#there are two blood colors left actually one lime and the olives

[clockworkreapers]

Which design(s) from the fantroll adopt from your blood color batches is/are your fav to design?

ohhhh the constellation trolls project iv been doing? looking through my folder (they are all sold these all belong to other people now) these are probs the designs i like the most, as you can tell some of the people who got them already had some ideas for names and points

#this is a big project i have been working on for the whole year actually #there are two blood colors left actually one lime and the olives #this is a big big project cuz there are like 88 of them not including the zodiac? (i think dont quote me) #people like them tho and they were all like 10$ so not too pricy for adopts #fantrolls #fantroll #clock rambles

[fascination-street-writing]

Be With Me Tonight | Guido Mista x F!Reader

Regret is a sickening temptation - and you have ruined everything.

Content Warnings: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content (Oral & Implied), Implied Past Attempted Sexual Assault, Potentially Dubious Consent, & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics (Past & Present)

You said you would do your own makeup. And yet, here you sit on a thrifted barstool – never mind the tweed upholstery that digs into the underside of your skirt-clad thighs, when you paid less for the stool than you would a loaf of bread – and flinch as your sister nearly prods your iris with the mascara wand clutched in her tremoring hand. She smells of hair spray and counterfeit perfume. You look to the mirror that hangs above the vanity.

“You really should change before we go,” she tells you while returning the wand to its tube. Fingers toil through your hair: she scrutinizes your appearance as though you are a porcelain doll and she your maker. You suppose that, in a way, she is. “You won’t catch anyone’s attention dressed like that.”

The reflection of your cherry-red lips mimics the frown upon your face. “Maybe I don’t want to ‘catch anyone’s attention,’” you retort. “I’m not even ready to start dating again.”

She groans. “You’re not still caught up on that perdente, are you?”

You do not have to bite back a quip because you do not have one. Instead, you bite your stained lips and look away. Though the relationship with your most recent ex had ended on mutual terms, the separation stings nonetheless.

“You know, you’ve always had bad taste in men,” your sister continues. Varnish to a wall, she rubs powder across your cheekbones. “First there was that pervertito when you were fifteen, and now a convicted murderer.”

“Can you stop?” you demand, clenching your fist. “He’s not a murderer. It was self-defense.”

“Regardless of what you think, he still killed three men. I can’t believe the landlord hasn’t changed our locks yet. I asked him almost a year ago now, ever since he was released from prison,” your sister insists, ignoring your plea. “You should’ve asked for his key back.”

“He has a name, you know.” Guido Mista – a name that once tasted like honey on your tongue, now bitter as cigarette smoke.

And your sister refuses to speak it, for she hates the taste of cigarettes. A hum dies on her lips. Her smirk bequeaths to you an urgency to cower in shame; however, the distressed look in her eyes tells you how much she fears for your welfare.

As if she has anything to genuinely be afraid of.

Guido Mista has, for most of your life, been something of an extended acquaintance to you. His is a recognizable presence in crowded hallways; after all, who else amongst the student body could muster the same courage to break the dress-code by donning a purple beanie cap atop their head? You will admit to him that you look forward to the days when a teacher confiscates his cap because it means that you get to admire his rich chocolate curls all day long from your seat at the back of the classroom. He will chuckle in response and press a sloppy kiss to your cheek while running his calloused fingers over the sides of your belly, drinking in the laughter that bubbles through you, as if you are the fountain of ever-lasting love itself.

But it was not always this way. Before Mista came a boy whose name you will etch from memory in time – remembered as a boyfriend, but never as a partner.

At your locker, he leans over you, waiting for you to stack your textbooks away. You are fifteen, and he asks you to join him behind the bleachers of the gymnasium. No more than a pet tethered by a chain, you follow him blindly to where his companions wait. You know their pubescent faces but you seldom speak to them. Their names do not matter anymore, either.

In a school dress, pitted against three boys who surpass you in height – you never stood a chance.

The squealing of the gymnasium doors and the slamming of the lock is not enough to stop them. It did little more than encourage your perpetrators to wedge you between their clothed bodies as they fist your hair and tug at the skirt that your father has only just purchased for you after you spilled grape juice over the previous one. You spot the purple beanie over your boyfriend’s blazer-clad shoulder and cry out to him – to Guido Mista.

His cap has fallen from his head, and they beat him until he gasps for air and spews bile from his throat. But he never begs them to stop because it keeps them from attacking you again. He can hardly put up a fight when every attempt to stand is quelled by the diving of a loafer-clad foot into the pit of his stomach Your boyfriend grabs him by those beautiful curls and ushers his face against the waxed floors. The glint of a pocketknife catches your eye.

The school-bell blares. The boy who had held you back throws you to the ground. The pocketknife clamors with you, just beyond the grasp of the tips of your fingers. Your ex-boyfriend (for you no longer consider him as anything more) and his boyish companions dust off their blazers, straighten their ties, and hurry off for their next round of classes. They leave you with your unsettled clothes and a boy with a broken nose.

Clutching the rungs of the bleachers, Mista pulls his body upwards:  a buoy in the sea, and you the only vessel on the horizon. You press his discarded beanie – which you cannot help but to notice smells comfortingly so of cedarwood – to his nose. Red blossoms seep into the delicate threads.  “Are you okay?” he asks you with a cough and a grimace for, as you will come to discover, he has cracked a rib.

“Yes.” Compared to his injuries, you cleared the scuffle relatively unscathed. Mista had stepped in before anything beyond the tearing of your uniform could happen. And yet, his concern is of you and not for his own well-being. “Thank you.”

He flashes you a lopsided grin. You are glad to see that, though laced with the blood that seeps into his mouth, he has not lost any teeth. His repose is infectious, and his ease illuminates your own composure. You help him to stand and together you walk to the nurse’s office, his arm slung over your shoulders and yours around his waist. Your attackers are expelled; their testimony of falsified innocence could not hold a candle to security footage, or a pocketknife engraved with damning initials. Despite everything, you make a new friend. The two of you will become lovers at sixteen – utterly inseparable.

Until the very end.

You prefer sweeter cocktails, but you accept the gin and tonic from your sister and lift it to your lips anyways. The relief of the ice pooling in the cavities of your mouth is a reprieve from the suffocating atmosphere of the nightclub. Too many bodies, too much sweat – too many different smells, and suddenly your mind whirls. You place the emptied glass atop a table and only then do you realize that you never juiced the translucent lime wedge curled around the rim.

