#star darlings scarlet

[wendyius666]

Pink Haired Characters #3

[m00nb04rd5]

Scarlet from Star Darlings pls!

Scarlet (Star Darlings)

[the-starry-skye]

roommates leona and scarlet requested by anon

[autistic-hc-bracket]

Round 1: Scarlet vs Rodolfo Parra

The Submission Form (character submissions are only open until I finish posting round 1!)

Feel free to reblog with propaganda or submit some to me through asks or whatever etc :3

[enchantedfails]

Sage: What did you get Cassie for their birthday? Libby: I got her a Glowfur. Sage: Really? Me too! Scarlet: I also got her a Glowfur. Leona: Looks like we had the same idea. Libby: Gemma, please tell me you didn't get Cassie a Glowfur as well! Gemma: … I got her a Glowfur. *𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓* Cassie, in her room surrounded by Glowfurs: This is the best birthday ever!

[kiirostarz]

❝Tearin' up the past, don't want your negativity Choosin' different thoughts so you'll never get to me You won't get to me Any kind of stone that you throw I'm just gonna make into gold I'm a girl on fire, flyin' higher Than you ever dreamed❞ Star Darlings (2015)

[willsperotruther]

spot the difference is getting real hard these days

(they're all so similar in my head please don't fight me on this i'll cry /hj)

[lovelyllamasblog]

Some fairytale based stories!

Pic 1: Kilala Reno (Kilala Princess 2005-2008, 2020)

Pic 2: Erica Ange and Sylphy (Kilala Princess)

Pic 3: Lonnie (Descendants 1, Wicked World, and 2)

Pic 4: Najma Viper and younger Marja Felmier (Twisted Wonderland)

Pic 5-6: Agatha and Sophie (School for Good and Evil, books and movie)

Pic 7-8: Star Darlings

Pic 7: Sage, Libby, Leona, Scarlet, Vega, and Cassie

Pic 8: Adora, Astra, Clover, Gemma, Tessa, and Piper

Pic 9: Winx Club first fairy forms (Charmix) (Bloom, Stella, Flora, Musa, Tecna, and Aisha/Layla)

[roguestorm]

I understand why they chose Clea over Victoria Bentley; as generic as Silver Age Clea is, her story does have a decent hook (woman from another dimension who defies her overlord to aid Doctor Strange). However, I do think that Victoria could also have had a decent story (used by Mordo like a puppet against Strange, her powers never fully her own), and I also think that Doctor Strange would be a better comic if there was more than one woman in it. Like what if they had to admit that not all women have identical personalities.

[pissfizz]

I have made a purchase

[hcrctic]

tag dump! ship edition

[buryustogether]

alastor, who comes back to hotel from an overlord meeting with a twitch in his eye and a white-knuckled grasp around his mic, pouring off waves of irritation that leaves the others scrambling.

alastor, who says nothing but a sharp crackle of your name, a silent command for you to come with him as he makes his way to the room he claimed as his own.

alastor, who is deathly silent in the elevator, only tapping his claws against his mic as he watches the floors pass, his other hand resting heavy on the small of your back.

alastor, who bolts the bedroom door shut and commands you with a single word. “strip.”

alastor, whose eyes grow hungrier and whose smile grows wider and bigger the more you undress for him.

alastor, who fucks you so roughly against the wall first that you swear you see stars as he ruts up into your heat like his life depends on it.

alastor, whose claws dig into the delicate flesh of your skin as he rams into you, and the smell and taste of your blood only pulls him deeper into his daze of lust-fueled fury.

alastor, who rasps and crackles absolute filth into your ear as he maneuvers your knees up to your chest on his bed so he can fuck into you deeper. “such an obedient pet for me, aren’t you, darling? always so good and willing. i think that deserves a reward, don’t you?”

alastor, who allows you to cum first (and licks it up with that long, silver tongue of his) before using you to chase after his own pleasure.

