#para: hazel eyes

[ferrstappen]

mónaco l Carlos Sainz

(a/n): this is a very short piece based on one of my favorite songs of all time which, by coincidence, is called Mónaco by Lagos and Danny Ocean. If you listen to it you can picture yourself having a summer romance with Carlos, true story. I'd love to dive deeper into it, but idk I just needed to get it out fast for some reason. hope you like it, feedback is always welcomed<3

summary: pero si algo que nos quedó es todo lo que pasó en Mónaco (but if there’s something left in us then it’s everything that happened in Monaco)

no sé si te acuerdes, de la vez que nos perdimos en septiembre

she'd never forget the warm september night when Carlos took her to the casino for the first time. He still wasn't very familiar with the principality and she was just a fleeting person for a couple of weeks, months, and he couldn't count on her of all people to know the streets of the heavenly Monaco.

As the flutes of Don Perignon continued to flow, he became more and more animated, trying his best to explain the intricate science behind poker and the true meaning behind each card. But despite his best efforts, she found herself unable to concentrate on his words. Instead, she was deeply lost in his eyes, taking in every detail of his sparkling hazel hue.

As she continued to stare, he finally noticed the piercing gaze, causing a warm flush to rise in his cheeks. A shy smile appeared on his lips, and she couldn't resist the urge to lean in and place a gentle kiss on them and when she pulled away, his smile grew wider making her fall deeper and deeper in this announced tragedy.

Everything was good until Carlos realized he was drunk, couldn't drive and didn't remember his address, eyes growing comically large as he came to terms that his alcohol-consumed brain really couldn't remember the name of his street, meaning someone had to drive him and his companion through the beautifully and carefully lit streets until one of you started to recognize his complex and as unusual and absurd of a situation they were in, she couldn't stop giggling as the streets kept passing by in a blur and watched Carlos still trying his best to remember.

tantas veces que tomé tres escalas para verte, creo que me acostumbré a tenerte como si no fuera a acabar.

her time in Monaco was over and Carlos' career in Toro Rosso was steadily climbing, he couldn't afford to take his mind off the track and she understood, she was willing to fly over just to see him.

but it started to fade away.

she was still willing to deal with three layovers to see Carlos, and his caramel eyes still sparkled when he saw her, but there was something missing, this wasn't like their late nights in strolling around Monaco, drinking cheap wine even if they could afford a way nicer bottle.

they weren't stupid, this wasn't meant to last any longer than a couple weeks in autumn, a simple memory, one of those people you can close your eyes and feel their scent, mind playing tricks that maybe if they closed their eyes long enough they might get a feel of the soft skin of each other, running her thumb through his cheek while he tried to fall asleep.

yo sé que para volver ya es tarde, y nuestro plan nunca fue quedarse, no sé si habrá una segunda parte, pero si hay algo que nos quedó es todo lo que pasó en Mónaco.

she stopped flying over, Carlos stopped asking her to spend the weekends off in his apartment, just the two of them

Both reminded themselves this wasn't meant to last, wasn't supposed to create one single string, but they both failed.

chances were, they would find each other again maybe on another holiday, another masters degree, PhD, Grand Prix; a part two, a proper goodbye to te September walks in heels she couldn't take off in order to not get a fine, pouting so Carlos would carry her on his back, as if they knew each other their entire lives.

it wasn't important now.

all they had left was what happened in Monaco.

-------------------------------------------------

translations <3

no sé si te acuerdes, de la vez que nos perdimos en septiembre: i don't know if you remember about the time we got lost in September.

tantas veces que tomé tres escalas para verte, creo que me acostumbré a tenerte como si no fuera a acabar: so many times i took three layovers just to see you, I think I got used to having you as if it was never gonna end.

yo sé que para volver ya es tarde, y nuestro plan nunca fue quedarse, no sé si habrá una segunda parte, pero si hay algo que nos quedó es todo lo que pasó en Mónaco: i know it's too late to come back and staying wasn't our plan, i don't know if there's gonna be a second time, but if something's that's left in us is everything that happened in Monaco.

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light Part 2 SNIPPET

A/N: THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOF READ I JUST WANTED TO QUICKLY GIVE YOU GUYS A SNIPPET SO I COULD CONTINUE WRITING JKSJDKJS THE FULL PART TWO IS COMING TOMORROW!!

//

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion. 

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another. 

And another. 

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes. 

“Sorry I’m a little late.” 

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you. 

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case. 

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence. 

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight. 

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.” 

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out? 

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip. 

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you. 

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.” 

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him. 

“Why not?” 

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real. 

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?” 

His wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.” 

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise. 

“First I’m pretty, now I’m cute… what’s next?” 

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you. 

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

[missmadelina1x1]

Happy Family...but wait... || Family Para with appearance by Apollo

@amy-the-surfer-tisdale @actual-apollo

The sound of Lottie's laughter made Maddie's eyes move towards the window of the kitchen and out at her family. Which was significantly bigger since the wedding. They'd decided to have a cook out at Amy and Maddie's home, inviting both sides of the family together was a genius idea on Amy's part and Maddie had been thrilled when her wife's parents had said yes. To have both their families at their home at one time was truly a blessing.

Her hazel hues found Lottie quickly as she scanned the yard. Drea had hold of her and was blowing bubbles that the little mutant ran as fast as she could to catch. A tiny spec caught her eye next and she saw Amy, readying her surf board for a day of light surfing as they all spent time together. People walked by periodically, always waving, but mostly leaving the family to their gathering.

Maddie grabbed the picnic basket and started toward outside, stopping just shy of Amy and putting an arm around the other woman's waist. They were both blissfully happy since the wedding, the honeymoon period still very much in effect. "Be careful out there, Ames." She said, kissing the other woman's lips. "I love you."