The circle of women whom you find yourself dancing with are strangers; you sway as though you have all known each other for a lifetime. You do not understand the words of the American pop song that resonates from the wall speakers, but it does not matter; after all, even an illiterate man can read rhythm. Across the dancefloor, your sister drags two men with her towards the restroom.

A pelvis presses against your backend – or perhaps, it is your backend that leans into the nook of the clubber swaying behind you. A pair of hands falls to your hips, though you take the lead in rocking side-to-side to Laura Branigan’s cadence. Over the sound of music, the woman to your left suggests that you all swap cellphone numbers. The woman to your right agrees with a drunken nod of her head and, giddy with excitement, clasps your hand. The woman directly across from you offers to order a round of shots to commemorate this newfound comradery. Instead of a tray filled with cinnamon whiskey, she returns with an olive-toned man clad in orange leopard print pants and a blue cross-patterned sweater that exposes his midriff.

“Hey, ladies,” the woman calls out to your circle. The lights ripple across her flushed skin like water. “This is Mista.”

You freeze, your hips suspended mid-beat. Your dance partner pouts and pulls away. Mista does not look to you, and you are grateful . . . Until his coffee-colored eyes do fall to your face after a hiccup jostles your chest. His brows furrow, gaze darting between you and the man behind you. Before his steadily parting lips can utter your name against the clapping of the bass, you are gone because you are not ready.

The winter breeze makes you shiver. The nightly chill is preferable to the sweltering sanctuary behind you, where only moments ago you bobbed along to pop songs and impulsively contemplated friendship with intoxicated patrons who will not remember you in the morning.

The green dial of your cellphone flashes and reflects upon scattered puddles.  You text your sister and tell her that you are going home – don’t wait up. Your affinity for clubbing has gone sour.

“I thought that was you.”

Your heart races quickly, so much that it might burst from the nook between your breasts and land on the ground before his white boots. “Yeah, it’s me,” you say. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too. So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Just stuff. And things.”

Mista laughs. “Stuff and things?”

“Y’know, work,” you tell him with a nod. “More work.”

“Me too.” You fidget with your purse. “I saw your sister – or, the back of her head, actually. How’s she doin’?”

“She’s good.”

“Good.”

A man stumbles through the door. He reeks of cheap bourbon and rye. You and Mista step aside and watch the man as he struggles to walk away from the club. The scene has created a lull to your painfully cumbrous conversation; you reap the opportunity, for it becomes your self-proclaimed cue to leave. You open your mouth to bid Mista adieu. The taste of your own lipstick leaves you sputtering.

“Hey, so uh, are you busy?” he suddenly asks, cutting you off. You have always believed that he could read minds. In this moment, it is as if he knows your intent – as if shuffling in your heels and tightening the grasp on your purse were not telltale signs of your discomfort.

“Not really,” you insist. “I was about to head home.”

“Cool, cool. I was just wondering because you left something behind at my apartment. I’ve been meaning to give it back, but I didn’t think it’d be right to just show up at your doorstep or something.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before,” you chide.

“I know, I know. I just figured it’d make sense to stop at my place, since it’s on the way.”

It gnaws at you – the voice in your head that tells you to leave him be, here and now. It will not do you any good, stepping back into walls once sacred to you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, and gages your reaction. Dark curls poke out from beneath the rim of his cap. You wonder if he still uses that cedarwood shampoo.

It would not do you any good to go with him. The prospect of sipping a glass of wine whilst soaking in a warm bath beckons you home. There is little trouble that you can muster with an idle night, for the night is still young and you have not given up. Though the moon has reached its peak, you cannot surrender. You have made your choice.

“Sure.”

But you never intended to make the right one.

You were sure to slip on a set of shoes before stepping outside. Through the hallway, down the elevator, across the lobby, and onto the street you wander with little more than the glow of streetlamps and passing headlights to guide your way through the dark. You find him in the alley between your apartment building and the next. The stink of a prison cell has imprinted itself onto his skin.

He slips a single nickel-plated key into your hand. “Your sister probably wouldn’t appreciate me having this,” he says.

“You can keep it. I’ll tell her you forgot it.” When he does not accept the return, you reach out and tuck the key into the pocket of his cargo pants. “Just so you have something to remember me by.”

The look in his eyes – the sheen of gloss that coats his irises – churns your stomach. In that moment, Mista reminds you of a dog scorned by his owner. In a way, that is exactly what he is. “You still have that sweater I sent you, right?”

Mustard-yellow, and one of your favorites. And one of Mista’s, too. You had sent it to him during his second week in holding. “Yeah.”

“Keep that, too.” A revolver rests in inside the waistband of his pants. It is a new addition to his appearance. It does not unsettle you, because you know that this man who killed three mobsters without hesitation would never hurt you. “Mista, I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” he sighs, kicking at a discarded soda can that had drifted from a nearby trashcan. “But it’s for the best.”

“It is.” The soda can rolls your way. You stop it with the sole of your foot; it crinkles beneath your weight. “Maybe one day, after you’re tired of working for that Bucciarati, we can pick up where we left off.”

“I’d like that.”

You smile. “Me too . . . Well, I should get going before my sister realizes I’m gone.” In your final moments together – before a pair of lovers once again becomes two separate beings – you embrace. Face buried into the crook of his neck, you speak: “You’re a good person, Mista. No matter what happened between you and those men or whatever does happen, you will always be good.”

He clutches you tighter.

“Don’t let them get to you. Don’t let this job get to you. And please, stai al sicuro, amore: stay safe.”

Back in your bedroom, you shed your clothes and don a mismatched set pajamas. Ever the optimist, you retire for the night with a heart not yet ready to be broken.

And an inescapable evocation of loneliness.

You are shocked to see the stack of hastily packed cardboard boxes. The words fragile or giunca are crudely scribbled with black marker across each one. All that remains is a worn couch with springs that poke into your skin and a square television, which sits on a box labeled libri e altra spazzatura – books and other trash.

The uniform pinholes in the barren walls are a reminder that imitators of your face, frozen in time, used to adorn the room.

“You’re moving?” you ask Mista as he tosses his hat aside and runs a hand through his hair.

He stops and looks to the boxes. “Yeah, actually,” he confirms. “The rent’s too damn high to afford on my own. I’m moving in with some coworkers.”

“You mean other gang members?” You do not miss the way he bites his lip in response. You regret your words as soon as they leave you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“N-no, it’s okay – you’re right anyways.” He trails off. “So that guy you were with. He your boyfriend or something?”

You struggle to recall your dance partner. “Oh, no,” you insist, caught between a scoff and a laugh. “I don’t even know his name.”