alastor, whose antlers grow and eyes redden further as he approaches his climax, baring his teeth to leave a bite mark in the juncture of your shoulder and laving his tongue over the blood that trickles from the wound.

alastor, who buries himself as deep as he can possibly go inside you before reaching his end and collapsing on top of you as you feel his antlers shrink back and his chest heave with breath.

alastor, who relaxes slowly and even hums a soft, barely-there purr as you gently rub at his pointed ears and caress his scarlet tresses.

alastor, who allows himself just a few minutes of silence before getting himself up and dressed to run a bath for you.

alastor, who forces you to eat the stew he made for you after, even if you’re not hungry. “eat up, my dear. i can’t have my darling doll too weak to take me next time, hmm?”

alastor, who smiles to himself for days when he sees the bruise from his bite mark poking from the edge of your collar.

[m00nb04rd5]

Astra from Star Darlings pls!

Astra (Star Darlings)

[piinkiheartz]

Scarlet from Star darlings has the best design compared to her friends and even the main character!! I mean look at her!! And don't tell me that she isn't a futch sapphic

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for how hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

extra; what if darling was a prosecutor instead?

[anantaru]

thigh riding with diluc while he’s working on his office on dawn winery 🤤 he’s busy with work but he could never deny his darling some pleasure

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ cw. thigh riding, touch starved diluc <3, fem! reader

scarlet hair tousled, red cheeks resembling that of strawberries and a shirt with a couple buttons opened, all accentuated by a sheen lace of sweat around diluc's sharp collarbones as he exhales shakily into his chest.

parted lips, lidded eyes, the master of the dawn winery certainly believed that in the beginning, this was a good idea, not to mention easy— barely a sweat, right? he thought to himself, no work he had to actually participate in while you're the one showing him how your soft folds press and drag against his clothed thigh, your whines octaves higher the more you glazed your wet pussy over the aching fabric.

and you press forward, press back, arch your back as he looks at you, his face tilted to the side when you pull your shirt up to reveal your tits and erected nipples, all the while beginning to play with one mound— squeezing and squeezing your breast so filthily that he shamelessly moans as his dick throbbed in his pants.

he was thinking that fuck; i want to fuck you, fuck you so much, want to flip you against the table and pull my dick inside you so hard, it will make you see stars baby it will.

yet of course, diluc, your sweet diluc, always angelic and gentleman alike— wasn't one to choose those particular words, they weren't in his vocabulary.

perhaps, they were barely used, yet they were there.

you wrap your arms around his neck and enjoy the rough treatment of fabric on your sore folds, tits messily pressed into his chest now, eyes glimmering with desire to cum.

diluc thought to himself that what would be the odds, if he would just skip his paperwork and sufficiently stretch your hole like you deserve before he spreads white strings of his cum onto your sore walls— didn't someone once claim that having something hot and sticky plastered onto something sore would help aid against the soreness? or maybe he just made that up right now.

dilic's thigh desperately changes angles, nudges up and helps you prolong your sweet pleasure as two warm palms graze at your hips, keeping you steady on his thigh before he groans again— sounding absolutely desperate, almost like a pathetic man, so touch starved that it killed him inside.

your toes curl when he rose his leg up to faintly brush over your clit, until he could see your sticky fluids mess up his pants. it's so hot, no, scrap that, you were, you were the hottest, most beautiful, fuck, he cannot find words to describe you.

not only that, but after a while, the master of the dawn winery was on the brink of turning wrecked and feral— diluc now, started touching himself helplessly, fondling with the obvious bulge in his pants while watching you. always watching you.

he grinds needily into his palm until the hot splash of you cumming all over his thigh made him, at the same time, batter his cum inside his messed up boxers, wet strands and ropes of his seed, showing a wet splotch imbedded into the dark fabric.

ah well, you know what comes next, don't you? because diluc cannot work like that? don't be silly. he might as well just make his filthy dream come true.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify