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rapha3liii · 8 months

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Abigail, Emily & Haley! (part 1 of my bachelorette art!)

these are just my personal headcanons, mostly in line with my fic! the surnames are just ones I chose myself because I think these gals deserve a little more character :) Image descriptions and in-image text/captions are provided below!

Leah, Penny and Maru are next! (will get to the dudes eventually)

Abigail Mercer:

20 years old attending online university for Anthropology

tall compared to most villagers, even taller than her parents!

nose and bridge piercing done in Zuzu city

hearts drawn on with eyeliner

tattoo of thorned rose

Sam's old denim jacket, she cut the sleeves off with craft scissors

Amethyst gem-set sword commissioned from Marlon, her parents still haven't found it...

Silver bangle gifted from her mother

belly button piercing done by Emily in Sebastians basement, she definitely didn't get an infection from it-

sword tattoo inspired by the first sword she held

usually accompanied by her fathers retired leather satchel, holding her flute case and cool rocks she finds

her fishnets are the only thing shes ever bought from Joja Online and her dad is still mad about it

second hand doc-martins because her parents refused to spend that much on shoes (I don't blame em...)

Emily Larson

26 years old and the towns resident tailor

always wearing contacts!

average height

has helix, ear lobe and vertical eyebrow piercings

Always changing her hairstyle and colour, but blue seems to stick for longer than most!

She regularly attends ren-faires all over the republic

made this miniature cape for Zuzu ren-faire and hasn't stopped wearing it since...

hoop earrings and favourite lipstick given to her by her girlfriend, Sandy!

Wears lots of rings

obsessed with lantern sleeves!

always has her Nazar pendant on!

Acrylic nails are done by her younger sister, Haley!

exclusively wears gold jewellery

hand tailored dress and shirt

shoes are bought from a vintage clothes boutique in Grampleton

always wears her favourite ruffled petticoat under skirts

Haley Larson

18 years old and newly graduated from highschool, now a freelance photographer

shorter (and cuter!) than most

always wearing baby blue eyeshadow

shell necklace gifted to her by Alex, her best friend

cute face mole!

always wearing her grandma's bracelet

always using extra blush and face shimmer!

flowery blouse made by her sister, Emily

loves wearing mini-skirts, shorts and low-waist jeans!

regularly posts her landscape photography to her blog, and even won a local competition once!

her fav pleated skirt

loves swimming and paddleboarding in the sea by the beach!

despite graduating top of her class, she has little interest in academia - but loves art

really wants an ankle tattoo of a sea-shell!

cute strap heels she stole from her sisters wardrobe (Emily still hasn't realised yet)

[Image 1 ID: A digital drawing of Abigail from Stardew Valley holding a sword. She's smiling, with dark lipstick and purple eyeshadow, and has small hearts drawn on her cheeks in eyeliner. She has a bridge, nose and belly button piercing and blue eyes. She's wearing a sleeveless denim vest, with a black tank top underneath and black denim shorts with purple fishnets underneath. She has a tattoo of a rose on her upper right arm and another of a sword on her inner left calf. She has pointed black nails and two bangles on her right wrist. She has black platform boots and has a freckles all over her body. Her hair is a vibrant purple in waves reaching her lower back. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A digital drawing of Emily from Stardew Valley pinching her dress in both hands in a bowing like gesture. The left side of her head is shaved while the right has straight, blue shoulder length hair. She has purple eyeshadow, pink lipstick and brown eyes. She also has gold helix piercings, a gold vertical eyebrow piercing and golden hoops in her lobes. She is smirking and looking to the right. She is wearing a layered red dress with a long pleated skirt. It has a white ruffled petticoat underneath. Under her red dress is a pink shirt with lantern style sleeves. She has a corset on over the dress with golden buttons and a miniature cape in dark red clasped to her shoulders. Two necklaces are hanging from under her shirt collar, one golden chain and the other a pendent of a 'Nazar'. She has long sharp purple acrylic nails and multiple rings on both of her hands. She is wearing dark red heels with button clasped straps. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 3 ID: A digital drawing of Haley from Stardew Valley standing casually, smiling, with a tuft of her hair inbetween her fingers in one hand and blue eyes. She has golden blonde hair in waves just reaching her upper back. She has locks of hair over both of her shoulders. She has light blue eyeshadow and bright pink blush and lipstick, she also has a mole on her face just above her lips to the right. She is wearing a low crop blue blouse with short sleeves and a white lined flower pattern on it. She has pink nails and is wearing a necklace of a blue sea-shell with a golden chain and a bracelet with a golden chain and heart pendent. Her left arm is holding her hair while her right arm is crossed over her chest and resting on her other arm. She is wearing a pink pleated mini-skirt and blue heels with small straps around her ankles. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 4 ID: A digital drawing with the three previously described characters all standing in a line. The order is Abigail to the left, Emily in the middle and Haley to the right. Each character has their in-game character sprite by 'ConcernedApe' on the upper left to them. The artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is overlayed in three different places on the drawing. /. End ID]

This my first time ever writing image descriptions so please tell me how I did! I read some other blogs and advice prior to writing my own but I understand its likely I got some things wrong! Please let me know if I've formatted or written something in a way that makes the descriptions innacessible! Thankyou

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sinistraes · 1 year

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ASSHOLE. ₊˚.༄

𝐁𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 was heard in the room, spitting insults right there and then. not caring about the world. "stop your damn whining. why the hell are you blaming me for this?" "Because we're the only people in the house at the moment?!! not to mention, YOU have a 3-year-old 'son' watching Disney in the living room, you dunce-face."

Ah, the fresh air of sibling drama. nothing new at the L/N household. constant yelling between the two siblings, except for the youngest of course. their relationship is beyond on the edge, no apologizing, nothing. it explains why they're not close, at least not anymore. "Ma!! I'm telling you! I didn't do it this time, I was in my room trying to find a job to buy my own house!" m/n's lying ma! why would he want to find a job just to pay for our needs, sounds like an excuse to me!" the said person glared at the one beside him, and so did they as well. sharing an intense staring contest that was cut off by the mother. "Enough of this fighting, Zephyr, I'm afraid your brother is right. He told me he was going to find a job to help around the house, he's growing up you know? also. get ready for dinner, you both, alright?" and the woman went back to cooking her dish. a hum of amusement was let out of you, your brother looked wide-eyed at the mother's response made you snicker.

"so, Y/N, have you found any jobs that suited you, sweetheart?" his mother's calming voice stopped the comforting silence. "Well, I do have one into consideration, but I have to move out of here and go live there. but the salary is good too. so I mig —" you were cut off, rude. "oh, you're moving out? good! pack your shit and get!" Zephyr, cut off his a few months older brother. "Zeph! watch your language young man, you shouldn't be insulting your brother. He's trying his best to provide something for his family." a stern discipline was brought on. making Zephyr grumble under his breath, god. brothers. amirite?

Weeks passed, You had to pack your stuff to go and see your new place. Your mother insisted you go on with the job, so you agreed to your mother's choice. "Are you all ready sweetheart? haven't forgotten anything?" "nope, all of my stuff is ready. please take care of my son ma, I'll be going now." and just like that, the oldest of the L/N household has moved out. taking out your car keys you did your last goodbye to your small family, and going inside the car.

'Jeez, I never realized the location would be this far.' he thought. He was so glad his college wasn't far off, you wouldn't need to wake up super early just to arrive. "Where was the house again? big black gate, big mansion.. ah!" he looked up to the supposed location, 'i didn't think it was this big..' your sweat dropped. taking out your phone, you decided to chat with your boss or should I say, bosses.

<You>

: hey !! just arrived in front of your gate... I need a hand with these bags.. ;(

; oh! I'll come down to you in a bit.

<You>

thanks so much !! mwamwa

seen by; Signora hottie, Gingery, and Scarababes.

not even just a second of looking up from your smartphone, you already see a ginger-haired man running up to you, and OHHH MAN his outfit made you breathless. a sleeveless vest buttoned on his stomach area, showing off his curves, and a white long-sleeved polo shirt rested nicely on his body. you could feel yourself heating up, was it from the weather or him? "Earth to Y/N? you seem hot and bothered, something wrong?" his gentle voice made you step out of your trance. "a— ah! sorry, was thinking of something. I'm all fine, now can you help me carry some of my stuff to the house..? I may or may not pack a little over enough." your response made the other chuckle, eventually carrying all of your bags, much to your dismay.

"question about the job, what am I going to do exactly?" you asked curiously and hoping not to make the taller/shorter male confused at your question. "eh, you'll just be a male wife there." his seven-word sentence made you stop in your tracks, MALEWIFE?! you were screaming internally. "I'll explain the information inside, did you doze off in our zoom meeting or something..?" "I did." now he was a laughing stock, reaching the main door of the mansion he had to wipe a tear not to make you more embarrassed. "go on in, make sure to remove your shoes and slip on some slippers. I don't want the floor dirty..and I'll put your stuff in the guest room." you nodded at him, and did as your told.

"This is the employee you were talking about?" you were sat in the middle of three people talking about you, and I mean you. You just wanted to know about your job, not get stared down by fancy-looking people (not to mention hot.) that made you want to melt into a puddle. "do you have a thing for men that is a single father and a househusband?" a platinum-haired woman interrupted both men. "I might've. but look at him! he's built well." "he looks like my next victim." you didn't know who to be scared of, you just looked back and forth at the three people bickering about why he picked you.

you wanted to cry, not out of the loud environment, but also because they were all confusing you. There's always one person that admires you and immediately gets turned down, you let out a sigh. This wasn't ending was it? The arguing made you remember Zephyr, your younger brother who was probably crying his heart out because his older brother left and he had no one else to spit insults to. He didn't want to admit it, but you knew he loves you. He just doesn't want anyone to know that he's a soft-hearted person that breaks into pieces when his brother isn't there. You were making sure of yourself to always check up on him whenever you both ran into each other at the university, as an older brother instinct.

screeching of a chair broke the voices, looking wherever the noise was. "I'll be going to rest now, just text me if you need anything." you sat up, pushed the chair back where it was supposed to be, and eventually went to the guest room. throwing your exhausted body onto the surprisingly soft mattress, you just laid there. till you get a notification, 'ugh. not even a peaceful minute, goddamn.' turning on your phone you clicked on the messages notification, and it read,

'From: Scarababes

You forgot to eat your dinner, dumbass. open the damn door.'

of course, it was around..8:50 tops. sitting up with a slight trip from getting trapped by the covers, you open the door with a ravenette who was holding a surprisingly delicious-looking meal. "I cooked it, and don't worry, I didn't poison it. sadly. Just wash the dish after." putting the tray in your hands and flew off.sitting on a chair and setting the tray of food onto a desk, you booted up your laptop to work on some presentations and projects that were due next week, you don't want to get your ass beaten by your professor.