Something flashes behind his eyes. He hides the smile that creeps on his face behind the back of his hand, though he does not speak. Not another word is spoken.

It does not sit well with you, the silence that manifests in the still of the room. You are a trespasser – but so is he, for this realm no longer belongs to him, either. “Um, where’s this thing I left behind?” you finally ask; your voice echoes through the emptied space. It makes you shiver.

Mista disappears past the threshold of the bedroom that you once shared  – you wonder if he still uses the cream-colored sheets you bought for him as opposed to his preferred navy blue – and returns with a shirt: it is your mustard-yellow sweater. It is wrinkled and smells just like him and something new (gunpowder, perhaps). The dried drool marks tell you that he sleeps with it bundled in his arms. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you.

You do not move to take it. “I gave it to you,” you remind him. A crushed soda can is under your foot and again, you are back in the alley saying farewell to your love. “I want you to keep it.”

But there is no alleyway – only a vacant apartment suite. He does not wish to return it; in a hasty, split-second decision back at the nightclub, he wagered his ownership over what has become his most cherished possession. Just for the chance that you might say yes.

Just for the chance to spend one last night with you.

He rolls his wrist, extending his arm further. “No. It’s for the best.”

And so, you pluck it from his grasp and tuck it inside of your purse – the final harvest from the tree, to be seeded and planted elsewhere. “I’d better get going,” you tell him. “I wish you all the best. It was good seeing you again. Really good . . .”

The doorknob hovers under your palm. “Wait,” Mista suddenly calls. You stop. He rubs the back of his neck. “Would you like to stay for a bit?”

“I shouldn’t. It’s late.” Your tongue betrays your heart. It is treason within your very soul. “Besides, it’s probably for the best if I go.”

Your reverberation of his words makes him wince. More than anything, you want to drop your purse and climb into his arms – to feel his warmth again. You need to leave. Yet, you step away from the door and take a seat upon the flattened cushions of the couch. You still remember where to sit to avoid the broken springs. “Unless, I mean . . .  I guess if you really wouldn’t mind.”

Mista perks up. You mirror his grin. He takes the spot beside you, careful to leave a considerable amount of distance between your bodies. He reaches for the remote. The reception has not improved – it remains fuzzy, pixelated, and colorless.

“I’d offer a boardgame, but . . .” He gestures to the boxes; you get the hint. The channels flash by. “Any preferences?”

“I’m fine with a cooking show,” you tell him. “Or a movie.”

He settles for the latter. At some point, you leave Mista to fetch two drinks from the kitchen. The refrigerator is nearly empty, save for a few bottles of water. When you return with your beverages, you find that he has fallen asleep. You leave him be and watch the reminder of the movie with nothing more than his heavy breathing and the voices of the actors to keep you company.

You turn the television off once the end credits begin. Mista has not moved. If not for the heaving of his chest, he might have been a dead man. Without a clock on the wall, you cannot tell the time. Prediction is all you have – and so, you predict that it is just after midnight. Regardless, you have overstayed your welcome. It is time to leave.

Your fingers brush across his arm as you lean over his hunched form to rouse him from his slumber.  You would hate to leave without saying goodbye. “Mista . . . “ you coo; your speech slurs and it is only then that you realize your own exhaustion. “I’m gonna go home, ‘kay?”

He stirs beneath you. Eyes puffy from sleep, he ogles at your figure. You hover over him, your breath close enough to ghost his cheeks. His long, dark lashes twitch when you breathe too sharply – when he parts his legs for you to slide in between them so that he might capture your lips with his own. One hand to the base of your neck, the other to your waist: he pulls you flush to his body, caging you with arms that feel unfamiliar. More muscle, you suppose.

You press against his chest and detach. His grip loosens, although only enough for you to raise the back of your hand to puckered lips to wipe the saliva from your face. He has already lost you – once more and it will become a life sentence.

“Mista,” you warn, turning your head away to resist his second kiss. The twinges of early love bloom again in the core of your belly. You want him. But you cannot have him. “We can’t.”

Your lipstick stains his mouth. It makes him look undeniably pretty.

“One night,” he pleads – yet his hands leave your body. “I know what you said, about waiting until I’m finished with Passione. But that was easier said than done. I can’t leave them; not now, maybe not ever. They’re mia famiglia. And so are you.”

Your head falls limply. “You can’t have us both.”

“Why not?” He speaks your name when you hesitate to answer. A finger hooks beneath your chin, tipping your head so that you must meet his gaze. “Why not, cara?”

He demands a truth that you have never professed. Not to him, nor your sister – and never to yourself. “I’m scared, Mista,” you finally admit. Confession weighs you down in his grasp. “Because I know the day will come when you won’t come back. It’d be better if I’m not around for it.”

A faint smile, laced with sorrow, etches upon his face. “Do you have that little faith in me?” he asks.

Faith? It was never for the lack thereof. You trust Mista with every fiber of your being because he saved you. And it was not just you – he took the lives of three men to protect the virtue of a woman whom he had never met because she could have been you. She was almost you. That night, when he had heard that woman’s screams and saw the man crouched over her bruised form, Mista felt as though his body had projected itself back into the gymnasium of the school you once attended together. Only this time, he knew how to put up a fight. He acted in the way that the constraints of boyhood had once held him back from.

No, you do not place your mistrust on Mista – you place it in the souls of every man and woman that poses a threat to his safety. The fact that you do not know how to convey this to him mystifies you. Actions are far easier than words, and so you press your lips to his once more. You feed off his touch alone.  

You recline against the backing of the couch, hands pressed flat against the cushions. keening into Mista’s palms as he slides your skirt down – past your thighs, past your knees, and past your ankles. Your panties follow suit. His mouth presses against your slick folds; as touch starved as you have become, it takes little more than his kisses to stir your core. As if commanded by muscle memory, your legs coil around his shoulders and yank him closer the moment his tongue slips past your heat. He groans against you, low and gravely. It makes you gasp when his teeth graze over your hardened nub. When he brings his finger to join his tongue, you find that you are unable to stop your hips from rocking against his lips. A second finger coaxes you, and then a third – you come undone in his mouth, heaving for air.

You cry out his name in prayer. Mista pulls away, letting your legs fall back down. The spasm of your thighs turns your abdomen to jelly. You cannot move. You draw him in for another kiss, savoring the taste of your balm that coats his skin. He mutters his desires and you nod, eager to feel him fill you again. He hoists you into his arms and carries you to the bedroom.

It fills you with gratification to see that the rumpled sheets and folded pillows beneath you are in fact the color of sweet cream.

