wants to focus, she'll pull her hair up into a ponytail, and pin back her fringe, but she generally doesn't do that in front of other people because she's a little embarrassed about having a big forehead. (She does not have a particularly big forehead, she's just insecure).

She likes to wear simple, understated clothes. She doesn't like to stand out too much, but she still wants to look good, so she sticks to classics that look good on anyone. She wears skirts and trousers in equal measure, but generally has to wear mid-length skirts if she does go for those, because it reduces the risk of comedic wardrobe malfunctions. She's a comfort over all else kinda gal, so while she does like to dress up sometimes, usually she'll be showing up with a biiig comfortable jumper, whatever trousers are most weather appropriate, and sensible trainers.

She's a little bit pear shaped, with a soft, fairly round face and a sweet smile. She doesn't wear makeup usually, but sometimes will if she's going out with friends.

Ghost:

Ghost is a concerningly pale young man with a willowy body shape and a slightly greyish complexion. His face is thin and his eyes are a little downturned, giving him a permanently slightly sad look. His hair is stark white, and falls to just below his shoulders in a loose cut that's reminiscent of a page boy. He's gangly, but somehow elegant.

He has fairly long lashes, and his neutral expression looks very faraway, as if he's stuck in a permanent daydream that isn't particularly pleasant. I haven't decided an exact height for him, but he's on the slightly taller side, although not so much that it's noteworthy. His eyes are grey, completely devoid of colour. Even when he blushes, somehow it barely brings even a hint of red to his cheeks. His lips are thin and his nose is fairly straight. His skin is completely unscarred, except from the small slash Pasha gave him on his arm, and a slim medical scar just below one pectoral (not top surgery scars I'm sorry this is smth else)

He wears slim black trousers. Before coming to the Order, he wore a stark white corporate shirt and black, shiny office worker shoes that hurt his feet. Since coming to the Order, he's been given a warm green top with a lower neckline that doesn't suffocate him, and solid leather boots that he can wear all day without worry. He still wears the same trousers, though, because he doesn't like baggier trousers and tailoring new trousers would take time.

Kyra:

Kyra is a tall, muscular woman with exhausted but sharp eyes, long, silky but thick black hair tied in a neat ponytail, and a serious case of resting bitch face. Her skin is a fairly light brown, and her eyes are dark. Her nose is straight and her brows are thick but carefully sculpted. She doesn't wear makeup, but she does take very precise care of her hair, brows etc. she has a mole on her left cheek and a smaller beauty mark right next to it.

Her body is top-heavy, with wide shoulders and a fairly large chest, although it's mostly muscle if I'm entirely honest. She also wears well-fitting black trousers, but unlike Ghost she doesn't pair them with a baggy shirt, instead wearing athletic clothes under her protective vest and black jacket. She wears heavy, steel-toed boots and knee-high socks with garters, with a spare knife slipped into the strap of each one. She openly carries her weapons, but if she has to pretend she has none, she'll use a cello case or similar to disguise them.

She has a fair few scars, the newest being the scratch across her face that Leonore left. If she's up against a more dangerous enemy, she'll often tie her hair into a bun instead of a ponytail, so it's harder to grab, but she hates doing that, because growing out her hair took FOREVER and it's all the way down to her butt. When fighting Leonore, she doesn't bother. Not because she doesn't think Leonore will grab it, but because she knows that if she lets her get close enough to do that, she's in trouble whether her hair is tied up or not. She'll have bigger fish to fry.

(Also fun fact; when she was dating Mal, her hair was only halfway down her back, and she desperately wanted it to be longer. Mal wants to tell her she's proud of her for getting her hair so long like she wanted it to be, but the timing hasn't come up)

Hope that helps!! Lmk if you have any specific questions! <3 and thank you so much, I'm so glad you like my lil guys!!

[signorinaclaudiacardinale]

"The Next Goddess of Love" by Alberto Moravia:

The well-known novelist attempted an analysis of C.C as a woman based on a detailed, almost clinical study of her body.

"The next Goddess of Love" as Moravia calls her, is seen as an object, destined in the quality of her physical presence to become a myth in the eyes of the viewer.