[roses-bah-garden]

Can we request a Level 4 Gerard Way factive please?

here you go!

a new flower has blossomed! 🌹

gerard way ... [LVL 4 PACK]

═════════════════

name(s) ;; gerard, gerry, cullen, soldier, klaus

pronouns ;; they/them, he/him

age ;; chrono47, perma30s

species ;; human (transZombie)

gender(s) ;; gender non-conforming, genderqueer

orientation(s) ;; bisexual, fem preference

role(s) ;; artist, black sheep

source ;; gerard way factive

sign-off(s) ;; – GW ; 💀🎤

═════════════════

appearance ;; 5'9" and average build. light skin. shaggy black hair. hazel eyes. dark eyeliner. dresses in eccentric clothing and costume. see below for picture.

personality ;; creative and philosophical. he has a lot of big ideas about the world. he is loyal, with a good sense of humour. they believe in equality, and don't care what bigots think.

═════════════════

likes ;; emo music, anything campy, writing, sweets, paranormal horror

dislikes ;; bigotry, boredom, writer's block, people who sugar coat, devil's advocates

possible front triggers ;; writing, my chemical romance songs, references to my immortal

═════════════════

cisid(s) ;; musician, emo, comic book writer, cisWhite

transid(s) ;; transSpecies (transZombie), transAutistic, transRunaway, perma30s

kink/fetish/para(s) ;; watersports, hemophilia, lactophilia

[the-transid-gacha]

hello! we're here to request an alter that would help us with sleeping and studying :D

Name(s): Barakat, Barrett, Vazha

Gender(s): Masc-alligned

Orientation(s): up to you

TransID(s): up to you

CisID(s): up to you

Pronoun(s): he/they + neos up to you

Species(s): owl

Age(s): 35+

Source(s): none

Role(s): whatever i asked for [idk the names]

Like(s): reading, fire, relaxing, hot chocolate, stars

Dislike(s): loud noises, annoying people

Personality trait(s): calm, serious, professional, mature

Face claim(s): n/a

Para(s): up to you

Names: Barakat, Barrett, Or Vazha

Genders: Boyflux, Xenoboy, & Demiboy

Orientations: Gay & Greyromantic

TransIDs: TransStudent, PermaStudent, TransNarcolepsy, TransSouthern, TransYellowEyes, TransNoEmpathy, TransIntersex, & TransAlbino

CisIDs: Straight A student, Honor roll, OCD, Glasses, Reader, Comfy clothing only, Brown hair, Hazel eyes, Medium long hair, & Hispanic

Pronouns: He/Him, They/Them, Hoot/Hoot's, Night/Night's, & Sleep/Sleep's

Species: Owl

Age: 35

Source: N/A

Roles: Sleeper & Studier

Likes: Reading, Fire, Relaxing, Hot chocolate, & Stars

Dislikes: Loud noises & Annoying people

Personality traits: Calm, Serious, Professional, & Mature

Paras: Echophilia, Musophilia, Crepusculaphilia, Nyctophilia, Dendrophilia, Mycophilia, & Bibliophilia

Appearance: (they didn't have owl wings T^T)

Here you go!!!!!!!!!!!

-Nina

[nevigheden]

DERYA PINAR AK? Não! É apenas HAZAL NARKISSA EVIGHEDEN, ela é filha de ÉRIS do CHALÉ 30 e tem 92 ANOS. A TV Hefesto informa no guia de programação que ela está no NÍVEL III por estar no Acampamento há 9 ANOS, sabia? E se lá estiver certo, KISSA é bastante SOLÍCITA mas também dizem que ela é DISSIMULADA. Mas você sabe como Hefesto é, sempre inventando fake news pra atrair audiência.

Recognize that I could bе the eye, the eye of the storm.” — biografia completa

And they nicknamed her ‘The Bolter’”. — conexões

resumo

Vinda diretamente de uma vingança de Nêmesis, a filha de Éris nasceu em novembro de 1931, com sangue da discórdia sendo misturado ao de um general importante dos Estados Unidos. Hazel Narkissa Evigheden era uma criança doce e delicada. Cresceu com sua meio-irmã, filha da própria deusa que causou seu nascimento, sendo educadas por uma cadete militar que se compadeceu por elas. Desde pequena chamada de Kissa, a menina era doce e gentil, seu jeito meigo era conhecido por arrebatar os corações dos soldados de seu pai, os controlando silenciosamente. Assim que sua irmã foi tirada de si, levada para treinamentos e experimentos, a doce Kissa passou a demonstrar seu próprio caráter. Controlando os homens a seu redor, a menina fez de tudo para a ser levada até uma das salas onde sua irmã era torturada, enlouquecendo seu torturador com um sorriso e piscar de olhos. Seu pai, percebendo que não somente tinha uma, mas duas armas em mãos, separou as meninas e passou a usar ambas assim que o país entrou na Segunda Guerra. Enquanto Nyra era usada em batalhas, Kissa foi designada ao projeto The Bolter, onde a criança era colocada em locais estratégicos para colher informações e segredos dos inimigos.