Soft snores leave Mista’s lips. He sleeps on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, and the other tucked beneath your head. Unlike your lover, you are wide-awake. You stare at the browning wallpaper of the bedroom wall, willing yourself to believe that the stagnant flowers are truly billowing against the wind in a field elsewhere.

You toss the duvet from your body and stand, careful not to wake him. The mattress breathes in the absence of your weight. In the darkness, you collect your discarded clothing and don your clubbing attire. You cast one final look to the sleeping dark-eyed boy before clicking the heavy door shut behind you.

A tiny voice cries out – a child from the next apartment suite perhaps, startled by nightmares no doubt. Though, as your ears strain and listen, it almost seems as though the child is calling your name. It is a ludicrous idea. Still, it unsettles you, for there is something familiar in its tone. You tighten your grasp on your purse, readjust your heels, and leave.

Regret is a sickening temptation – and you have ruined everything. 

| 4291 Words | Masterlist |

#guido mista x reader #mista x reader #guido mista #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader #vento aureo

[videcoeur]

Headcanons

The structure of this page and most of the headcanons were taken from @etchtrolls with their permission. Some have been modified to fit my own personal headcanons, but I give all the credit to most of everything here to etchtrolls.

For headcanons about my version of the Cult of the Mirthful Messiah, click here!

For more random general Alternia headcanons, visit the headcanon tag!

Headcanons under the cut because it’s very long. Trigger warning may apply for canon violence, slavery mentions, and all nitty-gritty things those criminal murdertrolls are known to do.

Biology

Caste System

Burgundy bloods: Averaged 40 sweeps (85 years)

Bronze bloods: Averaged 45 sweeps (98 years)

Gold bloods: Averaged 55 sweeps (119 years)

Lime bloods: Averaged 105 sweeps (228 years)

Olive bloods: Averaged 175 sweeps (380 years)

Jade bloods/rainbow: 300 sweeps (560 years or infinite)

Teal bloods: Averaged 450 sweeps (975 years)

Cerulean bloods: Averaged 600 sweeps (1,300 years)

Indigo bloods: Averaged 1,000 sweeps (2,165 years)

Purple bloods: Averaged 3,000 sweeps (6,500 years)

Violet bloods: Averaged 5,000 sweeps (10,833 years)

Fuschia bloods: None have died of time, only killed. The oldest lived over 10,000 sweeps and was still kicking when she was finally killed.

The higher a troll is up on the spectrum, the colder their body temperature is. While one normally can’t tell one’s exact blood color by body temperature, it gives one a general idea. Mutants' blood colors depend on the caste they’re mutated from. For example, a candy red troll would be even warmer than a redblood, while a lime would be somewhere between yellow and olive. Other non-canon colors work as well. For example, a bright fuchsia would be a tyrian mutant, and their blood color would probably be the coldest in all the hemospectrum, etc.

There is no instant assumption that hemoanons are mutants. Trolls are very careful about picking fights with hemoanons because there is no telling what sort of strength the anon wields. There is, of course, the assumption and stigma from the opposite ends of the spectrum that anons are either highbloods that are trying to infiltrate lowblood spaces or lowbloods trying to get more power than is legally allowed.

Ancestors and Descendants

Most descendants will never meet their ancestors and another great portion of them will not even know about their names. When it comes to lowbloods, I’d say that most of them will know jack shit about their ancestors because their ancestors probably died young doing nothing. Not everyone has The Summoner as an ancestor so unless their ancestor did something worth nothing down a book, they probably won’t ever know their names or titles. Another thing is, most highblooded ancestors can cross several timelines so it’s not a stretch to think some of them would meet their descendants.

Body Science

Pupation/Molting

Wrigglers (troll babies) pupate at 1-3 sweeps dependant upon the caste. Lowerbloods tend to pupate faster than higherbloods since their lifespan is shorter; everything happens faster for them. During pupation, they form a cocoon-like structure around their bodies, not unlike a pupating caterpillar. Wrigglers usually choose quiet and hidden places to do this in the caverns. The pupation usually takes 1-2 weeks long to go through, again, depending on the caste, and the wriggler emerges from its casing as a toddler. Adult molts take place usually around 10 sweeps and a troll almost has to use their skin for this. During molts, trolls grow at an extremely rapid rate, actually literally splitting their skin. Molting also takes about a week or two long and trolls emerge from it usually a foot to several feet taller than before. Trolls continue to grow after molting, and their eyes fill more rapidly with color. It is during molting that nipples appear and grubscars disappear, usually. Some trolls sometimes keep their grubscars and some never grow nipples.

Skin

Trolls skin is generally way thicker than humans, however, it can still bruise easily considering the strength of these aliens. Seadwellers’ skin is less rugged than lowbloods, it is, in fact, smoother and gives an almost perfect wet silk vibe. It’s soft and cold and almost always humid to the touch. They need their skin to create that extra watery sheen so their gills and fins don’t get dehydrated. They’re not «wet» per se, but touching a seadweller’s skin is like touching a moist, cold hand lmao.

Horns

Contrary to their name, horns are not part of troll’s skeletal system. They are more similar to antlers in that they are made of keratin and that they shed, albeit not completely. Horns only shed off old layers. They continue to grow as the troll does and, without proper care, can break, chip, and fracture. It’s also possible to use castes to try and make horns grow a certain way, but this is an unreliable method and known to cause more harm than good. Another way to decorate horns is to engrave carvings into the surface, which is much safer and more common. There are nerve endings in the keratin of horns and are most concentrated in the roots, in the red portion. For that reason, horns are not inherently an erogenous zone. While they may be sensitive around the base and a troll could get aroused by being rubbed the right way around the horns, those are not like sex organs. A troll won’t become a putty mess if their horns get messed with. In fact, it’s more of a pale thing, to pacify trolls. A massage around the horns wouldn’t give a troll a boner, it would just be something as pleasant as getting your hair played with or getting a shoulder massage. Depending on who’s touching, yeah, it can be arousing, but it’s not something my trolls would have their nook dripping for.

Horn Culture

Grub Scars

After putation, small vestigial grub legs are left behind, clinging to a troll’s midsection just below the ribcage. In time, they fall off, like an umbilical cord, and leave behind a hard section of scar tissue that’s tinted a darker shade of gray that troll skin. These are grub scars. These grub scars sometimes entirely disappear after the adult molting, as mentioned before.

Breasts

Rumble spheres are stored up nutrition and fat packs in troll’s chests, and thus are not solely for one gender. However, since ‘females’ are often the more aggressive type and spend more time fighting, they are prone to having larger fat reserves to protect themselves.