A.M: Let's proceed, describe your hair. C.C: I have long hair. A.M: How long? C.C: When it is down it reaches 5 centimeters above my waist. A.M: So you would say that your hair covers your back, almost to your waist. What color is it? C.C: Chestnut brown. A.M: It is not enough to say that it is brown. I would say that you have brown hair with quite bright red highlights. In addition, your hair is slightly wavy so that it does not fall limp and lifeless on your chest and shoulders, but rather has an appearance of vitality and movement as its waves follow the curves of your body.

A.M: What are your ears like? C.C: Since I was a child I had inferiority because my ears stick out a little from my head, they flutter in the breeze as the saying goes. A.M: They are nice, without a lobe that is too big, maybe your ears are a little big but it is not bad because they are a sign of longevity. Your eyes are black, right?

C.C: No, they are dark brown but shiny and luminous. My eyes are not that big and they are deep. A.M: I could add that the white ones are almost blue, like children's. And now, if you would be so kind as to laugh at me. C.C: How do you expect me to laugh? Special order?

A.M: You are laughing right now. I see that when you laugh, your eyes turn into two black slits. Now your nose. C.C: It is straight, slightly upturned, a little wide at the bridge and very narrow at the nostrils. It has a small groove at the tip. My eyebrows start at my nose and curve into two very regular arcs. A.M: Your nose is small but distinctive. I would say that it has a classic appearance but timed by modern sensuality, like Michelangelo's female figures. What about your mouth?

C.C: The upper lip is thinner than the lower lip, which is fleshy and protrudes a little with the corners down. A.M: How would you characterize your expression? C.C: A little stubborn, don't you think? A.M: Not only stubborn, moody, contemptuous and above all somewhat country, rustic. But your mouth completely changes its expression when you laugh. He loses his stubborn, peasant appearance and becomes… What does become?

C.C: I only know what happens to my face when I laugh, two dimples appear on my cheeks. The edge of my lip curves up so that it almost touches the tip of my nose and my nose wrinkles at the corners of my eyes. Who knows why? A.M: Because your laugh is strong, open, irresistible, like that of a girl bursting with happiness and giving free rein to her shyness. And how would you say what your teeth are like?

C.C: White, very regular but childish. A.M: I can see almost all of them when you laugh. I can also see a little bit of your gums, which are red and make an attractive contrast to the whiteness of your teeth. Your smile, or rather your laugh, takes us to the shape of your face, what is it like?

C.C: My chin is round, my jaw is small and curves towards my chin at an obtuse angle. I could say that my face shape is triangular. A.M: This shape gives it the appearance of an archaic, primordial childish face, raised towards the light. I see your long, round and robust neck, you realize that, right? C.C: Yes, my neck is long and people tell me that I always keep it stiff and straight, how should I put it? With a somewhat proud, disdainful look.

A.M: Now let's see your hands, let me see them. Your hands are understandable only if one realizes that your arms are long and thin and your wrists are very delicate. But how would you describe your hands?

C.C: I'm afraid they are not very feminine. A.M: They are a little square, the fingers are somewhat spatulated, the palm is not very fleshy, the midlines are deep and red. You have the hands of a child or a woman that are probably thin and dry but you are not thin and dry. It's quite the opposite and this brings us to your body. What are your shoulders like? C.C: They are full, round, completely feminine and graceful; nothing sharp or angular.

A.M: And your chest? C.C: I have a high chest. A.M: I would add that it is full and shapely since your bust measurement is 37 inches. What about your hips? C.C: I wish they were wide. A.M: Why? Wide hips are one of the characteristics of your body.Can you tell me about your legs?

C.C: They are straight and strong, not so thin and they have 3 dimples. A.M: What do you mean? C.C: They say that for the legs to be truly beautiful they must be delimited by three small grooves, even if they are very straight and very soft: One between the foot and the calf, another between the calf and the knee and another between the knee and the thigh. I have all three. A.M: Finally, how would you describe your beauty? C.C: I don't know if I'm really beautiful. I believe I'm strange-looking".