after eating that DELICIOUS meal you went out to the kitchen, which is the light was still on. not even caring to take a glance at the figure standing with their elbow on the counter, you washed the dish, giving respect to the one who made it. "I didn't expect you to wash it." a voice made you jump up like a cat. "scared you that much?" oh, it was scarab— Scaramouche. "don't creep onto people like that! Jesus Christ, I thought I had a heart attack." you exclaimed, in return, you got an uninterested hum as he left. you thought he was just an introvert that likes to keep to himself but hoo boy, maybe he's more than that.

but '3:04' it read on your clock, and you're extremely dehydrated and in need of an energy snack. 'i should stop procrastinating and do things early..look what it got to me." you thought, but knowing damn well you couldn't keep that thought in your mind for long. exiting your room, you see darkness. of course, no one is awake at this point. reaching the kitchen with a help of your phone's flashlight, you decided to make iced coffee and take some biscuits as a snack. "why the hell are you up so fuckin' late? it's 3 in the morning." that voice made you jump up again. fucking hell, scaramouche. you didn't say stuff now, you're warming up to it, plus, your voice was hoarse, and you weren't in the mood right now. turning away from the counter, carrying your tray of snacks, you start to walk away, "where are you going?" Scaramouche, immediately raced beside you. "wherever you aren't." you grumbled under your voice, but loud enough for the other to stop in his tracks and went the other way. 'finally.' you thought.

but he didn't miss a day of not messing with your buttons, throwing a glass of cold water while you were asleep was one time, now completely putting temporary hair dye in your hair products. but you pulled it off with a smile that caught him off guard, was he not annoying you enough?! He grimaced, out of ideas on how to get you fuming like a kettle. You were too calm for your good, and Scaramouche didn't like that. "I'll be going now! don't trash the house too much scarababe~'' you coo at him, making him red in the face, chuckling to yourself, you left off to college to see if your brother was there of course.

Due to your surprise, you were engulfed in a tight hug and with a yelp coming from you, you looked back to see your younger brother with puffy eyes hugging you. "Geez, Zeph~ you missed me so much huh?" "Shut up you dunce...I did miss you." you were glad to hear those words from your brother, even if it was just a day since you left the abode. "Say, Zeph, I'll treat you out later. How's that sound?" hearing your reassuring words, the brunette perked up with his eyes shining like he had seen an angel. "Really?!- ah- uhm...yea sure. I do not mind." You hum, "I'll see you later, my little brother~" you cooed at him which caused the other to flush in embarrassment.

The college has been tiring, for you at least, your brother insisted you should have gone home, and that, he will as well, but you did not budge. Entering a small cafe and ordering takeout, you both walked to your destination, which was a small lake. No people to bother you both, just two brothers hanging out till curfew.

#sinistraes ; writes #x male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #ৎ୭ — character ; scaramouche #scaramouche #scaramouche x male reader

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audreydoeskaren · 2 years

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Costume Analysis: The Curse of Quon Gwon (1916)

Recently @d-m-a-c messaged me about this film, the first ever Chinese American made silent film from 1916 which was restored in 2005. Aside from being an important milestone in Chinese American film history, the costumes in the film are equally remarkable: it shows snippets of Chinese fashion of the mid 1910s, which is otherwise difficult to see in motion. Here's a link to the full restored footage.

The plot is in my opinion fairly cliché, a "westernized" Chinese American couple struggling to appease their "traditional" families. The full title of the original film was "The Curse of Quon Gwon: When the Far East Mingles with the West”. Because of the lack of title cards, the specifics of the plot aren't clear and most of the time I just have no idea what's going on on screen. I have many a problem with stories using the "East meets West" theme, because it bases itself upon a socially constructed binary which assumes that "East" and "West" are fundamentally different, or that they exist as independent, natural concepts to begin with, with the implication usually being that the "East" is ahistorical, traditional and immanent, whereas the "West" is placed in history, progressive and transcendental. While I probably can't blame the creators for this considering this was the early days of cinema, it's something we as 2020s people could think about. With my two cents about the plot out of the way, let's look at the costumes!

In the opening scene, we see the protagonist played by Violet Wong and her husband (fiancé?) dressed in Western garb, contrasting with the maid and who I assume to be mother-in-law, who wear Chinese fashions. Violet wears a deep hat and an interesting dress with a very high waistline and a hem that shows the ankles and lower calf, a popular cut in that year.

1916 fashion catalogue.

The mother-in-law’s headband is very distinctly late 19th century! Older people tend to wear outdated things, and that’s expressed quite well here.

Photograph of young girls from the early 1900s.

In the hairdressing scene, we can catch a glimpse of just how coarse and fluffy 1910s hair texture was. It's a far cry from the smooth, shampooed hair we see in modern period dramas set in the Republican era. Because of the coarseness, hair could be shaped into very interesting, sculptural shapes that would not be achievable with smooth hair. The protagonist gave herself an updo with voluminous bangs, achieved by backcombing.

The maid also has very intriguing hair. It’s a style seen in some 1910s artworks, but from closeups in the film it could be seen that the front of the hair has been significantly puffed up, either through extensive backcombing or with the use of a hair rat.

It’s more clear in this later scene. The hair is rough and puffy.

Similar hairstyle in a 1910s portrait.

This is where it gets strange though. The couple gets changed into what looks like theatrical costumes, especially the man’s clothes, for visiting each other’s families during the wedding? Maybe it’s a 1910s interpretation of the pre-Qing Han custom of men getting married in the garb of an official. Violet puts on these shoes with a heel in the middle, which resemble Manchu women’s shoes. It was never stated or implied that she was Manchu though, and Han women have never worn these things, so I find the choice of this costume a bit odd. Maybe it’s a subtle orientalist jab at how impractical and dumb “traditional” Chinese garb is, as seen by Violet later tripping on these shoes.

We see a full body shot of the maid, and she is wearing a typical mid 1910s aoku set, very similar to the ones from The Toll of the Sea I talked about previously.

1910s aoku artifact.

The maids could also wear a sleeveless vest. And we also see the hairstyle with rings of flowers at the sides.

Violet puts on a heavily decorated and tasselled cloud collar, which became an essential wedding item in the late Qing. It also makes an appearance in The Toll of the Sea (pardon my comparing the two films, they’re both American silent films that depict 1910s fashion and have many similarities, so it would be a waste if I didn’t bring it up). The robe worn by Marion, the other character here, is intriguing. While robes with a center front closure were no longer popular since the beginning of the 19th century in popular women’s fashion, it survived in many ceremonial garments, of which this is probably a display of.

Two clean and sleek aoku outfits.

This shot shows perfectly some of the distinctive features of mid 1910s Chinese fashion: the tall “ingot” collar that reaches up to the chins, the tight fit of the robes and the jewellery.

Mid 1910s portrait with similar features.

In the ending shot, the couple and their child wear Western fashion, suggesting that they lived happily ever after as Americans. Violet’s puffy blouse plus large plaid skirt ensemble is very typical of 1916.

1916 catalogue.

#costume analysis #the curse of quon gwon #1910s #vintage film

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beelsbignaturals · 11 months

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Are requests open? I'd like to ask for Purgatory Hall (Simeon, Solomon and Luke) with a Diona!MC. Either GN or Female, I don't mind.

time to copy and paste Wikipedia info muehehe

Diona Kätzlein is a playable Cryo character in Genshin Impact.

Despite being a bartender at the Cat's Tail, she loathes alcohol and will stop at nothing to ruin Mondstadt's wine industry — a feat easier said than done when her patrons absolutely love her drinks. She is the daughter of Draff, a hunter in Springvale.

The incredibly popular bartender of the Cat's Tail tavern, rising star of Mondstadt's wine industry, and the greatest challenger to its traditional powerhouses.

A feisty feline young lady from Springvale, any drink mixed by Diona's hand tastes delicious beyond belief.

Yet given her extreme distaste for alcohol, is her talent a blessing or a curse?

According to her father Draff, Diona is in a bit of a rebellious phase. While Diona adores her father and idolized him in her youth, witnessing his change in personality while drunk shattered the pedestal she put him on — and started her vendetta against alcohol. She despises just about anyone who indulges in alcohol, apart from Lisa and Eula.

Although Diona has the option of literally destroying the industry, she chose not to, instead opting to do so by plummeting the industry's reputation by becoming a bartender and serving terrible drinks. Unfortunately for her, her long-forgotten childhood friend, the Spring Fairy, blessed her with a magic touch that makes all of her drinks delicious, regardless of how noxious the ingredients used are, and she herself is unaware of this.

In her voiceovers, Diona proves to be a classic tsundere and is very naïve. She worries over the Traveler's ability to get home safely without night vision and offers to escort them home until they remind her that street lamps exist, after which she quickly denies ever having offered escorting them. She blames Diluc for her father's problems, even though the Dawn Winery had existed well before him or his father, and fails to see why the fans she and Barbara gets are drastically different. She also appears to have attachment issues and craves companionship, implied to be a result of Draff neglecting her when he's in his drunken stupors. She genuinely enjoys the company of those who have earned her trust, such as Klee and the Traveler, finding comfort in the Traveler's touch even begs them not to leave her and "become another dream". Although she displays many cat-like mannerisms, such as her love for fish, naps, hatred of vegetables and water, and tendency to meow, purr, and bite when angry, she hates being referred to as a cat in this regard. Also true to her feline nature, she is implied to be astraphobic, as well as aquaphobic.

Diona's center bangs are pulled into a stiff, upwards pigtail at the front of her head.

Diona wears a large dark indigo cap, along with shorts of the same color with gold paw-print decorations. She also wears a dark midriff-baring sleeveless turtleneck shirt with an orange-yellow scarf, pale pink sleeves, a vest of the same color, and white gloves with light pink paw-like patterns on the undersides. In addition to this, she wears a cat collar with her initial written on the tag and an orange handkerchief tied around the base of her tail. Hanging from her waist is a cold drink canteen, attached to which is her Cryo Vision.

It's completely fine if you don't want to! (I'm so anxious because this is my first request ahahaha)

🐈🍷❄️

AN: Hi!! I love how your first time requesting is the first request I've gotten on this blog. It's like we are on a cute lil journey together! Sorry it's so short and that it took so long, I was really busy for the past month. Also, I wrote this as platonic because I'm pretty sure Diona is a child, and you didn't specify otherwise. Regardless, I hope you like it!