Misc

Ears are versatile, capable of moving to show emotion. This applies to fins too.

Some trolls possess a small carapace of sorts; a few plates of exoskeleton on their back that’s left over from the armored plating they had as a grub. Most of them lose it during the adult molting though, as their body has grown strong enough to not need these anymore.

Trolls are generally taller the higher they are up the spectrum, but this is a large generalization more of a rule. They are, however, much larger than humans are often 7-10 ft in height. There can be very short lowbloods and very tall lowbloods; it all depends on whose genetic slurry was more potent in the bucket that created them. If one half of their slurry was from a highblood, and the other from a lowblood, chances are that if they end up a lowblood, they’ll be tall. For that reason, short highbloods are rarer than tall lowbloods, as there are far taller highbloods than shorter ones.

Trolls are capable of a wide variety of sounds, including but not limited to: growling, hissing, warbling, chirping, and purring.

Fingernails grow into natural points, forming claws, and are much thicker and more durable than human fingernails. Some trolls may have retractable claws, though.

Many purple bloods have vestigial gill flaps and fin tines on their ears as a leftover evolutionary trait due to being the line between land dwellers and sea dwellers

Many sea dwellers have bioluminescent freckles scattered across their body.

Sea dwellers most commonly have gills on the sides of their neck, but some have them on their ribcage as well. They also have webbing stretched between the second knuckles on their hands and are more sensitive to light than land dwellers.

Troll hair is also exceptionally coarser and denser than human hair

Third eyelids for seadwellers, so they can keep their eyes open underwater and keep them protected.

Troll eyes reflect light, much like cats.

Trolls have much stronger senses than humans do.

The nature of the slurry helps to determine what kind of blood the wrigglers will have. For example, if a slurry comes from a matespritship, and one of the quadrants is a lowblood, chances are the hatchling will be a lowblood. Matespritship slurry is generally weaker in pheromones than caliginous and caliginous tends to produce stronger offsprings, thus more highbloods. This is why most highbloods have aggression in their system as they are hatched; aggression, in trolls case, is not taught but innate.

Social

Quadrants

Kismesis

Scars are very attractive in kismesitudes because it shows that your pitchmate can take a lot of damage physically and you don’t have to be too careful.

Moirail

While it is possible and socially acceptable to move in with any quadrant, trolls most commonly move in with their moirails.

There are different levels of attraction in the pale quadrant. While soft trolls with lots of fat and curves are definitely appealing and say that someone gives good hugs and can comfortably hold their palemate, someone scrawny and thin is also appealing because they need to be taken care of.

While in most moirallegiances there is no clear line between the pacifier and the pacified, the media likes to convey the roles as strictly belonging to lowbloods and highbloods respectively.

Wrist-kissing is an extremely common gesture of intimacy between moirails.

Rail with pails is taboo, but not unheard of. While it’s not openly discussed, trolls without concupiscent quadrants will often pail with their rail when it’s collection time.

Often trolls in red and black quadrants will stay together even after losing interest in each other just for the safety of being able to still fill and submit a bucket to the drones.

It’s very common to wear the color of your quadrant mate as well as your own color. Some lowbloods take advantage of this and wear colors higher up on the spectrum to keep away unwanted advances.

Different quadrant inclinations trigger different pheromones in a troll, which is how collector drones tell filled pails apart and are able to sort them by quadrant, thus ensuring that every troll required to submit a pail does so within each necessary quad.

Slavery

Slaves are almost always lowbloods- olive and below is a free-for-all.

Slave owners are held entirely accountable for the actions of their slaves; it is thought that the attitude and actions of the slave reflect that of their owner. Therefore, if a slave is particularly rebellious to the caste system, especially in public, there is often an investigation into the owner.

Pre-purchased bloodlines

Highblood slaves do exist, but they are very rare and are only made slaves by punishment for an extreme crime. It’s one of the most severe of humiliations.

Psions are generally used to power factories and ships. Less commonly, psions who are owned by kinder trolls are used for small tasks such as fetching and carrying.

There is nothing stopping a slave owner from doing whatever they want to their slave. There is no law protecting a slave, so owners are allowed to treat their property how they wish and give whatever punishments they desire. There are, however, social pressures and stigma in place.

PEN Collars

Everyday Castism

Train stations

Low bloods are at a higher risk of being culled for minor and insignificant issues due to the expendability of their caste. There is typically little to no consequence for anyone killing a lowblood for no reason.

Psions, while often being sought after by the military and slave owners for their abilities, are also at a higher risk for being culled due to simultaneously being seen as threats

Money Earning

Cues

Trolls tip their heads down in a show of aggression, showing their horns. They tip their heads up to show submission, baring their throat.

Staring openly at a troll is a hostile sign.

While maintaining eye contact can also be taken as a hostile sign, having no eye contact and constantly looking away paints a troll to be a coward.

Adults have the right of way over children. Young trolls remain standing until an adult sits, or gives up their space if an adult enters a full room. The older a troll is, the more respect they’re given.

Trolls are burned after death to keep them from returning as daywalkers.

Seadweller lingo

Languages

Military

Rank System

Every troll in the Imperial Fleet has an officer to report to. Lowbloods(burgundy-yellow) all report to a midblood (green-teal) and all midbloods report to higher-ups (highly stationed blues or purples) and all of them report directly to the Empress. The officers of each faction of soldiers is expected to pass orders from the higher ranks down to their factions and to maintain complete control of their faction.

Ex: A blue blood has a commanding officer that is purple that she has to report to. She must follow her commander’s orders and pass them into her own faction, which is made up of olives and teals. A few of the trolls in her faction have factions of their own, consisting of yellows and bronzes. However, there are exceptions to this rule. Seadweller officials can choose whoever they want to be on their team, no matter the blood color.

Violets are almost mostly used for the navy since they’re usually the only ones that have swimming skills of any kind. However, a good portion of them makes it to the stars since most purplebloods are uninterested in the fleet. Purples tend to remain on Alternia due to their religious views. Some of them to make it to the stars, but mostly with the goal in mind to spread the faith to the defeated nations. As for the navy, crew members of the navy are not required to be violet, however, and are certainly not all violet. Land dwellers on the ships are generally much more expendable than the violets, though. And, of course, there are the psions that power the ships. Generally speaking, violets do not have their cluster of lowbloods to tend to and order around, just their crew and ship.

Psions

Psions of the strong, electric variety are almost exclusively used as batteries to ships in the military, or as living canons of energy. Often they are not counted as actual trolls or as part of a crew, so they don’t get tags or a uniform unless their captain requests it specifically.