Vendo o sofrimento das meninas, a deusa Nêmesis recolheu ambas e as escondeu sob a proteção do Cassino e Hotel Lótus, onde permaneceram por décadas. Enquanto Deyanira estava totalmente perdida e quebrada, pelos horrores que viu e causou na guerra, sua irmã Narkissa era o completo oposto. Inteligente, agitada, sagaz e muito curiosa, Kissa passou seus anos no hotel apenas estudando: tudo e todos. Muito comunicativa, a garotinha de treze anos, sorriso doce e olhos meigos, colhia informações e segredos, como na guerra, se deliciando em acessar os piores pecados das pessoas. Foram recolhidas pela Caçada e levadas para o Acampamento Meio-Sangue, onde ambas foram muito bem acolhidas. Porém, Nyra precisou de tratamento com curandeiros para conseguir rever sua mente quebrada, enquanto sua irmã Narkissa tentava ajudar através de seu próprio poder. Foi em uma dessas sessões que foi reclamada por Éris, ganhando assim uma adaga de sua progenitora e que carrega consigo. Após a recuperação de sua irmã, Narkissa passou a treinar estratégias para conseguir ir em missões e foi apenas em uma, onde, por ter seus pecados aflorados, traiu seu grupo e tentou roubar o artefato que foram em busca. Foi enviada de volta ao camp e se tornou persona non grata, não confiável, não bem vinda em missões e confidências importantes.

personalidade

Narkissa é uma jovem em sua versão de vinte e dois anos e mente de noventa. Como filha da deusa da discórdia, se alimenta de fofocas e confusões, adorando todo o caos que acontece com e entre os campistas. Seu rosto e jeito meigos são apenas uma casca, uma faceta que utiliza para se infiltrar e conseguir o que quer. É extremamente solícita, afinal, precisa que a vejam com bons olhos novamente. Pode ser facilmente controlada por seus próprios pecados e sentimentos, os sentindo em escala maior do que os mortais normais. É manipuladora, dissimulada, não segue moral ou tem escrúpulos. Faz qualquer coisa para atingir seus objetivos, e faz isso enquanto mantém a pose de alguém gentil e compreensiva.

poder — CONTROLE DO PECADO

Como filha da Deusa da Discórdia, Narkissa tem profunda ligação a sentimentos considerados ruins ou disruptivos, principalmente os que tangem ao que conhecemos como os sete pecados capitais. Os Pecados Capitais têm como objetivo criar a discórdia e o caos, alterando a ordem do ambiente e as emoções de quem os sente. Desta forma, a filha de Éris consegue ter acesso aos piores vícios e pecados de pessoas ao seu redor, não somente os sentindo como conseguindo ampliar o pior pecado que encontrar no indivíduo, em uma escala que o faça esquecer completamente de tudo ao redor para realizar o pecado a que foi induzido, enlouquecendo a mente acessada, caso não seja interrompida. Em locais tomados por discórdia, seu poder pode resultar na morte imediata ou insanidade praticamente irreparável da vítima. Em contrapartida, também é afetada por seus próprios pecados, os sentindo em escala maior do que o restante.

arma — ΚΑΛΛΙΣΤΗΙ, Kallisti

Presenteada por sua Mãe no ato de reclamação, adaga de fio duplo em bronze celestial, 36 cm, com punho em rubi vermelho-maçã, pomo de ouro no formato de uma maçã, e bainha em couro vermelho. Na lâmina, a palavra ΚΑΛΛΙΣΤΗΙ - A Mais Bela, em tradução livre - está gravada também em ouro, remetendo à original Thi Kallisti, a maçã que originou a Guerra de Tróia.

— Diferentemente de sua meio-irmã, conseguiu se adaptar à realidade dos tempos contemporâneos com facilidade, apesar de as vezes falar como uma anciã;

— É extremamente estratégica e ótima em planejamentos de missões e batalhas, afinal consegue pensar nos cenários mais caóticos e ardilosos possíveis;

— Por estar presa muito tempo no Acampamento, costuma causar pequenas discórdias para seu bel prazer, alegando tédio;

— Consegue disfarçar suas reais intenções apenas com seu rosto e jeito meigos, nunca perdeu a essência de menina ingênua, e a utiliza para mascarar o que sente;

— Odeia combates, lutas e afins. Desdenha dos treinamentos com armas e foge das aulas de lutas, prefere agir racionalmente e evitar qualquer conflito que a coloque em perigo iminente.

[ellissay-morningstar]

LFRP: Ellissay Morningstar

Basics –––– ✢

▌NICKNAMES: Elly ▌AGE: 25 ▌RACE: Half-Elf (Quel'dorei mother & Gilnean father. Void Elf in game) ▌GENDER: Female ▌SEXUALITY: Bisexual ▌MARITAL STATUS: Single ▌SERVER: Moon Guard

Physical Appearance –––– ♤

▌HAIR: Long Silver White ▌EYES: Blue Hazel ▌HEIGHT: 5'8 ▌BUILD: Athletic, Toned/Athletic ▌DISTINGUISHING MARKS: None ▌COMMON ACCESSORIES: Jeweled Dagger (usually hidden)

Personal –––– ♢

▌PROFESSION:  Huntress/For Hire ▌HOBBIES: Reading, Writing, Singing ▌LANGUAGES: Multilingual  ▌RESIDENCE: Wherever she is renting at the moment ▌BIRTHPLACE: - ▌RELIGION: None ▌FEARS: Losing what is left of her family

Relationships –––– ♡

▌Spouse: None ▌Children: None ▌Parents: Eclesia Morningstar, Grimsark Blakemore ▌Siblings: Her twin brothers, Damon and Eldon Blakemore ▌Other Relatives: Elutia Morningstar ▌Pets:  Two snow leopards, Nieves and Neva

disorganized / organized / in between close-minded / open-minded / in between Calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless /in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathetic / unemphatic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between leaning optimistic traditional/modern / in between Hard-working/lazy / in between cultured / un-cultured / in between loyal / disloyal / in between faithful / unfaithful / in between

Possible Hooks –––– ♦

▌ Huntress for hire. She takes on contracts to hunt and/or kill creatures that are wrecking havocs on villages or upsetting the balance of nature.