TW: alcohol mentions

🪽Simeon✒️

Simeon has basically adopted you. He thinks you are the cutest damn thing in the three realms.

Apparently your… attitude reminds him of how Mammon acted when he was an angel about the size of Luke.

You bring him drinks when he is writing and Simeon has begun to look forward to your little interruptions.

He's always willing to listen to you complain about your father. The advice he offers is usually pretty sound, if not a bit cryptic.

🪄Solomon🔮

First of all, you have saved many lives. Somehow your drinks are always the perfect cure for whatever the fuck Solomon has cooked.

He thinks you just like cooking with him. But no, you are on a goddamn mission.

Honestly he is really intrigued by this.. blessing of yours. Solomon wants to study you… he will try and replicate your strange power with… mixed results.

He tried to recreate your drink making abilities and… somehow ended up with cat ears instead. None of you let him live it down.

🍰Luke😇

Besties. You are 100% besties.

Tea parties where Luke bakes and you make drinks! Non alcoholic but still.

Your collective nickname is"the chihuahua and the cat". Neither of you are happy about this.

One time, you fell asleep in a pile of pillows, your tail wrapped around Luke's wrist. The two of you have stayed up past your bedtime to watch a new baking show, and it was only 20 minutes in when the pair of you dozed off. It took Simeon another 20 minutes to figure out how to take a picture of you guys. But with Solomon's help, this adorable moment is immortalized on Devilgram.

#om! shall we date #obey me mc #obey me x reader #obey me x platonic reader #shrimp writes #request #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me headcanons

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fnaffoxyandbonniessimp · 7 months

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You've been.....doing this instead of sleeping?

I know this is short and I'm working on making longer post's, my requests are open. I will not hold you from our lion for any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

F/n walked into the living room, of the newly fixed up Ramsackel dorm. They carried a notebook, held against their chest. They had a nervous smile on their face.

Leona sat on the couch, leaned back, arms laid on the back, his legs spread slightly. He was comfortable, who could blame him?

F/n sighed. "Why am I showing you this again?" Their tone was soft and filled with sleepy-ness. They hadn't slept for a few days as they had been busy doing something for Crowley.

Leona's left ear twitched, as if to say 'Really?' He sighed. "How many days?" F/n shook their head stubbornly. "I'm fine Leona, I'm not that tired." They had grumbled, only to receive a unimpressed look from Leona.

F/n sighed once more, setting down the book Infront of Leona. He picked up the book, opening it. He found fashion designs, made based off of the great seven, the housewarden's and a few of their friends. One stood out, it was the one made with him in mind. It was a beautiful dark blue with silver accents, embroidered on the vest. It told a story, his story if you looked close enough. It told of his pain and sorrow yet also of his intelligence and his courage, and his laziness but of what he could achieve if he tried hard enough.

It was paired with black knee high hunting boots. The vest was sleeveless, with a black under shirt, that was also sleeveless. It matched his countries and his own style. He could tell how much thought they had put into the design and the over all sketch. He was touched but, he wouldn't let it slide that they hadn't slept in who knows how long.

"You didn't sleep.....For this?" His tone was calm yet had a awe under it, if you squinted. F/n nodded. "Maybe.....just a little.....but the concert is not to long away and I have to design these for you guys to wear....." Leona chuckled lowly. "Well your finished now." F/n's brows furrowed.

"I still have to adjust-" Leona leaned forward. "-Vil's and Jacks-" Leona wrapped his arms around F/n's waist, dragging them onto the couch.

"Leona!" F/n scolded. "I still have work to do!" Leona growled lowly, as he pulled their back against his chest, burying his nose in the crook of their neck. "No.....-" He yawned, "-You don't."

He wrapped an arm around F/n's waist, the other under f/n's head, as a pillow. "Sleep." He commanded.

F/n had little choice, as the stubborn lion refused to let them go.

#leona kingscholar #leona twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff

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akronuz · 13 days

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Roupas Parte de Cima

PART 1

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[Arltos] Bandage Top

Bandage Top | Patreon

[Arltos] Cute Top

Cute top (To be published on Aug 12) | Patreon

[Babyetears] Cutestop

request cutes top asd | Patreon

[Babyetears] Knit Sweater

Style jeans / Knit sweater | Patreon

[BackTrack] Alexa Oversized Turtleneck Sweater

Alexa Oversized Turtleneck Sweater | Patreon

[Belaloallure] Fai Leather Jacket

Street Style cc | Patreon

[Belaloallure] Mariana Blazer Top

The Sims Resource - Belaloallure_Mariana blazer top (patreon)

[Belaloallure] Selma Tank Top

SELMA SET by Belaloallure - The Sims 4 Download - SimsFinds.com

[Busra-tr] Male Outfit Shirt P42

The Sims Resource - [PATREON] (Early Access) Male Outfit (SHIRT) P42

[busra-tr] Man Premium Shirt P101

The Sims Resource - [PATREON] (Early Access) MAN PREMIUM SHIRT P101

[busra-tr] Poster Girl Set 195 BD643

The Sims Resource - POSTER GIRL SET-195 (TOP) BD643

[ByBeto] Motivation Top

The Sims Resource - Motivation (Top)

[ByBeto] GymBro Top v1

The Sims Resource - GymBro (Top V1)

[DanSimsFantasy] Blazer Noctem Magno

The Sims Resource - DSF BLAZER NOCTEM MAGNO

[Darte77] Biker Jacket

The Sims Resource - Biker Jacket - Acc

[Darte77] Biker Jacket With Hoodie v2

Biker Jacket w/ Hoodie [v2] | Patreon

[Darte77] Leather Vest

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[Darte77] Linen Shirt

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CONTINUA NA PART 2...

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asknarashikari · 4 months

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With Spanner being inducted into the Rider ranks...

Gotchard cast react to Spanner's clothes changing from his usual clothes to something... revealing, his jacket changing into a purpple sleeveless vest, his tie changing into a black choker, his pants changed into swim shorts and his shoes changed into sandals.

Who would be the first to blame the chemy? or the Rider senpai?

I think Spanner would blame Houtaro first tbh, thinking that he did something with his unrefined alchemy that caused the accident. And... well, it's not like he doesn't have the reason to think that since we have seen his alchemy go haywire with unexpected results

#kamen rider gotchard #kurogane spanner #ichinose houtaro #ask #hxmxbros

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be-good-be-safe-be-kind · 5 months

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words words words

i might be lying if i said i didn't know what it was about winter that makes words hard. not just in a writing sense, of dropping pronouns and being unable to text in complete sentences, but in a reading and listening sense as well, of not being able to read and retain anything new, or following conversations as well as podcasts. i also don't know if it's lying or not to say i don't know, because at times it seems like i have all the pieces of the 'why' puzzle and at other times it seems like i'm just here? so is it lying or not when the logic and stuff fluctuates?

i dunno, but it actually makes a decent segue, so we're going to try keeping this snowball of words and ideas rolling. on that note, here's an incomplete list of words and their associations currently giving me a headache:

singlet, to refer to someone who isn't a system

control, jurisdiction/power/authority to manage/own/run something

non-possessive switching, or a sort of awareness of experiencing a switch, rather than an unconscious decision or something unknowingly triggering a switch

deserve, being entitled to something/having a right to it

monoconscious, or a collective conscious, as opposed to different parts with different consciousnesses

should, obligation/requirement to do something

fronting, to refer to whichever part of the system is facing the world

worthy, deserving or having a right to something based on specific traits/actions

co-consciousness, or some degree of having 1+ parts being aware of things in the moment

fault, defect/weakness/responsibility/ownership/blame for mistake

(yes, the topics are sort of alternating, there will be a bit of whiplash between them. yes, there's overlap between them and no, i don't particularly care about that right now)

from a linguistic perspective, singlet has a lot of different sorts of meaning behind it which make it difficult for me to grasp as an opposite to system. i understand the logic of a system being plural, so non-system is a singular entity, and the murky waters of using words like individual or person to describe a non-system, so singlet was coined. the -let suffix tends to be used for armor or jewelry pieces (gauntlet, bracelet) or to indicate a smaller version of something (booklet, piglet). in this instance, singlet reads to me as something particularly small, especially in comparison to the implication of a system being something vast. a singlet is also a wrestling unitard, or a sleeveless shirt/undershirt in the same way that a doublet is a jacket/outer vest. singlets (and doublets and triplets) are also used to refer to systemic states of electrons in physics; by definition, a singlet in this instance is part of a system.

i also have difficulty understanding the need to define one thing in terms of another, as a dichotomy, when there's a spectrum to consider. for example, the opposite of non-disabled is disabled, although some prefer to say that the opposite of disabled is abled, and there's a high probability that someone who is currently non-disabled will become disabled; homosexual is the opposite of heterosexual but not really because orientations such as pansexual and asexual exist, all on a spectrum. also the need for labelling everything and making it public, which i've noticed when people say things like 'you can't write x unless y,' which leads to uncomfortable situations (i received a comment that might have been intended as positive - 'wow, only someone with DID could have written this so well' - but this was years ago, before i considered that diagnosis for myself, and i was just trying to explore some characters).

thankfully, control is something that i can explore with therapist, but outside of therapy and a couple friends, it's presented to me in a very… i dunno, annoying? way. like 'x thing happened ages ago, get over it, why are you letting it influence you?' and 'that really isn't a big deal, why are you letting it have a hold on you?' well, i'm not, not really, because it would be great to not be affected by the everyday sounds and sights of life, i would rather something as commonplace as a goddamn traffic light not cause me to zone out, but brain has other ideas. (and of course i cannot say that to the people who 'helpfully' ask me rhetorical questions and make suggestions to do mindfulness breathing exercises, because then i would have to say that breathing isn't that simple, and i'm not going to elaborate on that). i can, for the most part, control my actions and reactions to things, i don't need to let others' words and actions stand in my way, but i can't guarantee that will happen. i can make plans and shortcuts for myself when a trigger can be identified, like keeping a toothbrush and floss in my room for when the idea of going to a bathroom causes me to freeze, but it's also exhausting to find ways to manage them.

there's a bit to unpack behind my dislike for non-possessive switching, but right now it's mostly the frustration that switching, of any kind, is something identifiable because that entails having knowledge of parts and when they're 'out,' in the moment. and that requires a lot of pieces that i don't have right now; i know of parts, barely, but i don't know them and i'm not sure if the feeling is mutual or not, and i wouldn't be able to say whether or not i'm here now and haven't been here all day. non-possessive switching affirms the existence of possessive switching, and possession is a bit of a squick, and i know the word isn't really meant in like an ownership of an object or person way, or in a supernatural or other entity way, but that's also probably connected with the lack of control problem.

deserve is an interesting word, and this quote probably originates somewhere else other than animal kingdom (i'm too tired to check now) but 'may we all get what we want, and never what we deserve' sums up my feelings on it rather nicely. that, and the end of wonder woman when she tells ares that humanity will receive her kindness because it's not a matter of whether or not they deserve it, and the bit in the fellowship of the ring where gandalf tells frodo not to be hasty in passing judgement about life and death because many live who deserve death, and vice versa. the idea that there's something necessary someone has to do in order to receive compassion or condemnation has been weighing on me a lot since october, as someone who doesn't want much except for empathy and decency, and who has the privilege of being on the sidelines while others are actually suffering.

while i can point at the shit i've done and the justifications people use to say i deserved things - hell, even the fact that i'm phrasing it as shit i've done rather than what happened to me is a red flag - i can't apply that non-logic to the rest of the world, and it infuriates me. on an individual level, let's say that i did deserve [redacted] because of my existence, because of the ways i personally inconvenienced [redacted] and made their lives miserable. let's say the one-to-one, 'you did this, so i'm doing that' makes sense; it works on that level, it impacts no one else but those involved, and there's a minimal amount of hurt going around. the same can't be said for entire populations, whose existence is only ever acknowledged when a line in the sand is drawn between 'us' and 'them,' whose lives matter less than their deaths, and awful doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of the situation.

like switching, monoconscious is another one of those terms which i understand in theory, and can observe it in systems i know and in media (which tends to overdramatize aspects because that's how storytelling works), but to me it's like… i guess it just sounds like me by default? i more or less am the same person, with the same interests and abilities, it's just the amount of focus/effort into the interest and technical levels of abilities which change, and isn't that just part of being a person (or at least one with autism and adhd)? like some days you're too tired to coherently ramble about star trek, some times you don't really care about it at all until a specific character or idea crosses your mind and suddenly it's spock o'clock.

it also seems somewhat contradictory to what the nature of being a dissociative system 'should' be like, so it's a bit of a paradox. again, i understand the choice to coin the word, to have a descriptor for another state of consciousness besides for the regular conscious, subconscious, unconsciousness, and that the definitions vary based on context, but i'm just not getting this one. i've read about it, sure, but a lot of what i've read also tends to equate this with a 'lesser' form of dissociation, of being 'just' OSDD instead of DID, but that sort of dismissive phrasing sounds like bullshit because dissociation is dissociation, a disorder is a disorder, and a dissociative disorder is a dissociative disorder, regardless of the severity.

speaking of the should nature of a system, that leads to the other 'should' statements which connect to the other things of control and deserve. a short gripe, because a lot of things which i've been told are things i should just be able to say or do are more complicated than just saying or doing the things. the 'why' varies depending on the 'should,' but the conclusion ends up being that i can't, not for the lack of trying.

fronting is another linguistic hurdle for me (hooray for being an english major); long story short, the term relates to phonetics and phonology, as well as being a slang term for putting up a false appearance/façade. and i know, fronting in a dissociative context doesn't have the same connotation as fronting in a non-dissociative context, language is fascinating, descriptivism and prescriptivism and all that, but beyond that, there's the conceptual hurdle. fronting, like switching, requires knowledge that i don't have, and also presents the weird philosophical thing of where am i and who am i when i'm not 'here'? like if i'm at the front right now, the implication is that others are in the back and vice versa, but what does that mean? sometimes the car analogy makes sense, like if i'm the driver's seat, there's others in the back and the passenger seat and maybe the boot as well, but i don't know if i feel like driving. i'm aware of being here, now, but there isn't a sense of ownership or anything, like i might be driving but i'm not in my car.

worthy relates back to the deserve and should, with a bit more morality issues tossed in. whereas deserve is like a given thing based on traits, worthy requires proof; what makes you think you should have this? what have you done to show for it? what value do you have? what makes you or your life worth anyone's time, attention, patience? then there's the issue of who, if anyone, gets to be the judge of this, and if the judge is the same as the jury and executioner. there seems to be a consensus that existence isn't enough to make someone worthy of respect, that kindness must be earned, and that's bonkers. there might be indifference or tolerance, up until a point, until suddenly someone is deemed inherently unworthy, or that they must redeem themself in order to be accepted. then there's also the 'is it worth it?' thing of well, you're demanding that i have to show my value, but what have you done to show me that talking with you is worth my time? if someone considers something as basic as existence something worth 'debating,' is it a safe bet to say that's not a good use of your time? but then, does that make you as bad or worse than them? whose to say, really?

similar to the monoconscious thing, co-consciousness is tricky for me to grasp because that might be the default here. as far as i can tell, there's usually some sort of team-up involved, or at least some sort of internal self-talk/encouragement, which leads to the question of when is it self-talk and when is it another part. hyping yourself up to do the laundry might be a job requiring multiple parts, or something easier when the load is shared, but it also might be like, self-acknowledgement that you need clothes so you might as well get the chore over and done with?

fault connects with the rest of the things about personally relating to things and events. am i to blame if something went wrong, or did i not have control over the circumstances? did i deserve to have things happen, as a result of not handling the responsibility? it's another one of those things where on an individual level, i can very easily accept the 'fact' that something is my fault, that i'm guilty of it, regardless of the fact that i have no or minimal involvement in it, but when it comes to looking at others and hearing the ways people talk, i can very easily point out how fault is conceptual.

there's not really a point to this other than having a place to put my thoughts without worrying about saying the wrong thing. just needed a few hours to try wording thoughts, and probably going to have feelings about it all later but that's fine. ran out of steam towards the end so might pick this back up later but i dunno.

#📝#🌫️

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jikjinz · 1 year

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Please since I agree the stylist and love for putting them in short sleeves has been killing me😭 dongheon and hoyoung have been AFTER me with the amount of sleeveless shirts-

thank you thank you 😋 I completely agree they are very written by women agenda and minchan may be goofy but I love that goofy guy 💔 I would love an elaboration on hoyoung (even tho that will make me even more delusional-) but totally take ur time💕

Dongheon !! Taste he is so loml material I cannot blame you at all I mean .. it’s literally dongheon we’ve all seen him and his personality?? He is perfect it hurts 💔

Noted! I’m always happy to talk about verivery so I’ll be happy to fill my time about them 💞 I got into verivery from a friend! I had liked them in rtk and in trigger era she knew it was her chance to ruin my life with minchan and hoyoung and she TOOK IT 🤧 I found your blog from searching up verivery tags since there’s barely any writers for them and then I found you and I was like tehee I will become an anon🤭 I will be sure to rest well idk about not stressing but I’ll do my best ! love u too <3

-🐰 anon

sorry for taking so long to reply bUT YES??? THESE TWO ARE AFTER ME AS WELL AND ALSO DONGHEON IN THAT JEANS VEST???? i was gone bro. g o n e.

since i will have some time off this week i hope to write some stuff FINALLY BECAUSE GEEZ IM STRESSED AS HECC (and dont worry, everyone are delulu in some way)

kdblKBJSJDJSKSND I KNOW RIGHT??? i showed a photo or a gif of him to my non-kpop friend and they said something about him being a himbo?? and then i realized... he is princess coded and i love it 💔

NO BECAUSE TRIGGER ERA WAS HAWT AND THAT FRIEND KNEW DAMN WELL SHE WAS DOING and i feel like im the only one who still updates/posts stuff with verivery on here (like writing stuff) and it's 💔 BUT ANYWAY THAT'S GOOD THAT YOU DECIDED TO CAME BY BECAUSE IM ALWAYS UP FOR TALKING ABOUT THEM!!!!

do you have any albums from them or any albums in general?? and take care as always my dear!!!

#qna:answered #🐰 anon #bunny anon!!#verivery

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ugandantales · 1 year

Text

MINZANI - Chapter 1

WELCOME TO MINZANI!!!!

Thank you, beloved reader, for vesting your invaluable time into this book. I'm thrilled to have you hop with me on this train of reminiscing our unforgettable school days as we relate with the characters of 'Minzani'. It is a Luganda word for 'Weighing scale'. Let us see and learn how to tackle inequalities in our society that make us feel isolated.

As we ride this roller-coaster, every bit of syllable that nauseates you, makes you cry, makes you laugh, or even annoys you, any thoughts you have at any point in this story, don't forget to comment them; I would very much love to read your opinions or any harangues you have. This is my first book ever, so any thoughts and opinions are very much welcome.

Don't forget to click the star button on the chapters you love and share this book with your friends if you like it. Leesssggoo!!!! Love, Asiimire ;)

Chapter 1

A QUARTER PAST NINE O'CLOCK, I WAS ALREADY CURLED UP in the living room on my three-inch bare mattress. The lamp wick was burning low and Mama was seated at the foot of my mattress sewing her red Mushanana, the skirt was getting loose in the waistline, so she decided to reduce the size of the elastic band as she waited for Tata to arrive. Later, she would iron out the thread folds and hang it in a plastic hanger on the wall beside Tata's trousers. It would stay there until the next wedding when one of our aunties or her friends got married. Mama, wearing this red Mushanana, a sleeveless blouse topped by a matching red wrapper made her glamorous and respectable at all the weddings we attended. Guests would mistake her for the Guest of Honor or an aunt of the groom or one of the biggest contributors to that wedding. She always told those stories with a glee of self-satisfaction. One time, at Aunt Nancy's Kuhinjira, she was mistaken for being her mother, because by then she was still plump and her cut hairstyle made her look older than she really was. The organizers welcomed her respectfully and placed her in the parents' tent where timely food and drinks deliveries were made. The organizers nearly disgraced themselves when the groom's mother complained that she had not yet been served and most of the guests had already started eating. The organizers looked at Mama and were speechless, they could not accuse Mama of lying to them because they had just made their wrong assumptions and she was not to blame. She treasured this Mushanana so much that even when were started selling off our luxuries because of Tata's treatment, she insisted on keeping it, even at the cost of all her shoes: the pink trainers that she worked out in, all her stilettos of colors; Maroon, Black, and Brown. This Mushanana was her only reminder of the good life she once lived. But now, she had to tighten elastic bands in the waistline because she had lost tremendous weight, her cheekbones and jawline were sharper, and I bet this time if she were invited to any wedding, the organizers would mistake her as one of their own.