~This post has been a bit long but I have summarized the original interview from the book (I do not put more spoilers) Originally I took this summary from an Italian magazine from 1966. Personally I like this physical study that in the eyes of Moravia is different than in the eyes of Claudia Cardinale herself who is the owner of her attributes. Sometimes the defects that one sees in oneself are the beautiful characteristic in other eyes. I hope you liked the post 💖.~

[diorgirl444]

hiiii, i just stumbled upon your blog and i would LOVE a matchup (i tried doing them once on my page and i realised i suck at it lmao, so i admire that u can write them so nicely )

as for who - id love to be paired with someone from hp universe, any era<3

anywayyyy, im really bad at talking about myself but ill try my best

im an intj, my sun sign is aquarius, 5’6”, im a girl and i go by she/her, im bisexual but id rather be paired with a guy (if you choose a girl its fine as well)

i have blue eyes, short wavy/curly hair, currently dyed red, im pale as fuck (im literally allergic to the sun), curvy and i have lots of tattoos. my style is very inconsistent, i dress comfy but at the same time kinda goth-ish, alternative? i wear black 99% of the time, lots of silver jewellery, i have my nose pierced too:p i also wear glasses

i am very creative, i paint and draw most of the time. occasionally i write fanfics but then i have long breaks because i get burned out really easily. im lazy, which is not so good, but at the same time i mostly get things done. i am a huge animal lover, i have 2 cats and 3 dogs. im an introvert but when im with my closest friends my extravert side comes out. im a huge people pleaser, sometimes its not good for me but i cant help it. my love language is physical touch and acts of service.

i love art, art galleries, old cemeteries, greek mythology, the sky and sunflowers. i also adore the forest and just nature in general. im obsessed with pretty little shiny rocks.

i hate people who have a problem with minorities and are just nasty beings towards others and animals. i also hate spiders and insects of any kind, thats why i will never set my foot in australia.

oh and i also dont like kids. i dont have this “gift” or whatever. i dont know how to talk to them, how to act around them and how to play with them.

as for my aesthetic? i have no idea, but id go for dark academia/gothic vibes.

if you need to know anything else just dm me! xx and thank you in advance, have a lovely night/day! <33

your perfect matchup is 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <3

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <3

the first time james sees you he’s completely speechless. you’re chatting with marlene about something in class, absentmindedly playing with your hair and he’s just gulping like a fish. because where have you been all his life? truly the universe has been so cruel in keeping you from him!

but he’s suddenly shy. james has had plenty of luck with girls. he’s a flirt by nature. he knows all the right things to say, the ways to sweep them off their feet. that is before he saw you… he’s now well and truly tongue tied. he’s literally like lying in bed at night planning what he wants to say to you next time he sees you. spoiler alert he just gets scared and watches you from across the great hall like this 🧍

but finally he pulls himself together and approaches you the next time he sees you. you’re sat in the back of the library on a window seat reading through a book you found which explains how the greek gods were actually early forms of wizards and witches, very interesting stuff you know? you don’t even notice him lingering over you till he sort of awkwardly coughs and asks “would you recommend it? the - the book i mean would you recommend it?” he asks and he can feel heat creeping up his neck as you nod and smile up at him. “tell me about it!” he practically spits out in the next second. he’s so embarrassing i love him

you agree because he’s cute and everyone’s always talking about what a nice boy james potter is to you. of course you don’t know that they only do that you because they see the way james looks at you but hey what you don’t know can’t hurt you? so you move along on your seat and james shuffles in beside you. the first thing you notice is how he smells like cinnamon, oranges and something slightly earthy that is just so james. the next thing you notice is the way his knee and his shoulder press against yours on the small window seat. it’s warm and intimate and you feel flustered as you start to explain the greek myths to him. he watches you as you speak, watches the way your lashes brush your cheek, watches the way your lips move as you talk.

it’s nice to just be listened to for a change so this becomes your pattern. you see a side to james in these afternoon reading sessions that very few people are privy too. the normally loud and cocky potter is gentle and polite. happy to just sit and watch you devotedly. he makes it so natural too so you forget that you’re introverted, you tell him what your favourite things, things that make you angry, your hopes, your dreams everything. and in that time you start to fall for him. you can’t help it he’s so easy to love. you try to hide this new discovery but its hard to go from telling james everything to keeping such a huge secret from him and so he notices the absence. he doesn’t know what it is but he knows you’re keeping something and so he’s hurt if he’s honest.

so you avoid him. you can’t face the sad puppy look on his face it cuts you up and so you pretend you don’t see him waiting for you in the library, pretend you don’t hear the tapping on your door, or the notes stuffed in your pocket. because hopefully he’ll get bored move on and you’ll get over him. but james potter is determined and so enamoured by you that he’ll try one last time. and so he hides a book in your room. the book is his diary with the pages from all his time with you bookmarked. in it are lists of your favourite things, tiny sketches of you, details on how he feels about you and he ends it with “vicky darling i don’t know what i did but please know i’m eternally sorry. you’ve made a mess of me, i’d do anything to just see you again. don’t you know i love you? if you feel the same meet me at our window seat. if i don’t see you there i will accept that you truly don’t feel the same and i will leave you be. yours forever, james” you find yourself wiping tears as you read it realising how silly you’ve been.

and so with haste you race to the window seat in the library and when you see him there all anxious and shy your heart aches. “ you’ve made a mess of me too james” you say softly as you sit beside him and his face lights up. “can i make it better?” he asks huskily and you nod. his hands cup your face as he leans in and kisses you. he tastes like maple syrup, he smells like spices and he feels like home. it’s perfect and as he walks you back to your dorm with a promise of a date in hogsmede and a soft kiss to your forehead you feel giddy as you lay down under the covers that night because james potter loves you and you love him.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <3

golden retriever bf! + black cat gf! golden retriever bf! + black cat gf! golden retriever bf! + black cat gf! okay but seriously you two are the epitome of this trope. not because you’re mean but because james is so extroverted and you’re not so much i think it matches the two do you perfectly.

he makes you go watch his quidditch games. 😭 im sorry they’re probably so boring so like you sit with marlene and dorcas to try and make it more palatable but it is probably still so dull. if it makes it any better he does loads of fancy tricks on his broom so that you think he’s cool though it does come off a bit pathetic. don’t worry though because at the end he’ll ride his broom over to you and kiss you while standing on it.

your reading thing doesn’t stop it’s just that now when you read to him he’ll have his arm around your waist and his free hand will trace hearts on the small sliver of skin that peaks out there between your uniform skirt and shirt. he doesn’t actually disturb you though because he finds it so relaxing to hear your voice. if you want to stop him and kiss him though he’s not gonna complain.

he loves visiting cemeteries with you. you offhandedly mentioned once how you were gonna visit one, you didn’t invite him though because you were worried he’d think it was weird. but then he sort of shyly asks “can i come too?” and you laugh and nod. the two of you pack a picnic and spend the whole day exploring the graveyard with each other in quite intimacy. your hands constantly intertwined as you walk, pausing to pay your respect and the long-forgotten names of the people who laid there and occasionally saying hello to the few ghosts that lingered there. you came across one pair which were an old couple who said you reminded them of theirselves when they were your age which makes the tips of james’s ear turn red.

he brings you any nice rocks he finds. sirius gives him the weirdest look when the marauders are sneaking around at night and james bends down to pick a stone up that he thinks you’d like but james just grins and shrugs his shoulders saying “my girl likes them. what can you do?” the marauders smile at that. they’ve never seen james look so lovesick - it’s very sweet.

you two have matching necklaces. i don’t know why but i just feel this in my core. you found them at an antique shop and yours is a silver moon james is gold sun. because of it when the two of you are together everyone calls the pair of you “solar eclipse” 😭 even did it once when she was telling your friend group off. she was like “where’s solar eclipse?” sirius absolutely pissed himself laughing about that.

james gets rid of spiders for you but not before teasing you a bit. that’s just the kinda of guy he is i’m sorry. he’ll get them gone though for you don’t you worry but only if you promise to kiss him as a thank you after.