▌For hire-other. Following in her mother's footsteps, she takes on contract work in gathering intelligence and taking out possible targets at her discretion.

▌She enjoys a good drink and can be found at a tavern or bar especially during the weekend late nights. She also enjoys dancing and can possibly be found at local clubs and/or parties.

▌-she is a brand new character that is still in the works of me figuring her out. Any suggestions for a starter for role play is always welcomed.

PLEASE NOTE: I currently do most if not all of my RP in discord. That information can be obtained by messaging me on tumblr in ask or messenger.

What I’m looking for –––– ♥

▌RP partners/Friendship ▌I’m willing to do pre-established ships mainly past relationships, family, old friends, enemies, past business partners. As long as it is talked out and agreed on ahead of time.  ▌Open communication about the RP at all times. ▌RP in discord with possible in-game at a later date ▌Looking for somebody who doesn’t mind if I tag them in posts about our characters with gifs, quotes, and such.

Out of Character –––– ♣

▌I am an older writer/roleplayer, 40+, and when doing NSFW (including erotica, violence, etc) topics, I prefer the writer to be 25+. SFW - 18+ ▌I mostly do para writing, but it can and will vary in length. I have no expectation on length, If you write a line or a chapter, I am good either way. ▌IC and OOC separate at all times. I am not my character, and she is not me. This is very important to me. Please do not take OOC into RP and vice versa. ▌I can always be contacted via Tumblr ask/messenger or Discord, if you have my discord.

Contact Information –––– ✰

Tumblr @ellissay-morningstar

Carrd: In the works

Discord -  Please request. 

In game - Ellissay on Moon Guard

[headmate-lab]

Hi ! could we get a warrior cat introject of your choice? any transid and paras are fine

we apologise if anything is incorrect or does not match the character. we do not know anything about this source.

Name(s): Sandstorm

Age: 10

Species: Cat

Gender(s): Female ,, Agrocutecatgender , Orangecatgender , Softcatgender , Sillycatgender , Warriorcatgender , Catgendercollector .

Pronouns: she/her , fur/furs/furself , meow/mews/meowself , mew/meow/rowr/rowrs/meowself , paw/paws/pawself , purr/purrs/purrself .

Sexuality: Bisexual pref for men, Asexual

Sources: warrior cats

Role: Protector

TransIDS: Transgingercat , trans worr ior , transheight , transfanges , transcatpaws , transclaws , transage , transeyecolorgeeen , trace .

CisIDS: autistic , adhd , Hyperesthesia , hazel eyes

Paras: auto 🐾 .

[ortegadorra]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀oh,  hazel  eyes. . .

já  mirou  olhos  da  cor  de  oliva ?  já  foi  arrastado  por  olhos  da  cor  da  terra  após  chuva ?  já  nadou  em  olhos  da  cor  de  avelã ? 

gong-pujol.  não  sendo  ainda  os,  literalmente,  únicos  nobres  de  andorra  -  emanuel  ainda  tem  sua  mãe  -,  são  certamente  os  três  mais  bem  conhecidos  e  falados.  são  perfeitos.  são  carismáticos.  são  tão  bondosos.  e  ah,  aqueles  olhos!  certamente,  o  maior  tesouro  de  um  gong-pujol:  os  olhos  que  mudam  de  cor. 

verdes  e  azuis?  overrated.  enxergue  ouro  quando  um  gong-pujol  olhá-lo  da  varanda,  sob  a  luz  do  sol  da  manhã.  enxergue  o  verde  escuro  como  musgo  ou  oliva  quando  um  gong-pujol  olhá-lo  sob  a  luz  artificial  que  ilumina  a  sala  durante  a  tarde.  enxergue  a  terra  fofa  e  úmida,  quando  um  gong-pujol  olhá-lo  sob  a  luz  da  lua.  

quais  eram  as  chances  de  pai  e  mãe  -  de  etnias  tão  diferentes  -  não  só terem  os  mesmo  olhos  que  contam  tantas  histórias,  mas  passarem  para  sua  prole  o  poder  de  continua-las? 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀. . . that’s  when  you'll  know:  that  one  is  a  gong-pujol.

comte / conde  emanuel  gong-pujol;  hoje  com  seus  cinquenta  e  seis  anos  de  idade,  vive  e  curte  um  casamento  de  quase  trinta.  se  já  traiu  no  meio  disso,  fez  muito  bem,  pois  nem  mesmo  esse  narrador  ouviu  falar.  e  me  atrevo  a  dizer:  ele  quem  se  apaixonou  depois,  mas  se  apaixonou  pesado!  meteu-se  a  aprender  coreano  só  por  causa  de  evelyn  -  hoje,  entende  tudo  da  língua,  embora  ainda  tem  sotaque  pesado  demais  para  ser  facilmente  compreendido!  não  é  como  se  importasse  para  o  público,  contudo,  que  idioma  ele  fala  ou  deixa  de  falar:  emanuel  tem  o  dom  de  se  comunicar  sem  usar  a  voz;  são  os  olhares,  os  gestos,  os  sorrisos.  “ seria  um  rei  perfeito ”  frase  que  nunca  saiu  da  opinião  do  povo  de  andorra.   [  fc:  mads  mikkelsen  ]

comtessa  /  condessa  evelyn “ siyeon ” gong-pujol;  hoje  com  seus  cinquenta  e   quatro  anos  de  idade,  não  se  arrepende  de  ter  deixado  sua  família  nobre  na  coréia  do  sul.  não  foi  la  muito  bem  vista,  não. . .  deveria  estar  casada  com  um  coreano  -  a  relação  dela  com  a  família  não  é  das  mais  genuínas,  pois  o  lado  de  lá  adora  meter  um  sorrisinho  de  arrependido,  entretanto,  devem  bem  meter  a  língua  por  trás!  ela  conheceu  emanuel  em  um  intercâmbio  e  se  apaixonou  primeiro.  achou  um  mico  o  querido  tentando  falar  coreano,  mas  reconheceu  os  esforços.  completamente  diferente  do  que  esperavam  das  mulheres  coreanas  (e  nobres) da  sua  época,  evelyn  tem  até  doutorado!  relações  internacionais  e  direito  são  sua  área,  e  embora  não  exerça,  não  para  de  se  atualizar.  assim  como  emanuel,  carrega  graciosidade  e  carisma  de  milhões!  aliás, aproveita  que  ela  está  em  uma  tour  sobre  o  livro  dela:  dizem  que  é  inspirador  a  oratória  da  mulher.  [  fc:  lee  young  ae  ]

their  prince /  ortega  gong-pujol;  o  maior  filho  de  mamãe  e  papai!  aí  tu  pensa:  deve  ser  um  nojo  quando  com  os  pais,  então.  não!  ele  é  nojo  só  com  vocês,  da  academia,  mesmo.  com  os  pais?  nossa,  você,  filho  de  família  disfuncional  teria  inveja  da  cumplicidade  e  união  dos  três!  não  são  a  perfeição,  mas  chegam  perto  do  que  uma  família  deveria  ser. . .  os  pais,  coitados,  são  não  fazem  ideia  do  que  o  filho  seria  capaz  de  fazer  afim  de,  no  futuro,  proporcionar  a  melhor  vida  para  eles;  a  vida  que  eles  sempre  mereceram.  [  fc:  seo  kang  joon  ]

[scotianostra]

The Scottish actor, playwright and singer Roddy McMillan was born on March 23rd 1923.

Born in Glasgow, Roddy McMillan was the son of parents from the Highlands. His mother was from Harris in the Outer Hebrides, and his farther from Ardnamurchan in Lochaber. The son of a docker, he was raised in a two-room tenement flat in the district of Anderston

He became interested in music at an early age, influenced by his relations who would come down from the Highlands to visit and sing folk songs. At the age of 8 or 9 he and his sister joined St Columba's Gaelic Choir in St Vincent Street, Glasgow, a junior choir numbering around 14 members. Two years later, after it folded, they joined the famous Glasgow Gaelic Music Association and would take part in the yearly concerts. Both experiences greatly widened McMillan's knowledge of Gaelic song.

He first experience acting was at school at the age of 13 and he went on to play in repertory for a number of years.

Upon leaving school he worked as an apprentice in a glass mirror works and, during the war years, he worked on aero engines for Rolls-Royce.

At the same time, at the age of 18, he joined the amateur Glasgow Unity Theatre, and after it developed a professional core he eventually became part of that and became a full-time actor. He then became a member of the Glasgow Citizens' Theatre Company. His first play, All in Good Faith, was given its premiere by his Citizens' colleagues when it opened on 6th April 1954.

McMillan was best-known, perhaps, for his role as Para Handy in The Vital Spark (seen here in this BBC picture with John Grieve, Walter Carr and Alex McAvoy) but his range extended far and wide.

After playing Para Handy, he specialised in dour, tough guy roles, the most famous of which was his portrayal of a Glasgow private eye in the BBC TV series The View from Daniel Pike, which won him the TV Personality of the Year award in 1972.

McMillan fought and overcame alcoholism, then gave support to help others through the problem. His leisure interests including folk singing.

He once had a role in a western, Chato’s Land, which was filmed in the south of Spain. Th film, directed by Michael Winner, starred Charles Bronson and Jack Palance. It wasn’t a challenging role, Roddy once commented in an interview that he learned, “the art of sitting in absolute silence at a roadside cafe, just watching the world go by”.

On July 9th 1979, not long after he had completed the recording of a second series of ITV's Hazell, McMillan suffered a heart attack in his Glasgow home and died in Glasgow Royal Infirmary, aged 56. He was survived by his wife, Jean, and two daughters.

McMillan's final work, in BBC Scotland's The Camerons, was broadcast two months later in September 1979.

One wee nugget of information I found out while researching Roddy’s life, was that he co-wrote the song Campbelltown Loch with Andy Stewart.

[aelinstrand]

With Tired Eyes, and Tired Minds.

Type: Drabble / Self Para.

Summary: Aelin returns home from work only to find that her life was exactly the same as she left it the day previous.

Aelin trudged wearily across the dusty, sun-scorched path that separated her trailer from her mother's. Her boots were scuffed and falling apart, and it wasn't like she could afford new ones. With each step she took, she kicked up small clouds of sand, approaching the sun-faded, cracked glass door of her mother's trailer. Hazel orbs felt heavy, like the second she sat down, she'd pass out. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her. It was the kind of heaviness that had settled into her very being these past few months. Each time she thought she was taking a step forward, the world had other thoughts. Other ideas.

The trailer park was quiet, save for the distant hum of a lawnmower and the occasional caw of a crow. The fact that anyone was tending to anything around here was enough to almost put her in shock. The park had suffered years of neglect, everything falling apart when the slightest wind blew.

Aelin had just finished her mid-day shift at the Outpost, and the world around her seemed to blur into a hazy, dreamlike state. Last night she'd been working on the street, collecting information and making sure her operations were running smoothly and she'd barely had time to catch her breath before she'd received that call from the jail, a call she couldn't ignore. She took care of her guys and hoped they'd do the same in return.

Until the money had been taken. That'd thrown her life on its head. Again.