DECEMBER, LAST YEAR, when we visited Kaaka, Mama's mother, she could not recognize her own daughter. When we reached the main road where Boda Bodas stopped in Rukungiri, Ongulu and I went on to carry the bags of posho we had brought for Kaaka down to her mud-plastered store through creaking rusted iron bar gate, which was so narrow that might Mama, during the good old days when she was fat and firm, might have had to enter sideways if she ever were to visit. The compound was bare and covered in dust. One stinking Billy goat, two nanny goats, and a few chickens sauntered around, nibbling and pecking at stems of grass that rimmed the edges of the compound, beyond which was a lush banana plantation. The house that stood in the middle of the compound was small, compact like dice, and it was hard to imagine Mama and her sister, Aunty Nancy growing up there. It looked just like the pictures of houses I used to draw in kindergarten: a square house with a square door at the center and two square windows on each side, topped by a triangle iron sheet. The only difference was that Kaaka's house had a raised verandah, which acted as a resting spot for any passerby. The first time Ongulu and I visited, I had walked in looking for the bathroom, and Kaaka had laughed and pointed at the outhouse, a closet-size building of mud-overlaid blocks with a mat of entwined palm fronds pulled across the gaping entrance. She welcomed us, pinching both of our cheeks while we were weighed down by the ten kilograms of posho in our hands.

"Nyoko wanyu alahi? Where is your mother?" she said as she looked up the slope we had come from. Her Runyankole was a forced version she spoke to ensure that we understood. We could never comprehend the natural way words rolled on her tongue.

"She is sorting out the Boda guy," Ongulu replied.

"You people have refused to learn Runyankole completely. Loyce doesn't want to teach you your mother tongue," she complained.

"But Langi is our mother tongue, Kaaka," I said.

"Do you know why it is called 'mother tongue'? Because it is your mother's language, not your father's. Or else it would be father tongue" she said, feeling important.

"Jojo does not know even half a kilo of Langi," Ongulu hollered from the store where he was arranging the sacks of posho and salt that Mama had bought in Kampala.

"Ongulu!" I said, shooting daggers at him as he came out of the store, his hands tainted with maize flour.

"Ah! Maybe my name. That's the only word you know in Langi," he said.

"You kids are very lazy. With all the things you took, was this bag of salt too heavy to carry as well?" Mama said as she carried a thirty-sachet bag of salt. Kaaka turned from the banana plant that she was cutting a banana leaf from when she heard Mama's voice. She turned around and her eyes fell on a frail-looking woman she could not recognize. Her eyes welled up, I could see it, but I think she remembered that we were watching and blinked away the tears. She composed herself and went on to hug Mama. Later on, when Mama had claimed Kaaka's kitchen, and Ongulu was off to find his village buddies, I sneaked into Kaaka's bedroom. I found her sitting on her bed, facedown, and with hands in her face. She heard my footsteps and wiped away the tears with her tattered fading blue lesu. She blew her nose in it, and afterward, she asked me,

"Hilary, does Geoffrey, your father treat my daughter right?" I had never heard anyone call Tata by name, sometimes I forgot that it was his name.

"Does your father beat my daughter?" she added. I was alarmed by this notion. It had never occurred to me that Tata could ever lay a hand on Mama.

"No, not at all. Why?" I asked her.

"You people should call me to send you some Matooke every month. Mulokole comes in these parts at the end of the month. Why don't you call when you need help? Hmm! Geoffrey is too proud to ask from his mother-in-law." She said, sneering at the thought. Mama hollered from the kitchen asking me to get some ghee from the cupboard. She literally saved me from Kaaka's awkward discourse.

TATA SHOULD HAVE ARRIVED AN HOUR EARLIER but he had to do our school shopping. The third term holiday had been a full month but he always did the shopping one day before the reporting day. During the Christmas season, Tata never rested like the other fathers, he always begged his boss, he liked calling him Koja, that he would drive his taxis off duty to earn some extra money. He would work daily to save up for our school fees and shopping. Most people in the Christmas season traveled to the village by bus but Tata found a way of making them use his taxi. He worked up to the last day of the holiday but still, the money was not enough to cater for everything. I was pretending to sleep because Mama had told us that we had to wake up early the next day. My elder brother, Ongulu, was sleeping on the old coffee brown sofa which had a pile of clothes to fill up for the two missing cushions. He was already in never-never land because I could hear his snore. Not so loud, just like a silent whistle.

THERE WAS A SMALL KNOCK ON our metallic door. Tata never knocked loudly in the night, so as not to wake us. It was good timing because Mama was done with the last tear around the armpit area. She bit the thread and fixed back the needle in the yarn before she opened the bolt. I viewed everything from under Mama's yellow lesu that I used as a bed sheet. Tata moved into the house: a smallish, frail figure, the meagerness of his body merely emphasized by the oversize grey T-shirt that had the word; ARMY and his faded blue jeans that he wore every day. His naturally sanguine face was now contorted by a haggard look, his skin roughened by coarse washing soap that we used for bathing, and blunt razor blade pimples with a few sprinkles of budding grey hairs that were shaved a week ago. He carried two green biveras, I could see picfare books that outlined the green plastic bags. I knew that one was mine and the other was Ongulu's. Tata sat in his tattered one-sitter sofa with most of its sponge showing and placed the biveras on the floor. Facedown, Tata placed his large hands in his face.

"It's all I managed to get."

Mama perused through the biveras bringing out one thing at a time. Picfare books, two sets, six toilet papers, pencils, and two reams of paper.

"At least we got the reams this time," she said as she leaned them against the table that was moved over to create space for my mattress. She then took a five-liter jerrycan and the blue piece of washing soap near the door and took them to the bedroom. Tata then followed after her. He never took his showers from the bathroom outside especially when it was dark and late. Mama would place a basin for him to stand in and he would pour the water from the jerrycan. How do I know this? One day I had forgotten to get our toilet pail under Mama's bed and Tata had already arrived. I could have left it there and waited till morning, after all, Ongulu never used it, but I had stayed at Grace's place up to seven o'clock to fluke their evening tea. She was very light-skinned, with honey-colored quizzical eyes, and eyes that asked many questions and did not accept many answers. Whenever she smiled, her mouth turned up at the sides in a perpetual smile, revealing a gap between her front teeth.

With her small well- proportioned body, she walked fast, like one who knew just where she was going and what she was going to do there. And she spoke the way she walked as if to get as many words out of her mouth as she could in the shortest time. The tea backfired and I could not hold my urine. I saw something that I wish I could unsee at all costs. I saw Tata, the way he was born, with soap in his eyes, he didn't see me though. I went back immediately and opened the door and brazenly urinated on the verandah.

"Put out that lamp," Mama said from their bedroom, startling me as I perused the first green plastic bag, although her words were low and calm. How did she know that I was awake this whole time? Mama might have been a spy before she got married. I checked through the second one, maybe I had missed something from my point of view under the lesu. The first one had to be Ongulu's, he didn't need a P5 uniform because he was now in P7 and boys never had a change of design from P1 to P7. The second one still had no uniform. Something was wrong. Tata knew that we needed new uniform designs for P5, or maybe he had forgotten which class I was going to. But how could he forget? He is the one who always helped me with my Math weekend homework every Saturday. He is the one who complained that the current curriculum was staid and that it did not encourage the children to be creative. Being spoon-fed, he called it. On those Saturdays, I beamed with pride. I forgot that Tata was a taxi driver. At that moment, I wanted one of my classmates to visit and look at my dad and speak with authority as he coached me. I could care less for our ramshackle home and swim in the pride of having my Mathematician dad speak. He definitely knew that I was promoted to Primary five because he was the first person to whom I presented my end-of-year report card. I had not even planned on wearing my lower-class uniform for the upper class. I hadn't even ironed it.

"Are you fighting with the lamp?" Mama hollered again.

"No, Mama," I put out the lamp and went back to bed. I wept silently in the dark until sleep came and took me.

After what looked like a few minutes of sleep, I felt feet making dips in my mattress. I squinted my eyes and the lamp was back on. Did I mistakenly forget to put it out? I remember very well that I did. Then I saw Ongulu tucking in his white short-sleeved shirt in his pair of grey shorts. It was already morning. I got up quickly, folded my lesu, pulled the sofa, and leaned the mattress between the sofa and the wall, and we both pulled back the table to the center of the sitting room where my mattress had been. Ongulu had already lit the charcoal stove in the corner of the sitting room next to the door and on it was water in a saucepan starting to boil. We always made tea at once in the saucepan and poured it into our matching yellow plastic cups and packed the rest in our mineral water bottles for breakfast at school. Sometimes we had an escort, it would either be leftover posho or sweet potatoes or on lucky days we would have buns. This morning, I saw a kavera with two buns. Ongulu and I called them mwanakaba because they were small and rectangular and fit to soothe crying babies.

It was still dark outside and not many people had woken up. We shared the bathroom with six other tenants and I had to go through the narrow corridor to get there. I was already in a rush so I bathed from the verandah. The Grace's had just turned off their security lights and I knew that she had just woken up. They lived in Mzee Okello's rentals that were facing ours. Mzee Okello's only large residential house in the village was directly facing our house, and Mama Keisha; our neighbor next door had a retail shop, and the Graces lived just next to his house. They had a small gate that shielded two other tenants. Our compound, which also acted as Mzee Okello's driveway, was wide enough to hold ten children playing Kirindi kwepena, our local dodgeball, and anyone who would get hit by the ball, given that they were not the first ones, since the first one was always pardoned "asooka awebwa", would sit on our verandah and wait until the last person dodged the ball for the stipulated rounds, most times it would be ten, and then we would all go back at the center and play. Sometimes the last person at the center would fail to make it to the ten rounds. He/she and the second person to be hit would replace the two people who had been hitting the ball. I dreaded being the one who had to hit the ball, so I made sure that I was never the second person to be hit nor the last one at the center. Grace, my best friend, was very athletic. Whenever she was the last one at the center, the rest of us cheered her on because we were sure that we would be back in the game. She was always our kwepena messiah. Sometimes we never played Kirindi, we could play kwepena in all its different tastes we could invent. There was Kirindi kwepena, Kakebe kwepena, Kyereere Kwepena, and I know other tastes of kwepena are still underway. Kwepena was not gender-based, boys and girls would all play and the tall ones were usually the hitters. The villagers complained all the time we broke off for holidays. Some parents even took their children immediately after breaking off, but we always had a team to play kwepena, no matter how many we were. Last holiday, Grace was supposed to go to the village but I went with her to plead with her father so that she could remain. We gave excuses for doing the holiday package together and how I needed her to help me with Mathematics, but really the catch was about the holiday fun that we were on the verge of missing had she gone to the village. I was pouring water on myself when I had their small gate open. My heart jumped, praying that it might not be any of her parents or their neighbors. I hid in our iron sheet fence that acted as Mama's kitchen. Tata built it for her when he was discharged from the hospital after he had come back from Iraq. Before, Mama cooked our food from the house, saying that our hour was so much on display. She could not mingle posho and fry beans to show the whole village that we ate posho and beans every day. Yes, it would bring a lot of heat in our ceiling-less house but she would later take out the charcoal stove. When Tata came back from the hospital, building the kitchen fence on our verandah was the first thing he did, because he thought that cooking from the house was too risky. Good thing I had finished pouring water on my body and was left scrubbing my feet. I reached for the lesu I had to hang on the fence and tied it around myself.