he writes you love letters weekly. you smile on mondays when his owl flies and drops a cream coloured envelope down on your desk written in james’s scrawling hand. in the letter he incloses what his favourite memories of you he has of the past week be that an outfit he thought was really pretty, a song he heard that made him think of you, or a leaf that he pressed from a forest walk that the two of you went on. he adores you so much it’s unbelievable.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <3

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[ramshackle-ramblings]

Alise Character Notes

Alise isn't from Twisted Wonderland, she's from New York City (Brooklyn, specifically). She's not Yuu, exactly. She gets kidnapped to Twisted Wonderland on a school trip to do winter carriage rides in Central Park, and ended up in the Wrong Carriage. She wakes up in Twisted Wonderland just after winter break.

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Her name is pronounced Al-EEse, not Alice. That’s important, given the whole Alice in Wonderland thing that’s happening over in Heartslaybul.

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The first thing people tend to notice about Alise is that she’s tiny. She’s 4’8” (142cm), and weighs maybe 80lb soaking wet.

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Alise’s parents definitely wanted a baby, and they were very excited to have a baby, and they really enjoyed all the baby showers and parties and showing off the baby to friends and family. And then the novelty wore off, and they still had this entire human that needed to be cared for.

They do love her, and she them, and they did want to be good parents. But children are so boring, so what that looked like was putting her in a constant stream of classes and lessons and other supervised activities. She’s had ballet and gymnastics and a rotating door of other dance classes since she could stand, and music lessons since she could read. Any time she showed an interest in anything, they were happy to find a class of some kind to put her in. It’s not a problem if you can just throw money at it, right?

There’s a fairly decent chance that they haven’t even noticed she’s gone. She’s supposed to send them a text when she gets to places, but that’s a pain to have to remember every time, so she’s just scheduled the texts to go off at the right time. And that way if she skips something, like school, she doesn’t have to remember to tell them she got there at the right time.

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She can’t cook. Not in a “oh, everything she makes is terrible” kind of way, but in a “she has never turned on a stove” kind of way. Food has always just been provided, by waiters at restaurants or delivery drivers at home.

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She’s got a temper, and anger often results in attempted violence, often accompanied by ridiculous threats (“I will skin your eyeballs with my teeth”).

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She’s 15.

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She stopped taking ballet because the rules were too much (watch what you eat, watch what you wear, you can’t do this, you can’t do that). She continued with gymnastics, though, really leaning into aerial, and at some point decided that getting into parkour would be fun. Because why wouldn’t you want to run sideways up walls and launch yourself through open space?

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She has absolutely no sense of self-preservation. She doesn’t have a death wish, and she doesn’t have that teenage thing where she thinks she can’t actually get hurt (well, maybe a little, but that’s not the issue), she just doesn’t care. The biggest adjustment to being transported to a literal other world so far has been coming to terms with falling in with a group of people that care what happens to her. Mouse wants to know where she’s been all night not out of some perfunctory sense of duty or expectation, but because they actually care that she’s okay.

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Her hair is long, slightly wavy, dark purple, with a green underdye. It’s almost never just down. She generally has done something with it, involving braids or ribbons or some other bit of hair paraphernalia. Worst case, when she’s feeling lazy or strapped for time, she just throws it into a couple of buns on the top of her head.

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She has absolutely no respect for the concept of a “class schedule” and just shows up, or not, wherever and whenever she feels like it. 

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Math and physics are her sweet spot, and she excels in things tangentially related to them - chemistry, music, computers, and robotics.

Back home, she was in an engineering high school, and had been in a STEM magnet school before that.

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Her birthday is August 8

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She likes decoration. Shiny things are cool, but it’s not necessary to be shiny. Just pretty and pointless. Makeup, nail polish, jewelry, tattoos. She has a lot of jewelry, though she doesn’t often wear a lot. It tends to get in the way. Or she had a lot, before she showed up in another world with nothing but her backpack. Same with perfume, which is decoration for the air.