With a shaky, exhausted hand, Aelin inserted her key into the rusty lock, the worn metal biting into her palm as she turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that was nothing new. She shouldn't have expected anything different. But she always hoped. No matter how much older she got, no matter how much she told herself 'she knew better', it never made a different. The sadness and disappointment were always the same. Bottles of cheap vodka lay scattered across the grimy linoleum floor, that looked like it hadn't their contents spilled and mingled into a sickly, transparent puddle. A full ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, their acrid scent filling the air, her nose wrinkling instantly.

Aelin's gaze traveled further into the dimly lit trailer, where her mother lay sprawled on the threadbare couch. It was only 1:30 pm, but Rose was already passed out, her greying hair tangled and her face etched with lines of exhaustion and despair. Her snores were loud and raspy, a stark contrast to the serenity of her unconsciousness.

As always, Aelin's heart sank as she took in the sight. It had been like this for as long as she could remember. Even when she was just a child, she had been the one to pick up the pieces, to clean up the mess, to become the mother. Sometimes she prayed someone would look after her. Someone would see the daily struggle and actually ask if she needed help. Because she did.

With a silent groan, Aelin shook her head and was quick to kick the door shut behind her, not wanting anyone to witness this scene of degradation. Aelin tossed her keys onto the cluttered kitchen counter, eyes closing at the rattle as she prayed it wouldn't stir her mother. That was the last thing she needed.

Aelin's hands trembled from a lack of sleep and the emotional toll of the past few days. No matter how hard she tried, it felt like she was losing. Running a hand down her weary face, she took the room in once more before she began doing what she always did.

Cleaning the place up.

A trash bag in one hand, she knelt down to pick up the empty vodka bottles, her movements methodical. The sound of glass clinking together echoing through the small space. Aelin couldn't help but wonder if Rose even remembered those promises anymore. To get clean, to try harder. Empty promises were her speciality.

Aelin's mind drifted back to her own childhood, to the nights she'd spent waiting for her mother to come home, to the tears she'd shed, and the hope that they'd escape as a family. That had never happened, and Echo had seen that. The fights had only gotten worse as they aged until she was but a ghost to this family. She had grown up too fast, shouldering responsibilities that no child should have to bear. And now, at thirty-one, she found herself doing the same thing she had always done.

Once two hours had passed, she found herself dropping onto the sofa with a thud, looking at the semi-clean place. Her mother hadn't stirred once. She'd had to check if she was breathing a couple of times out of fear.

"Can't keep doing this, mom," Aelin whispered, more to herself. "I don't know how much longer I can take this." And she meant it, but she did every time she said that. Somehow, she always woke up the next day, always made it to work.

It was an unbreakable cycle.

And Aelin prayed for the first time in her life, right there, on her mother's grubby couch. Prayed for reprieve, for a chance at making something of herself. For her mother to love her enough to stay clean.

[skittidyne]

oliver meeting a new friend(?)

here is a NON deleted scene from how to 2! oliver is running late for dinner plans and encounters a strange would-be client...

Oliver is running later than he likes due to that stupid med-mal deposition running long. The delivery person already texted him—twice, the second letting him know that they were dropping it off at the front desk—and reception had called up to his floor just as he grabbed his jacket and bolted for the stairs. 

He’s out of breath by the time he hits the ground floor, but it’s good cardio, and he’s been sitting all day. He’s not built for the sedentary lifestyle. Alright, with video conferencing taking off now that most old guys halfway understand how to work a computer, there will be plenty of sitting in his lawyerly future, but Legally Blonde had told him there’d also be a lot of standing and pacing and pointing in dramatic trials, too. He has to get out of internship hell and into actual associate territory first, and he realistically knows that he has a way to go before being trial attorney for anything, but it’s still on his Dreams Of A Better Future list. (The one picked out by his mother, at any rate.) 

Oliver rushes to the front desk; he’s late enough that the second shift receptionist has taken over, and he normally doesn’t deal with her, so he stalls on her name. 

There’s a short woman ahead of him in conversation order, tapping her nails on the polished marble desk, giving him time to remember the common courtesy of his coworker’s name. Nevermind that it’s a stupid huge firm and most attorneys put their noses up at support staff. Oliver isn’t gonna be that guy. 

“I don’t want to go to the police or Peoples Law Firm, as I told you,” the short woman nearly growls, shoulders hunching up around her ears. She’s in a bulky, beige coat and a knitted beanie covers most of her hair, but from what he can see, it’s dyed strangely. Sort of streaked, but sort of like patches of color. Must have been hell at the salon. 

“Ma’am, I am not sure where to refer you to a consultation if you cannot give me more details of what you’re asking,” the poor receptionist replies. Her eyes flick up to Oliver beseechingly. 

He may not remember her name, maybe it starts with an I or something, but he cannot ignore a cry for help when he sees one. “Excuse me, miss, is there anything I can help with? I’m an attorney here,” Oliver smoothly interrupts. 

The short woman—she hardly reaches his bicep, woah—turns and looks up at him with the prettiest hazel eyes he’s ever seen. They’re huge, almond-shaped, and practically gold. Her face is round, nose cute and snub, skin flawless and not giving any clue as to her age. 

And she clearly has no fucking clue why she’s here, because she doesn’t ask what department he’s from or what sort of lawyer he is, and instead imperiously demands, “I need help finding someone who does not have current legal records to track.” 

Oliver and the receptionist exchange a look. He hides his bewilderment as best he can. “Well, uh, okay. That sort of sounds more like a job for the police.” 

“I don’t want to involve the police, or the Peoples Law Firm,” the woman maintains. 