I heard giggles and peeked only to see Grace with a toothbrush in her mouth and a one-liter yellow jerrycan that once held cooking oil. She spit out and laughed.

"Totukudde, you haven't bathed thoroughly," said Grace in between her laughs.

"You scared me, I thought it was your father." As I scrubbed my feet on the verandah's rough patch.

"What if it were my father?" Grace said, still laughing. "Would you even remember your lesu?"

"Are you done showering?" I changed the subject. "Ongulu is done with everything."

Grace spit out quickly and rushed inside without saying a word. It was my turn to laugh because I knew that Grace would do anything to please my brother. Ongulu was fifteen years old, three years older than Grace. She always said that she did not mind the age gap, after all her father was five years older than her mother. Ongulu was smart but he failed to read between the lines of Grace's submissiveness to him. Grace made every effort to be agreeable to Ongulu but he thought she was only being a good girl.

I went back inside and regretted why I never ironed my P4 uniform. I entered Mama's bedroom, just at the entrance, and searched through a pile of washed clothes in the basin. I knew that they were already awake, so I greeted them in the dark. I crawled over to their bed, bent over, and spread out my hand to search for the ironing box under the bed. I hated myself for hoping for something that I knew was close to impossible.

Ongulu was labeling his books when he glanced at me carrying an ironing box and out-of-the-goat's-mouth uniform. He shook his head in disbelief and continued with his work. He had placed my mwanakaba bun and my cup on the table. I knew he had already packed his tea and mine and placed the bottles in our MTN cross bags that Aunt Beth, Tata's sister had won in a promotion. She gave them to us when she visited Tata who had just been discharged from the hospital. She was the only in-law that Mama could get along with. She had helped Mama while Tata was still admitted to Mulago Hospital. She would go to Kalerwe market, buy foodstuffs with her own money, and bring them home to Mama so that she would cook for Tata. Later, they would leave Ongulu and me at home, and take the food to Tata, and one of them would come to sleep at the hospital while the other came back to check on us. Through our translucent purple curtain, I could see a few streaks of sun rays making slits in the dark. I definitely knew that we were going to be late this time. I laid Ongulu's green thin torn towel on it before I placed my uniform. I had tied my lesu in the form of a back-show dress and the water on my body was starting to get dried up. I went outside and lit up the ironing box with the remaining burning coals in the charcoal stove where Ongulu had boiled the tea from. Grace came out smartly dressed in her P5 uniform, still the pink and white checked dress like the P4 uniform but with a belt on it and inside pockets, not the outside big square pockets that were on the P4 uniforms. P5 uniform showed that you had officially transitioned to upper school. You could use the big canteen with no questions asked. Prefects always stopped us whenever we wanted to buy eats from the big canteen. Last year, in the first term, our class organized a study trip to visit the Coca-Cola Company in Namanve. I could not tell my parents about it because Tata had just gotten completely on his feet, and started working for Koja. Grace, on the other hand, had been given the twenty thousand for the trip. When she learned that I had not paid, she did not hand it the money to the teacher. Instead, we went together to the big canteen. I kept telling her that it was a bad idea but she would not listen, until the head boy, well dressed in his long grey trousers and a crisply ironed shirt stopped us. We could not lie that we were in P5 or P6, not even P7, because of our uniforms. We went back to class and I urged Grace to pay the money and go. She yielded unwillingly but she went for the trip.

I could not avoid the pangs of jealousy and anger stinging my chest when I saw her in that uniform.

"I thought you had left me," she said. "I waited for you, you were not coming then decided to come and check if you had gone."

I ignored her and continued to blow the coals in the ironing box.

" Eh! Grace, come inside, this one won't be done anytime soon," said Ongulu when he opened the curtain. Grace walked passed me like she had done something wrong. Her only crime was that she had the shiny Primary Five uniform that I was supposed to have, and her parents shopped two weeks into the third term holiday and a week into the first and second term holidays. I hated being a charity case whenever I lurked during their lunchtime on the days they made pork and beef. They didn't even know food combinations, how can you make atapa, dough from cassava flour and boiling water, and porridgey curry soup with chunks of pork shrouded in it? I pretended to love their cultural food, which happens to be ours too, but Mama's got better taste so that I could stay long enough for the chocolate milk tea and biscuits that they served for evening tea. She walked helplessly like a dog that had been barked at by its master and entered the house. I regretted why I had acted that way because she did not deserve it. The fire in the ironing box was ready now to iron my dreaded uniform. Grace was sitting knees pressed together fidgeting with her nails on the long sofa, Ongulu's bed, at the far end where the cloth piles had been patched. She always did that even when she spoke to teachers. I wonder why she even contested the post of class monitor when she was bound to speak to teachers all the time. She had singlehandedly solicited the votes from her class of one hundred thirty pupils. Her opponents, all boys, did not even get close to the number of votes she had. With all this tenacity, I wondered why she was still timid before teachers. She did not try to look at me. Ongulu was not in the sitting room, he was in Mama's bedroom probably begging for the day's pocket money. Last year, when he was in primary six, and I in primary four, they gave us five hundred shillings every day, two hundred mine and three hundred his. Two hundred shillings was only enough to buy two namungodis, rice balls wrapped in flour and curry paste. Luckily, Aunty Namu was my friend, she used to give an extra one and the falling debris of those that were not very intact in the ball. I wonder where Ongulu used to get extra money because at break time when I went to pick up my money. Primary one to four was lower school and primary five to seven was upper school. Each block was a class with different streams. It was quite a run from the Primary Four block to my brother's class. He was seated with a group of five boys at his desk, like a dining table, having eats that three hundred shillings could never buy. They had things you could only get from the big canteen, index-finger-size shaped sausages, popcorn, chaps, kebabs, things I could only eat with my eyes, except for one time when Ochola, Ongulu's desk mate called me and broke a thumb piece of kebab and gave me. I didn't know there was a lot of chili in it. I grimaced at the fire on my tongue and they found it funny, even Ongulu was laughing. I felt betrayed and ran out of their class.

"Jojo, Jojo, stop," my brother panted after me. "It's not you we were laughing at." I turned around, tear-drenched, and narrowed my eyes at him.

"Give me my money," I stretched out my hand to him.

"Sorry," he said.

"Give me my money," it came out louder than I intended.

He pulled out the coins from his left pocket and the inside white cloth came out with it. He put the money in my hand. I examined each coin, one had a fish, and the other a cow. This wasn't my money, this was his. I angrily threw the one with the cow and ran, the clink-clink of the coin on the cement resounding in my ears. I didn't look back but I imagined him bending over immediately to search for it in the trench. The end-of-break bell rang and I went back to lower school without having my breakfast.

I knelt before the table and ironed all the creases on my uniform, the white collar still maintained its white but it was getting torn at the folds. Mama had changed it to the back side at the first tear and now both sides were torn. The big side pockets that could cover a whole \mathematical set, were still intact because I did not over poke my hands in them like the other girls at school. Some put popcorn in them and gnawed when the teacher faced the blackboard. Others brazenly put namungodis and samosas so that you could see the oil patches. Sometimes I doubted whether they did their own laundry because that would need a lot of soap and washing. I felt Grace's eyes over my shoulders and I folded the uniform to cover the collar.

"I can give you mine. I have two," she said hesitatingly.

I did not look at her instead I folded Ongulu's towel, placed it on the chair's armrest, and held my uniform in the crook of my arm.

"I want to put on," I said. She was shocked that I was finally talking to her and that she didn't get what I said at the first hearing.

"I want to put on," I repeated. "Close your eyes or look away."

"What is happening?" Ongulu came from Mama's bedroom. "Grace come we wait for her outside."

Grace rushed to pick up her VISA FAMILY bag and went out with Ongulu. Ongulu gave me a warning departing eye on his way out. I dried the rest of the water in my half-inch hair. It's not like Kitante Primary School never allowed girls to grow hair, you just had to promise that you could maintain it. The model was to plait hair that had pink and white beads to match the pattern of the girls' uniform. I used to plait, those days when Tata was still in Iraq, primary one and two. He used to send Mama some Dollars and the little she could save after distributing the money to Tata's siblings and paying school fees and the home necessities, she used to indulge me and take me to the salon. I never liked it by then because I used to cry whenever they plaited my hair but now I miss it. Ever since Tata was brought back bedridden because of Diabetes, things never remained the same. He cut off my hair, one morning in the sitting room with his machine that he had brought from Iraq. I held my wig-like hair between my fingers while I flooded with tears. We could not keep many of our luxuries because of Tata's health. We lost our TV, shifted to a smaller house, two small rooms in Mulago UEB Zone, sold mine and Ongulu's beds, and started depending only on Mama's income from the small kiosk she had in Makerere University before they banished all hawkers and shopkeepers within the university. My hair was the least of the losses that I could complain about, and besides, most pupils in the upper classes started to cut off their hair deliberately, at least I could fit in. Grace, however, still had hers because they could maintain it. She always plaited the ponytail cornrows, with a few braids with pink and white beads dangling on her forehead. Her hair would not last three weeks because of how careless she was; in only a week, the black threads would turn brown because she did not mind dust getting into her hair. She would join us mindlessly whenever we played in the rain. Later, her mother would scold her for ruining her hair before taking her to the salon to blow dry it, but Grace did not mind; there was so much she did not mind.

MAMA KEISHA'S SHOP WAS ALREADY OPEN, Ongulu and Grace were sitting on her bench while they waited for me. We were so late. Mama Keisha always opened her shop an hour after we had left for school. Mama used to complain about her all the time when she wanted to buy tea leaves for Tata's morning tea before he left for work. Sometimes Mama was keen enough to stock some tea leaves and sugar, but there were times when she was very busy and just forgot.

Ongulu stood up when I closed the door. Grace stood up as well and I walked behind them. Our loud footsteps did the talking, Ongulu walking the fastest, we were literally running even with the baggage of our green plastic bags that carried school requirements. I was relieved when Mama Nakku's door was closed. I hated and almost feared that woman with all my heart and soul. Every time we passed, she insisted that we knelt while greeting her. Yes, I hate kneeling, but with her sort of behavior, even if I liked kneeling, it was above what she ought to have demanded. She would spend the whole day gossiping and picking fights with everyone.