Not just people decorations, though. She's a sucker for rococo furniture and art nouveau buildings.

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She tends to treat everything like a jungle gym. Buildings, furniture, people, actual jungle gyms; they're all good for climbing on and swinging from.

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She's not much for hugs, but absolutely gives kisses. Cheek kisses, nose kisses, forehead kisses. Assuming she can reach their face.

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Small acts of ridiculous mischief delight her. Folders, pens, accessories covered in glitter that shed just a little all over the school. Sticking googly eyes on things. That sort of thing.

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Her phone volume is always at 0, her notification volume is always at 0, and vibration is always off. Her battery is also frequently alarmingly close to 0.

This makes finding her lost phone quite a feat (“Do you want me to call it? We could listen for the ring?” “Best we can hope is that it's face up somewhere and it lights up.”). This happens distressingly often, since she frequently just … puts her phone down someplace.

It also means getting in touch with her is hit or miss. Is she dead? Is her phone dead? Or is she just not looking at it?

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She's too tiny for earbuds, so it's over-the-ear headphones all the way. And most of the time, too.

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She throws around the word “love” like it's candy. She will absolutely tell her friends she loves them for no reason at all. She will also tell the waiter she loves them for dropping off a drink refill without being asked.

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She's got zero sense of modesty. It’s the former theater/dance kid in her. She will do cartwheels in skirts, strip off wet shirts in the middle of a group, change clothes in front of her friends, without giving any of it a second thought.

If someone expresses discomfort with it, she will try to respect that and not do it again, but she's not super great at it.

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Relationships with canon characters:

Riddle: She and Riddle are, uh, navigating their friendship. On the surface, they had very similar childhoods - every waking minute structured with lessons, a strict adherence to schedule. But what she got out of it was a propensity for ignoring schedules and rules, or manipulating them to her advantage. Her very presence irks him, she is girl in a boys school, and the only reason she’s there is because she yelled at Crowley until he said yes to make her go away. That’s not how things should work. Of course, what he missed was that Crowley’s plan was just to kick her out in the morning, despite being kidnapped and dumped there by the mirror.

Floyd: Alise and Floyd get along, until they don’t. She’s generally willing to join whatever mischief is up, he can usually count on her to skip classes with him. But sometimes she doesn’t catch a shift in his mood, or he pushes things a little too far, and then things tend to go pretty far south pretty quickly.

She’s bit him, hard enough to draw blood, at least once. It was an accident, sort of. She was preparing to engage in murder, and he grabbed her - because one teensy little girl against three or four juniors is probably not going to end well. She was a little too angry to pay attention to who had grabbed her, just that someone had, so she bit. He didn’t let go, neither did she, and then there was blood.

Jade: She likes him fine, when she forgets she doesn’t like him. There’s this whole thing where he’s very protective of Mouse, and doesn’t like it when they hang out with Jamil, but Alise sees it as him being possessive of Mouse, and is not having it. He thinks she’s generally fun. She’s like a pocket sized Floyd.

Vil: It would seem like she should get along well with Vil; they’ve both got theater experience, music and dance education. She adores chemistry, and especially the chemistry of poisons. But she absolutely hates him. First impressions would have been the start of the Pomefiore book, with him rolling in and laying down all the same rules that drove her out of ballet in the first place, and she absolutely will not. She doesn’t even stay in Ramshackle for the duration of the VDC thing. That, coupled with Vil’s insistence that Epel change himself into Vil’s idea of who he should be, and Alise has absolutely nothing nice to say about him. Ever. He could tell her that the sky was blue, and she would argue with him.

Grim: He calls her “hench-human”, she calls him “minion”, no one is happy about their respective nickname.

Leona: She's not particularly fond of Leona, for no particular reason other than that he kind of scares her, and she doesn't understand why. She learned that Mouse had spent several nights in his bedroom, wasn't told why, and misunderstood that they were dating. That misunderstanding has since been cleared up, but she still takes every opportunity to remind Leona that if he weren't a shitty boyfriend, Mouse wouldn't have broken up with him. Someday he is likely to get tired of her and squish her, and it will serve her right.