Oliver has no clue why she insists on that second part. It’s a big firm in the city, bigger even than theirs, but does a lot more weird shit like what she’s suggesting. Would their lawyers help find a missing person? Hell, they probably would. 

But not here. 

“Let me get your name and number, and I’ll pass it along to the para who handles incoming cases. He can give you more information when he gives you a call back,” Oliver lies. He will take her name and number, and might even toss it to the paralegal pool in case someone wants to bark up this tree, but he honestly cannot fathom why she would come to a law firm for a missing person. 

With no current legal records? What an odd addition. If nothing else, it’s gossip fodder. 

The woman stands on the tips of her toes to reach for the notepad and pen the receptionist slides over. Then, she hesitates. 

“I need information, not a call back,” she says. 

“Unfortunately, neither of us can give you in-depth information about a prospective case—your best bet would be to leave your information and have another of our staff contact you,” the receptionist hastens to say. 

“I don’t have a working phone number,” the short woman primly replies. 

Oliver’s turn to give the poor receptionist a beseeching look; a ghost of a frown passes over her Customer Service expression, and she rolls her chair to the side far side of her pen to retrieve a huge plastic tote stuffed full with brown paper food bags. “This delivery arrived for you earlier,” she says like she doesn’t know that’s the only reason he’s bothering them both. 

Oliver’s stomach growls as he takes the food. He’d ordered a ton because Isaac had finally given in and agreed to a night in to watch Black Butler with Sam. It’s the perfect opportunity, plus a fun plan, except he’s already running an hour late. The smell of spices makes his eyes water in the best way; he likes spicy Indian, Isaac does not, and they both agreed that they ought to test Sam’s tastebuds. Time for the demon to run the gauntlet. 

The short woman sneezes like she’s allergic to spiciness. It’s as adorable and as small as she is. 

The receptionist holds out the tissue box with a polite, “Bless you.” The short woman stares at her with those huge eyes like she’s never been blessed-you before in her life. 

“How about this,” Oliver says, moving the bag away from her to his other arm, “I can give you my work cell, and you can contact me at any time during the next few business days, and I’ll connect you personally to someone who can help you.” 

He does not yet know who he could foist this onto—Brad handles incoming med-mal cases, Barb handles matrimony, and he doesn’t actually know other departments’ dedicated paras for incoming shit—but he can’t leave the poor receptionist (is her name Isabelle?) alone with a belligerent not-client. The office manager has left for the day and he doesn’t want this to escalate to needing security. 

“I suppose that would work,” the woman sighs like this is a great ordeal. (It is, but not on her end.) Her nose wrinkles again, but she doesn’t follow up with another sneeze. Oliver wonders if Sam is going to sneeze over the food, too. 

“Here, sorry,” Oliver mutters and tries to keep himself bodily between her and the food. He scribbles down his number on the pad of paper. “Not important enough for my own business card, but I can help you tomorrow, or whenever is convenient for you to call. You can even leave a voicemail tonight. Oh—and my name is Oliver.” He does not include his surname, because while she doesn’t seem to know a single thing about law firms, it doesn’t take a genius to see his last name on the building. 

“Kirara,” she replies and takes the whole pad of paper without ripping the top note off. 

“I look forward to hearing from you, but if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I really have to get going.” He scoots around Kirara (what an unusual name, sounds anime), still keeping the bag away from her, and waves to the night receptionist. 

Irina. That’s her name. 

To Oliver’s unending chagrin, Kirara follows him out into the cold night. He’s lucky there isn’t a wind to fight him. (He knows his hair gel, even after a long day, can withstand about anything, thankfully.) 

“The cops would probably be a better idea if you’re missing someone,” Oliver comments, fumbling a moment with his jacket. 

Kirara does not move to hail a cab, but stuffs her hands—and the entire pad of paper—in her big coat’s pockets. After a moment, she pulls her knitted beanie even lower on her head. “The police won’t help in this case, and I can’t readily go to them.” 

“Is there… something else going on?” He waits with bated breath for the potential drama bomb. 

“She left, and I think she is what you call a minor.” 

“Dude, just a runaway?” he mutters before he can stop himself. Kirara squints up at him and he pastes on a smile while reminding himself to stay in fancy lawyer mode for a little while longer. Even if he should have been free ages ago. He’s surprised Isaac isn’t sending bitchy texts every five seconds yet. “If there are extenuating circumstances, we can discuss options with you.” 

“As you said. At this point, I’m willing to try almost anything,” Kirara grumbles. She casts another bright-eyed look up at him. Her eyes remind him of what little he saw of Christine. “I will contact you, after I figure out a better way to explain the circumstances. I can pay very well. You’re welcome.” 

“Uh. Thanks?” 

But before he can stress that he will not be the one working with her, she marches off into the early evening. 

He’s had to deal with weirder clients, though, so he shakes his head, mentally shakes it off, and hails a ride for himself. 

[clndstn-headmates]

can i get a jschlatt (cc) factive? i want a lot of transharmful (ex. transterrorist) IDs ^_^

yes, sure thing!!! hope u like him, feel free 2 change anything

-Mod Andrew

NAMES: Schlatt, JSchlatt

AGE: 24

PRONOUNS: he/him

GENDERS: cis man

SEXUALITY: omnisexual, arospec

SOURCE: real life

SPECIES: human

ROLE: persecutor

TRANSIDS: transharmful, transhateful, transterrorist, snuffcreate, transabuser, transAmericanPsycho, transaxemurderer, transbully, transcheater, transcarjacker, transcriminal, transcyberstalker, transdoxxer, transdrunkdriver, transgrооmer, transmassshooter, transoffender, transtoxicmasculinity, transtraitor, transdictator, transhorns, transramhorns

CISIDS: white, brown hair, hazel eyes, low empathy, NPD, ASPD, neurodivergent, ADHD, bipolar, Youtuber, podcaster, former MCYT, egotistical, charismatic, popular

PARAS: aptophile (🍬), sadist (👊)

APPEARANCE:

[roses-bah-garden]

Heyyyy back with another duo, could I get a pair of level fours, Markiplier and Crankgameplays particularly from/with the vibes of Unus Annus?

here you go ♡♡

a new flower has blossomed! 🌹

duos, unus annus ... [LVL 4 PACK]

══════════════════

name(s) ;; mark, annus, markiplier, edward, victor, tartarus

pronouns ;; he/him, corpse/corpses, death/deaths, one/ones, dead/deads, sleep/sleeps

age ;; 30

species ;; human (transdeity)

gender(s) ;; cismasculine, vulture hoarder, mortugender, weddimortus, lykh, Deathgender

orientation(s) ;; straight, bicurious

role(s) ;; anesthetic, night guard

source ;; unus annus

sign-off(s) ;; Annus 🕰️

══════════════════

appearance ;; 5'10" and muscular build. tan skin. shaggy wavy black hair. dark brown eyes. strong masculine features. always wearing a pristine white suit. see below for picture.

personality ;; impulsive and nihilistic. he believes that if no one lives forever, then we should live wildly now. corpse is funny and loyal, especially to ethan. sleep's a creative and spontaneous individual.

══════════════════

likes ;; corvids, receiving gifts/"offerings", trying new things

dislikes ;; giving up (or seeing others give up), insomnia

possible front triggers ;; unus annus references/illegal clips, insomnia, being "summoned" (asked for)

══════════════════

cisid(s) ;; youtuber, cisWasian, popular, cisADHD

transid(s) ;; transspecies (death deity), transdead, whiteamian, transcoldfingers

kink/fetish/para(s) ;; masochism, hypnophilia, autozeusophilia

══════════════════

name(s) ;; ethan, unus, crankgameplays

pronouns ;; he/him, they/them, ce/cem

age ;; 23

species ;; human (transdeity)

gender(s) ;; cismasculine, demiboy

orientation(s) ;; bisexual

role(s) ;; antidepressant, destressor

source ;; unus annus

sign-off(s) ;; Unus 🕰️

══════════════════

appearance ;; 5'8" and thinly built. pale skin with acne. short dark brown hair. hazel eyes. youthful features. always wearing a pristine black suit. see below for picture.

personality ;; excitable and chaotic. very loyal, especially to mark. he's somewhat of a golden retriever man; kind and clueless. ce is very physically and verbally affectionate. he is creative and funny.

══════════════════

likes ;; flowers, socializing, cozy games, learning to cook/bake

dislikes ;; pessimism, when things don't turn out, violent games

possible front triggers ;; unus annus references/illegal clips, heavy stress, depressive episodes, being "summoned" (asked for)

══════════════════

cisid(s) ;; youtuber, cisWhite, popular, cisADHD

transid(s) ;; transgoth, transspecies (life deity), transdyslexic, blackamian, transglowingfingers, permastupid

kink/fetish/para(s) ;; odaxelagnia, autosomnophilia, feminization

[the-transid-gacha]

hi hi !! is there any way for us to get an alter that is a trans masc calico cat , any transIDS , and any paras as long as they're not harmful ( no zoo either / nm ) , everything else is up to you :33

hopefully it's not too stressful !!

- @strawberrysystemx3

Names: Cal, Cameron (Cam), Or Fin

Gender: Transmasc

Orientation: Gay

TransIDs: TransVitiligo, TransHeterochromia, TransInsomnia, TransNarcolepsy, TransBrown&GreenEyes, TransCollared, TransPathologicalLiar, TransSemiVerbal, TransKleptomaniac, & TransIED (Intermittent explosive disorder)

CisIDs: Grunge fashion, Calico cat, Hazel eyes, Freckles, Tall, Erotomania, OCD, Dermatillomania, Ginger & white hair, Scars (from skin picking), & Autistic

Pronouns: He/Him, They/Them, It/It's, & Cat/Cat's

Species: Calico cat hybrid

Age: 17

Source: N/A

Roles: Architect & Social Alter

Paras: Formaphilia, Vigiliaphilia, Traumaphilia, Peiramaphilia, Timophilia, Jeuliephilia, Plushophilia, Objectophilia, & Odaxelagnia

Appearance:

Here you go-

-Vex

[ofwindydays]

Advancements in Science Self Para

December 15 ,2034

As it was snowing heavily there was a look in Nova's eyes. She stared at the prompt

What would you consider an advancement in surgical science not yet discovered?

Nova pondered her hazel eyes shimmering. Anathestic is too generic. Artifical limbs has been done. Nova paused...how about Artifical blood. Nova hummed as she began to type.

Artifical blood would be an advancement not yet achieved. Considering the countless lives lost due to blood loss, perhaps an artifical substitute can be used. Not only would it save lives but perhaps be used for those who don't need blood.

As Nova paused to grab some coffee. It might actually be something. She continued to type.

To create a blood substitute would need the following a fat, a serum, and a liquid to carry the neccessary minerals. It would need to be substances that can satiate the human body. One would argue this is playing with the laws against nature. I would argue the need for replacements where anatomy fails should be considered.

Nova adjusted her chair nodding and reading other her paper. She continued to wite everything she could adding resources as well.Nova thought she onto something. As she printed out all 25 pages of her paper. There was a small smile of sastification as she finished. She was hopefully passing.

But she couldn't help but look at her paper at her bedside table.As if she witten something she shouldn't have. Nova shook her head as she fell asleep.

Whats the worse that can happen