One time, Ongulu was playing football with Ben, Mzee Okello's grandson, and Calvin, one of Grace's neighbors while Buda, the new kid in the village watched from their balcony, the house opposite Mama Keisha's shop, since his mother refused him to mingle with us, the village kids, The ball was accidentally kicked, I don't know by whom, but it flung into Mama Nakku's house, just next to Buda's, and hell broke loose, it was like she had been waiting for this opportunity to have something against Mama. She came heaving breathlessly at our door, knocking loudly. Mama and I were peeling cassava in the house, which we would later fry and sell the next morning when we heard a bang on the door. Her eyes were balled out shouting for Mama to get out. All the neighbors came out wondering what the matter was, some were secretly wishing for a fight. They wanted to see some live action that was always presented by Mama Nakku. With matters concerning Mama Nakku, there was bound to be one. Mama apologized but she insisted that they spank Ongulu. She could not leave without witnessing him being disciplined. Imagine she did not even go to the other kids' homes. Mama gave Ongulu fake but painful slaps so she could leave.

Every morning and evening, to and fro school, I made short prayers as I approached her house willing her to be inside or gone. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. And when it didn't, I had to kneel and greet. I wasn't as hardhearted as Ongulu. He could show off his hatred ever since the ball incident. Grace simply pretended that she had not seen her and ran off or pretended that someone was calling her while I, the well-behaved one, knelt down and muttered the greetings. I could see the triumph in her eyes and promised myself that I would be as bold as Ongulu or as blind as Grace the next time I passed. But it didn't happen. Deep inside me, I knew that this woman was either a night dancer or a witch. That boldness and brazenness had to come from somewhere. She could freely contend with Uncle Kiwa, the village chairperson, and he would let her be.

WE REACHED MULAGO Catholic Church, where we attended church, famous for its sharp pointed peak at the top of the iron sheets. It was built like a dome but for the outward curving of the iron sheets that led to the famous pointer at the top. Ongulu used the shortcut through Kapaapaali Police Station so that we could not be so late. That route was usually dangerous especially at dawn, around five to six, and under normal circumstances, we would never use it, but it was already broad daylight and safe. Two years ago, when Ongulu begged Tata while he was still in Iraq for One hundred fifty thousand shillings for their trip to Queen Elizabeth National Park Kasese, he used that route so that he could reach earlier than usual, a group of four boys not more than sixteen years attacked him and took his fifty thousand shillings for pocket money. The good thing was that the One hundred fifty was sent to the teachers directly on Mobile Money. He did not come back home, he went straight to school, with his white shirt dirtied with mud. He told us that he lied to the teachers that he had slid into a trench on his way to school. Their stay was one month and all that time he depended on his friend Ochola since he was given more-than-enough pocket money. Since that day, he has always dreaded using that route.

#novels #teenromance #romance #ugandan #black is beautiful #Hillary #Clinton

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coralsgrimes · 1 year

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Alright, I'll try to remember everything and answer in order 😁:

1. The background for the promo vids is just all black, which fits with the theme, I guess, but is honestly a cheap cop out. They could have set it all up in a luxurious hotel or smth, deep jewelry tones, really opulent styles...because this is basically just a black curtain. Boring, cheap, done before etc.

2. No further comments on this 😁

3. He might not have had any further training, but at some point you'd think experience would start to make up for some of that. The kids are somewhat excused - little experience, and not deemed important enough for anyone to dedicate money and time on training. This is S&B, not Wednesday.

4. That's kinda her thing. I don't personally agree with her style choices, though she has the youth, personality, and body to pull most of them off. The black dress and the super short, skin tight with peekaboo lacing both come from brand called De LA Vali, which I've never heard of before. It fits right in with her previous fashion hoices, so at least she's true to her taste? I guess?

5. Honestly, I think he looks bored. I think he's mentally clocked out, because he's obviously seen the writing on the wall and knows this is the last hurrah. He's there because it's work, he literally signed up for it. I can't blame him for all the boredom - it must be horrible sitting through one inane session after the other, with mostly the same question over and over again. I'd be screaming halfway through, no matter if it's my job.

As for his/stylists choices...ugh. I could *kind of* be on board with the brown cardi, if the shade had been different (or just a different colour), because it looks cozy, but not for a daytime promo thing. Wrong colour, wrong place.

I think he's worn a shirt similar to that second cardi, but in a much better colour. This one is offensively bland. Lewis looks smug all the time, Ben looks bored - honestly, I'll take the bored, at least it doesn't make me borderline violent.

I'll say this: Ben's outfits aren't good, but at least they're not what Calahan and Lewis wore. I get that they're tall and very fit guys, and that LA is hot, but those sleeveless tops should be burned. They look like they either got the sleeves ripped off by accident, or the wearer forgot to put a shirt on over his vest. An honest to god white wife beater might have looked better 🤦‍♀️ I blame this on their stylist, because neither man would have gas much to choose from, they're pretty much unknown entities, though Lewis has some credits to his name, I guess.

Ugggh, sorry about the wall of text, this got way longer than I thought it would be!

💮🌸

I get where ye coming from with the interview thing but like??? It's a common practice?? Black backdrop or the promo poster?? They literally sit on their asses in one room all day and the interviewers change. Like yeee sure some would do fancier interviews spots but for fancier publications. Netflix not gonna bother for yahoo Finland and vanity fairy won't even touch shadow daddy show like... Also if Benny bored I can't blame him. It's not like he needs to work his ass off cuz the show is getting the axe either way and no one gonna submit his one puppy eyes crying performance for emmys lol he there cuz he has to and also ye know he a STAR... OH and he not an actor anymore, he a full-time aspiring self-failed homeless musician now so he is bored with the trivial monkey show that being an actor is ;ccc

What experience Benny had tho? He was wild card back in punisher days and now he walking the most bland don't get on anyone bad side by having no personality patch. Ye remember his EP promos?? Yep. Also like it's not only netflix business to train them but their managements too right? They just keepin it real with where they going then lol

Like Jessie is experimenting which is cool and stuff that's what we here for. But this one?? No matter the brand it just screams fashion nova from miles away and that's a fashion nono :c sorry Jessie babey that they put ye in this. Wasn't she doing MSGM at brit fashion awards??? Where's that energy now hm?

And here is the 20 quid design in question

And Benny and his similar fits... Ye this is the point I've been making for days now. He wears same boring rags scraps but now with more expensive price tag x.x

I probably skipped through Mr Lewis and gym bro Cal, like I don't particularly care but yeee I was not expecting miracles from anyone in that cast so why waste me time? Oscars in three days that's what imma waiting for lol and boring makes me violent sooooo

Also no matter what, Benny always looks the worst next to his kids. Cuz he personally against me with that shite he wears like always x.x

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admiringlove · 3 years

Text

scent, coffee and turtlenecks.

+synopsis: hq boys and their scent, their coffee order and the turtlenecks they wear.

+genre: fluff lol; headcanons.

+characters: akaashi keiji, miya atsumu, kuroo tetsurō, sugawara kōshi.

+warnings: literally just fluff man, unless you cry because of cute stuff.

+author’s notes: inspired by @neonghxst on tumblr!! go check them out, they have a great blog and i love their writing <3

— AKAASHI KEIJI.

he smells like the first rain of the monsoon. the petrichor, the atmosphere, the sole comfort it brings you by being in his arms. it reminds you of being in the rain for the first time. his arms are firm when he embraces you, yet somehow he holds you as if you’re the most fragile thing in the universe. his scent is addicting; sometimes you never want to let go of him, and you fall asleep in his arms as he’s typing up an essay for literature. he’d smile down at you, pressing a loving peck to your forehead and carry you to bed. you’d sleepily mumble against him, “keiji you smell nice. cuddle me please” of course he doesn’t resist against it, because how can he? you look adorable. being in his arms are like being an elysian—pure heaven for your mortal heart.

definitely addicted to caffeine. but he’s one of those people that calculates up a schedule so he’s making sure the caffeine is working hundred-per-cent. he orders something strong in the mornings—like a hot vienna coffee in medium size and that’s it. no sugar, because this man likes his coffee bitter. and if he’s pulling all-nighters, then cold brew all the way. everyone at the café likes him a lot; his aesthetic and his orders match up perfectly(too bad he’s yours though).

man has a lot of turtlenecks. he’s the type of person that collects them in different colors. but not something too flashy, because he is simple and elegant. he has a range of grey’s and a few beiges, some pumpkin and whites and blacks. he even has blue(his closet is basically a color wheel of turtlenecks). to be honest, you don’t know how he fits so many clothes into his wardrobe. he basically is a autumn/fall wear model in making. it’s the season he gets the most compliments from strangers(because this man wears turtlenecks even in summer).

— MIYA ATSUMU.

smells like pine and sandalwood. his scent feels like home. whenever he finishes a game and wins, he’ll run to you(who’s in the stands) and he’ll engulf you first. the scent will overcome you, the crowd behind fading away as you feel like you’ve arrived home after a long trip and simply want to rest for a bit in the comfort of your own bed. the blond will throw you the dashiest smile in front of the public, but the softest one in private. nights with atsumu are filled with his homey scent on the couch, as you read to him and he falls asleep in your arms or your lap. you’d peck him, and he’d say, “yer sniffin’ me again, aren’t ya?” only to get poked in the eye by you after. “i don’t sniff you!” you’d yell at him as he falls onto the floor after you harshly get up and go to the bedroom, but he’d follow you and lay in bed with you and embrace you, the aroma coming over you again as he says “i know ya like my cologne, dummy. i like your scent too. c’mere so i can hug ya.”

his orders are neither too bitter nor too sweet. he probably is one of those people that tries everything on the menu first before deciding what he likes. he’ll later decide on a mocha latte with the slightest chocolate drizzle on top. he likes the small bitterness and the twist the chocolate brings to the drink. it’s steamy, and it makes his throat clear up. his heart rate slows down a smidge and he just sits there and sips on the drink till he’s calm, cool and collected. it’s a drink that makes his day better for sure. and for cold drinks, atsumu would go for an iced caramel macchiato. it just clicks with him for some reason.

he has a good collection. by this, i mean that he’s a king of knowing what looks good on him and what doesn’t. he knows what exactly to pick —whether it be a sleeveless olive green turtleneck, or a beige one with an overcoat. he’s cocky, and he knows he looks good. man is definitely a king of accessories and wears the proper amount of necklaces, rings, or whatever he thinks will go with his outfit. definitely winks at you when he catches you stare at him for too long and tells you to take a picture.

— KUROO TETSURŌ.

he smells like mahogany teakwood. it’s captivating and comforting at the same time. he wakes up before you in the mornings, so when you wake up, you’re immediately engulfed by this strong yet soothing scent. he’s holding you in his arms and stroking your hair ever-so-softly, and you let out a small whine which let him know that you’re about to wake up. and when you open your eyes, he throws you a softened smile that screams, “good morning” or “i love you” and a thousand diiferent affirmations at the same time. you run your fingers through his hair, looking up with one eye closed as he mumbles, “we have to get up for class”, and your nose scrunches at those words as you pull him closer and letting out a muffled, “i’d rather stay in bed with you for eternity”.

his order isn’t too bitter, but it’s enough to keep him awake. if he’s going for something cold, it’s going to be a dark roast cold brew with sweet-salted caramel cream. it’s a little bitter—but it manages to make him stay awake through the night to finish up an assignment or two. and if it’s a hot drink he prefers, then he definitely goes for an espresso macchiato. it makes him feel at home when you’re not there by his side.

he’s definitely the type of person that tries everything for fun. you’re laughing in the background as he pulls on a neon yellow turtleneck, the only problem is that he’s actually rocking it. he looks amazing even in the most craziest choice of clothing. although you always buy him many different shades of red(he has a lot of red in his closet—maroons, scarlets, pumpkins, you name it), he looks good in almost anything. he always makes you laugh by buying abnormal things then putting them on in front of you to check if it looks good or not—and most of the times, it does.

— SUGAWARA KŌSHI.

he smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon. it reminds you of winter mornings, when the two of you used to go to high-school hand-in-hand with small to-go coffees that you’d have. suga is definitely the type to snuggle into you every chance he gets after getting to know that you like his scent. it’s cute to him, and he makes you feel comfortable. every time the two of you are alone, he will inch closer and closer to you, finding solace in the fact that just his presence makes your mood lighten up. he’ll hold his hand out in front of your mouth so you can press a kiss to his knuckles, he’ll kiss your forehead and get dangerously close to you(so close that you’re practically a tomato), and he’ll mutter, “hey, come here. i wanna hug you” as you stand there with a really big blush. you’ll mumble, “you smell nice, ko” and his confidence level just rises up by fifty percent.

he’s bougie. he gets a hazelnut bianco latte, just something about it reminds him of the same winter mornings he shared with you. the way you prayed at the temple for his well-being when he was sick, or the way he stayed in his bed for days and you were sitting next to him for most of that time. it’s an over the top and extra drink, but it makes him comfortable and gives him a sense of nostalgia. for a colder preference, he gets a pistachio frappuccino. it’s soft and delicate, and the taste is really elegant.

he prefers sweaters, but his go-to color is grey. suga would look good in almost anything, but he likes sweaters and woolen vests more than turtlenecks. although, if he has to choose a color to wear, then he’d choose grey(you name it, whether it be steel grey or a nice shade of pewter). he looks amazing in an abundance of shades of greys and even black—pair it with a scarf and dickies, and he looks like an angel on earth. you always compliment him, and he always ends up looking away while blushing like a high-school kid in love(well, you can’t blame him. he was one at some point).

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a-purple-lizard · 3 years

Note

Hello! I love your blog! I want to ask if you can make a story of Raiden having sexual tension with his ex wife? Like she watches him train shirtless or something 😂 (I’m just thirsty for Raiden tbh)

Thundering rain

Raiden x Ex wife Reader

Ohhh my goodness! You are my first request! Thanks so much! I actually read this at 1am last night when you sent it and I was so excited! Oh and quick warning, this does get a bit steamy at the end, no smut though, but of course if anybody wanted a part 2...

The clouds defended from the sun, leaving no light down onto the Sky temple. A large stone balcony below was illuminated by a couple hundred candles. Behind one of the many pillars surrounding the training area, was a woman. She wore sleeveless, black robes, two metal rings were on each of her upper arms. Her scowl seemed permanent as she watched a man on the balcony.

Soft grunts filled air as the thunder god struck the invisible foe. He kicked and punched gracefully, never once becoming distracted by his surroundings. His hat rested on a crate nearby, his vest lay right next to it. The gods long silver locks flowed gently in the wind, the silk top of his robe peeled down, revealing his chest.

S/o growled silently to herself, nails clicking against the wall as sudden voices came from the halls behind her.

“She’s back!? Again?” A male said in a slightly rude tone.

“Yes, I suggest we tread lightly, she looked as if she wanted to eat me alive when I glanced at her.” A more respectful voice answered.

“Poor Raiden, marrying that woman was probably the worst decision of his li- ahh!” The monk was cut off as they turned the corner to find an extremely pissed off immortal woman seething at them.

The two men quickly turned the other way, their pace almost a run. “Kung Lao, Liu Kang!”

They both froze, glancing at each other before cautiously approaching S/o. She crossed her arms, eyes going from one monk to the other. “Hello boys. Good to see you again.” Her glare made her polite tone unbelievable.

The two monks looked at each other before both respectfully bowing, “S/o it’s… unexpected to see you here again, do you have business with the thunder god?” Liu Kang asked.

“I don’t need to have a gods damn reason to be here!” She snapped. “I was here when this cursed place was built and I’ll be here long after.”

“So you’re just here, on your own free will, just to watch Raiden train on the top balcony?” Liu Kang asked, careful not to come across as sarcastic.

“Shirtless?” Kung Lao added.

“I’m here because I enjoy the scenery!” The immortal growled. The monks analyzed the area around them, the dark sky painting over the sun, a sudden burst of lightning lashing out. Rain pouring and whipping at the backs of anybody who dared to emerge from the safety of the tower.

“Yes… it’s very nice…” Kung Lao said. “But I’m afraid we must get going, we have uh… business to discuss with the thunder god!” Tipping his hat, he grabbed the chosen one and bolted out of s/o’s sight, making a Beeline to the silver haired god.

“Lord Raiden!” Liu Kang started, earning the gods attention.

“Your scary ex wife is back.” Kung Lao announced. Raiden looked up, gaze meeting S/o’s briefly before she looked away. “I’m pretty sure she’s here to kill you.”

“I see, how long has she been there?” He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Well I first saw her a couple of hours ago climbing up the stairs, she was on the… 367th floor at the time I believe?” Liu Kang answered, his face strained trying to remember.

“Thank you, I must go speak with her now.” And with that, he started to walk over to the borderline feral woman.

“May Neatherealm have mercy on his soul.” Kung Lao mumbled as they both watched the god halt next to the immortal.

“S/o? Is everything alright?” He asked carefully. Blood krept onto the woman’s face as she quickly turned her head.

“Ya. I’m fine.” She answered quickly.

“Why are you here? Surely you have better things to do then scare the monks?” He prompted. S/o blinked and glanced over as his shirtless form. His body was certainly toned and muscled, the rain dripped down his body, tracing each crevice and adding an overall exaggeration of the man's body. “S/o?”

His voice brought her back to reality. She quickly thought, her and her ex husband had rarely had any civil conversations since they left, this was… refreshing. “I… I came back for my… crown.”

He tilted his head, confused, eyes at full attention. S/o felt a maddening blush overtake her, damn his rare, innocent expressions. “You know! That old golden one, with the glowing gems, it covers my forehead and curves down to my cheeks? Looked like a conquerors helm? I used to wear it with my armor?”

Recognition filled his glowing eyes as he nodded, “Oh yes, I remember. Do you… plan on wearing it?” He asked carefully.

S/o wanted to slap herself for picking the crown as her excuse. The crown was gifted to her by some ancient king of a realm conquered by Shao Kahn long ago. It was given to her after her wedding with Raiden, a symbol of her status as his wife. It also granted her great strength, yes she would use that as an excuse.

“Well obviously.” She snapped. “I plan on… participating in the mortal Kombat tournament.” She finished awkwardly. Raiden raised a brow.

“What do you have to gain from it? You are already an immortal s/o. Besides, what realm would you represent?” He asked.

“I- I, I don’t need to explain myself to you Raiden! Just take me to your damn room so I can grab it.” She angrily stuttered. Raiden grimaced but started to make his way to his things on the crate, the flexing of his back muscles quickly made s/o grab him. He turned, his gaze questioning. “By the elder gods, just teleport us really quick, no need to stop what you’re doing!”

“Very well then.” With a sudden flash, they were both standing in a clearly abandoned room. Dust has settled on their bed, candles were blown out and all of her things looked untouched. She blinked in surprise.

“You… haven’t used this room since I left?” She asked, her questioning gaze landing on the god.

He frowned. “Gods don’t need sleep, I only chose to sleep because you were beside me. Without you, this room is meaningless to me.” Something about that sentence stabbed through her heart as she quickly turned the other direction.

“Let’s just… get the crown so you don’t have to see me again.” She mumbled, opening her dresser drawers.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t want to see you again?” He inquired, walking over to her, strong, soaked muscles shining in the window light. Fuck, no no no.

“I was the one who left, figured you would hold it to me.” She answered quietly.

Guilt clouded his eyes, he halted behind her “we both were at blame. I’m sorry if I ever made you think it was purely you at fault.”

S/o huffed, “oh so I suppose we are just supposed to kiss and make up now?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I would not be opposed to that.” He stated simply. S/o felt her eyes widening, she turned around only to see Raiden, still without a fucking shirt, giving her an expectant look.

He couldn’t really expect this to work? Just kiss and say sorry and BAM marriage fixed! But then again they never necessarily got a divorce, they simply mutually agreed to stay the hell away from each other- fuck why was she overthinking this?

A fucking shirtless GOD was before her, asking her for a kiss. The answer shouldn’t have even taken a second.

Without a warning she grabbed him, slamming him against one of the tall bed post and placed her lips on his. He was definitely startled by the sudden movement but he returned the kiss anyway.

S/o leaned forward on him, hands finding his wrist and pinning them. She wicked onto his lower lip, biting it slightly. The god groaned, opening his mouth, giving her the perfect opportunity to claim it. There was no battle for dominance, only simple sweet submissiveness.

Sliding her body downwards, she left his still gasping lips, going down until her mouth met his neck. She mouthed his throat all over, nipping at all of his sweet spots that she had spent thousands of years memorizing. Each one granted a new sound of pure desperation.

Finally she pulled away, releasing Raiden from her hold. She took a moment to look at her work. Raiden leaned against the post, panting, his hair messy, his lip bleeding and small dark marks beginning to form on his throat.

Yes, this was going to be a very long night indeed.

Part 2

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #raiden x reader #raiden #kung lao #fem s/o #sky temple #request #liu kang

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