Psions that possess other abilities (telekinesis, pyrokinesis, etc.) are allowed to be within their own squadron as long as they’ve proven themselves to be obedient and non-volatile. They are still closely monitored by their officer to make sure it stays they way, and they’re expected to use their abilities whenever ordered to, never for their own use.

Misc

Trolls can be drafted into the military as early as 7 sweeps, especially highbloods due to their strength. They train them young to become tough fleet admirals. However, this is extremely rare and is only the absolute earliest that one can be drafted. Usually, only particularly powerful psions and highbloods are drafted at this age. Most other trolls are drafted between 10 and 12 sweeps. Some trolls are also lost in the system and never gets drafted, lucky!

Trolls in the military are given dog tags stamped with their symbol, blood caste, and name on one side. On the other side, the troll’s quads are stamped.

Purple bloods are generally pretty rare in the military. They work best with trolls of their own caste and are often not included in the faction and rank system, instead of being one massive unit. Sometimes they have factions of their own, but they answer directly to the Grand Highblood of the time, who is on the planet at all time unless the Empress requested him to be in space.

Lower bloods (rust-olive) are either used for unimportant jobs (paperwork, serving as a living training dummy, a higher rank troll’s personal assistant, etc.) or as pawns. Though rarer, they can also be used for spy work since there’s the stigma of lowbloods being inconspicuous and helpless. In times of war, lowbloods are meatshields.

Medics are generally teal-blue bloods with lower blooded assistants. Due to the stigma of lowbloods always being the pacifiers and being too soft and helpless to be a real threat, the assistants are mostly just kept around to calm the patient down instead of doing actual work.

Uniforms are provided to every troll that is properly drafted (i.e. not a slave that was dragged along) and are mostly identical with small, subtle differences to show caste. The uniforms are, of course, better made and better fitted the higher you go up the spectrum. Teal bloods and up get to wear their own sign and color, but must also wear the color of their commanding officers. Trolls below teal are also allowed to wear their color as an identification but not their sign and are also required to wear the color of their officers as well as the fleet’s symbol.

DISKAS Models

Other

Lime Bloods

While most limes were culled centuries back, a few managed to slip through the cracks and hide in society under the guise of being anon or posing as either olive or jade. Furthermore, because of the Mother Grub’s ability to store genetic material for long periods of time, she still sometimes gives birth to lime eggs. Of course, most of these are disposed of by the jadebloods.

Lusii

Low blooded lusii are more commonly smaller and weaker beasts, while high blooded lusii are generally larger and predators. With this being so, low blooded lusii more often die while taking care of their charge. They are also more susceptible to staying with their charge their entire lives instead of moving on once the troll is an adult and adopting a new charge like high blooded lusii do. Lowblood lusii are also a prized catch for alternian hunters, especially if they’re larger. For example, a large bovine lusii that protects a lowblood would sell a lot more than let’s say, Tinkerbull on the market. Since large lusii for lowbloods are rare, they’re a convenient catch and are worth their caegars. Lowbloods with large lusii tend to live in secluded areas such as the forest or near caverns to keep their lusus protected.

Sea dweller lusii often mistake purple wrigglers as violet bloods and take them in. Upon realizing their mistake, they usually abandon the wriggler to die. These wrigglers are sometimes lucky enough to be raised by some of their fellow purples.

Lusii choose their charges from each group of wigglers that manage to overcome the Trials in the caves of the Mother Grubs. Often when their charge grows up, the lusii will then see their job as finished and leave the troll to go adopt another. However, it’s not uncommon for a lusus to become attached and to stay with their charge even after maturation.

Lusii are not allowed to be brought into the military or aboard starships unless there is a very good reason, such as the lusus being exceptionally small, unproblematic, and easy to transport or being a military asset due to size and strength or abilities.

If a troll’s lusus dies from any sort of cause before reaching maturation, that troll must fend for themselves. It is illegal for them to be adopted by another lusus.

It’s common for trolls with exceptionally large lusii to be forced to provide food for their lusii, lest they become food themselves. Higher blooded trolls typically solve this problem by killing other trolls and feeding their bodies to their lusii, provided their lusii are carnivorous.

Recuperacoons

Sopor slime is a breathable liquid-like perfluorocarbon, allowing trolls to be completely submerged in their coon. This liquid has some relaxing properties and when swallowed instead of inhaled, it’s like a drug. Sopor ingestion is considered pretty gross amongst trolls but it’s something a few trolls indulge in secretly. Especially lowblooded psions that have to deal with terrible visions and nightmares, or highbloods with pent up aggression.

Coons of the more expensive type automatically filter themselves out of skin cells and other gunk, constantly keeping themselves clean and keeping themselves proper heat.

During a troll’s adult molt, coons serve as a safe space to rest. It keeps the troll’s skin properly hydrated so they don’t desiccate and become injured.

Reproduction

Upon having their adult molts, trolls are given a set date via letter by the Empire on which their genetic material will be collected by a drone every 6 perigrees. It does not matter who the bucket is filled with, all that matters is that it is submitted and taken to the Mother Grub.

All trolls are intersex, producing both a bulge and a nook. Sometimes several bulges. Bulges come in all shapes and forms, the weirder the better. There is no sexual difference between the two binary genders. There are in fact, no genders. Trolls may have sexual preferences for those with or without rumblespheres, but other than that, gender is not something they understand. Trolls are just trolls.

Trolls used to reproduce naturally, but since the enforced use of the Mother Grub by the Empire, the ability has begun to evolve out. Most of troll society are either infertile or lack proper reproductive organs, making them entirely dependant upon the Mother Grub. Evolution made it that some trolls only have a bulge, some only have a nook. Mutations happen, so some trolls may even have two nooks or two sheaths for bulges.

While mutants are cullable on sight, mutants with very minor flaws such as eyes that are the wrong color or trolls that have multiple horns are very often looked over.

Executions/Dealing with Mutants

Public executions are frequent. As seen with Friendsim, an entire club can be eradicated under the suspicion that one or two lowbloods are activists inside it. However, say, the leaders of a rebel cause that have been stirring up trouble, or a psion that went crazy and murdered a whole hivestem with the overcharge of their abilities, these trolls tend to be taken in for interrogation. After all, even if the leader has been eradicated, they need a bunch of names to root out the problem entirely. While someone ordinary is perfectly capable and entitled to the culling of a mutant and hemorebel, the Empire requires it to be reported before it’s done. That’s why trolls tend to capture mutants and wait for the empire to come to deal with them.

If the authorities suspect a troll of a mutation they consider a threat to the norm or acts of rebellion, they will often take care of the troll quietly. The troll will simply disappear, and no one will know why. Sometimes a story is fabricated speaking of broken laws or black market scandal involving the troll, but there is usually no clear pointer to what happened.

If a troll is discovered to be a mutant while aboard a starship in the military, the common course of action is to launch the troll into space without protection.

Misc

Prosthetics

Transportalizers

Social medias

There are colonies of near-feral sea dwellers residing in the deep oceans of Alternia. In the same line of thought, there are also near-feral trolls on secluded islands or deep into the forest.

Clothing most often have buttons or zippers in the sides or on the back due to the struggle of taking clothes off over horns

Articles of clothing worn on the head, such as hats or hoods, are typically fitted with velcro or buttons so they can be properly fit around a hornbed and then secured into place

#( ooc. ) #don't mind me just redoing my links into posts #so I don't clutter my html #( g; headcanons. )

[unicorn-poop]

What is this garbage?

As in my garbage stuff

GARBAGE NUMBER 1

Who is that you may ask? Well that is a limeblood that is supposed to get shipped with Marvus (This isn’t the post. I’ll do the post today though). 

She is a limebllood. She is Seer of Space and her moon is Derse. You notice like Chahut and Amisia she has blood on her. Unlike them though she has every color (Minus Mutant red). Yes, including those above her, Jade blood and sea dwelling blood. How’d she get all that?

Rust, Bronze, Gold and Olive were quite easy. She may have killed what she though was a olive or gold blood but it was really a limeblood. How’d she kill a jadeblood and why???? She would’ve had to kill them twice though. The rest is unknown. 

She has a fuchsia ribbon which says she might be in a quadrant with one. 

Sign is Mercury because why not. 

LIMEBLOOD: (Walking)

CHAHUT: Look liTTle blue. Do you see whaT I see

AMISIA: it can’t be....

CHAHUT: BuT iT is

AMISIA: LETS KILL HER! I WANT HER BLOOD! 

CHAHUT: i could use some lime. 

Amisia and Chahut approach the limeblood (You actually). They notice you have blood on your skirt. They notice highblood colors, the jadeblood and sea dwelling colors

LIMEBLOOD: Hi how can I help you two

CHAHUT:.....

AMISIA:.....

CHAHUT: Is ThaT jadeblood?

LIMEBLOOD: Yes, it actually is. A blood color you two both lack

AMISIA: How?!

LIMEBLOOD: Duh! I killed one! I had every color on my skirt. I needed the WHOLE hemospectrum. So one day i was going Rainbow Drinker hunting, saw one and killed it. 

CHAHUT: You have Teal on There Too. 

LIMEBLOOD: My lawyer was a piece of shit

AMISIA: ceruulean....

LIMEBLOOD: She was going to kill my Lusus and my morail. She had it coming.  AMISIA: Indigo...

LIMEBLOOD: He kept saying he was some sort of lowblood alley and that he’d protect me. He literally had slaves in his hive. 

CHAHUT:....My blood.....

LIMEBLOOD:  She wanted my blood color for her collection. I wasn’t going down easy. Yeah, I got her blood instead. I fucking hate clowns. 

AMISIA: how the hell do you have sea dweller blood?

LIMEBLOOD: A violet blood annoyed the shit out of me with his hate for land dwellers. What was so funny? He LIVED on land himself. He may have fins but the idiot was technically a land dweller too. 

CHAHUT: Fuchsia. How in The world.....

LIMEBLOOD: My kismesis. We really hated each other. She killed my friend who was a Burgundy Blood so I killed her. 

They both were silent for a long time and then just left. The limeblood was pleased because she (you) knew what was coming. 

GARBAGE 2

The limeblood (You) is now shapeshifting as a Indigo Blood. You (The fans) notice she’s glowing. Yeah she either has rainbow drinker Serum on her or she is a Indigo Blood Rainbow Drinker. I mean she does have fangs so the second option is more likely. She is at a party thrown by Trizza. It’s for highbloods obviously. (Teal, Cerulean, Indigo, Purple, Violet). Obviously she can’t go if she goes as her true color so she shapeshifted. Yes, the dress was made by kanaya. 

Yes, Marvus was there. He had a bunch of fan girls, fanboys and fans surrounding him wanting to be in every quadrant with him. Yeah he could care less about those guys. He looked at you (Limeblood). Already was he madly in love with you (The limeblood). You (The limeblood) were speaking to Elwurd and a violet blood who might be Elwurds new girl. Those two then left. He (Marvus) was about to make his way over to you when suddenly

GARBAGE 3 (SORRY THE DRAWING I MADE IS SO HIDEOUS)

A purple blood who looked like he could be Marvus and Lanques child made his way over to you. It WAS Lanque. He knew he couldn’t be at the party due to him being on the lower half of the hemospectrum so he dressed as a purple blood (Whose design actually belongs to the tumblr @bytemycupcakes). He also has his sign changed to the MARS symbol. So anyways he walks up to you

LANQUE: Hello there my little kitten. I’ve never seen a royal bl00 blood glow like that

LIMEBLOOD: That’s because I am a rainb0w drinker. 

LANQUE: Really? I love Rainbow Drinkers. 

LIMEBLOOD: That’s nice. I like them t00. I have s0 many b00ks ab0ut them. Bef0re I became 0ne I fantasized ab0ut being 0ne. Having the wh0le hem0spectrum as my glass 0f wine. 

LANQUE: What colors have you tasted?

LIMEBLOOD: Well I’ve tasted 0nly my m0rails bl00d. My m0rail is vi0let. 

LANQUE: Nice. 

Lanque then pulls out a blue rose. 

LANQUE: A rose for the pretty Troll.

LIMEBLOOD: 0h dear....

Suddenly a violet blood came up to you (The Limeblood) and kissed your hand. You couldn’t react but blush. You take one look at this violet blood. 

Why does he look so familiar? Then it hit you...it was Tagora. Why is he pretending to be a violet blood? He’s already a highblood! 

TAGORA: Greeting miss. I’ve never seen anyone glow like you. 

LIMEBLOOD: I’m a rainb0w drinker.

TAGORA: I am aware of that. 

He suddenly takes a flower out of his pocket. 

TAGORA: Have you ever tasted violet blood? 

LIMEBLOOD: Yes I actually have.

You’re a very lucky Troll. You got the fandoms favorite Trolls lusting after you. One is only lusting after you because you’re glowing like a diamond. You bet he’d lust after a glowing pile of poop just because....

Anyways a huge Indigo Blood came out of nowhere and grabbed Tagora by the fin (That was most likely fake) and starts dragging him. 

GALEKH: Sorry miss he won’t bother you again. 

LANQUE: Ha ha....now where were we?

Suddenly a chill punk looking cerulean blood starts walking your way.

MALLEK: Lanque!

LANQUE: Fuck off! Can’t you see I’m busy getting a quadrant filled. 

MALLEK: I’m pretty sure she’s not interested. She looks so uncomfortable. 

LANQUE: yeah because YOU showed up!

LIMEBLOOD: I am n0t c0mfortable with the very fact that y0u are apart 0f a vi0lent caste that is 0ut to kill rand0m Tr0lls just because 0f y0ur place 0n the hem0spectrum. 

Lol as if this Troll doesn’t kill random Trolls herself. 

LANQUE: Oh no worries I won’t hurt you-

MALLEK: Enough! 

Mallek grabs Lanques ear and drags him away from you. 

LIMEBLOOD: 0h thank g0g. D0es that Jade bl00d really think he can f00l anyb0dy? 

MARVUS: Are you okay. You looked bothered by those two

Oh nice. Another Purple Blood. Only this one seems like one you can trust. 

WELL....MAYBE TO BE CONTINUED.....I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW. 

#Homestuck #Hiveswap #Oc #Hs #Lanque Bombyx #Tagora Gorjek #galekh xigisi #My drawings

[junkpoetic]

Six

The next morning, Elliot was a bit ornery about what we should do for the day. He didn’t seem to want to get out of bed and grab breakfast, so I met Juno in Quincy Market at a place called Neptune’s Café. The walls were painted cold blue; however the atmosphere was warm. I left

“Why are you so intrigued by my name?” She asked.

“I don’t know, it’s a good name, I like it.”

“You’ve never asked me where I am from.”

“Yes, I did, Winnipeg.” I replied.

“No, I was born there, I am from Jersey, I am actually going there soon.”

“How soon?” I asked accidentally.

“How soon is now?” she smirked.

“I love that song! But aren’t you from where you are born?”

“Not necessarily.” She arranged her thoughts in her head before continuing. “I live in Boston. I am from Jersey. I was born in Winnipeg.”

“Okay, so where you’re from, is where you grew up?”

“I guess it changes. If I were on vacation and a stranger asked me where I am from, I would say Boston, because Jersey is irrelevant to them.”

“So… if you asked me where I am from, I should tell you where I live now, not where I am from?” I teased.

“I haven’t asked where you are from?”

I thought about it. “I don’t believe so.”

“Am I a stranger?” She asked.

“You are not.” I replied.

“Where are you from?”

I laughed. “I don’t know anymore; I am so fucking confused.”

“Places are just places right?” She smiled.

“What’re you going to do in Jersey?”

“I planned a surf weekend with friends. They might come here instead though. It depends on the weather.”

“Surfing in October?” I thought she was kidding.

“Prominent breaks man, the best waves all year. Not to mention the ocean is empty, so all the waves are mine.”

Curiouser. “So, you’re a surfer?”

She slowly inhaled a sip of coffee. “I don’t know, I like to surf. What constitutes being a surfer?” She said coyishly.

“I always assumed the act of surfing?” I replied.

She raised the question. “So… if you kill one person, you’re a murderer?”

“It depends on if it was murder…” I replied.

“If you kill three people and by pure happenstance all of the killings are done the same way to people with the same profile, are you automatically a serial killer?” She was on a roll. There was no stopping her.

“Hmmm, I am not sure. I guess it depends on the connotation.”

“So, if my intent is to become a serial killer when I grow up, the first few kills would be in training? Then once I hit a number, I get my serial killer certificate… however, if I just happen to accidentally kill three similar looking people, the kills are considered null, and I am not a serial killer?”

I tented my hands and stabbed my chin with my fingers lightly. “Yes, I think we’ve nailed it down.”

She laughed. “Yes, I am a surfer.”

“Epic.” I smiled.

I learned a lot more about Juno Rafferty that morning. Eventually Elliot met up with us, and then Madeline did too. It’s funny I have known of Madeline for such a long time, yet I know nothing about her other than her nickname she acquired somewhere in her youth from being known for enjoying a cocaine high. She may have only done it once and I have defined her by it. She seemed to be very successful, she owned her own internet clothing company, and lived in a large flat on Newbury. It goes along with what Juno said about one thing defining you being untrue. Imagine if our youth defined our entire lives? Imagine if we could never climb out of it? I had to laugh though, here I was with Juno, who’s name literally means youth, and here she was defining me. There are some days I like being inside my head, stuck, like we were on the rooftop, today was one of those days.

Elliot was very intrigued by surfing in October. So much so that he was looking for spots nearby. He’d never even surfed but always wanted to at least try it. All the years we’d been coming here, it was always summer, the beaches were overcrowded, and the waves sucked. Juno explained that if you can surf the north Atlantic coast, you can surf anywhere.

We had two days left on trip and things felt a little awkward now knowing Elliot’s fate, and though he was vague when I asked what kind of cancer, it was still very sobering knowledge. Like anyone, I held out hope that maybe a mistake was made somewhere. Maybe they mixed up his chart. Maybe he was just too dehydrated and out of shape on marathon day. I kept putting all these thoughts in a blender and spinning them around my head. Adding to it with every new thought, or glimmer of hope.

After breakfast Juno and Madeline went about their separate ways. Elliot was fixated on his phone searching for surf spots. Whenever he got something in his head, he had to live it out. I loved that about him. He had the confidence to do really anything. If I mentioned skydiving, we would probably be on a plane this afternoon. Instead, we spent the afternoon in a surf shop that Juno recommended called Motion Surf.

Lorelei Zimmerman had the curliest blonde hair. She was named after Marilyn Monroe’s character in the fifties movie “Gentleman Prefer Blondes”. She had never seen the movie, but she liked that the origin of her name derived from Marilyn Monroe. She was in her early thirties, probably the same age as Juno, or close to it. She had a welcoming soul, and she took the time to explain surfing to Elliot and I, two guys amid their forties, who had absolutely zero clue about it. She spent her youth surfing in Australia, it was in her blood, she studied abroad in Boston where she met her now husband Rami and they put their roots down in here. The way she spoke of Australia, I could tell she missed it dearly.

“Catching an unbroken wave is one of the most difficult things to learn as a novice.” She explained that patience and persistence would pay off because the feeling of dropping in on a green wave for the first time is an out of body experience. She reflected on her first green wave as if she had just ridden it into shore. Elliot handed her his credit card and told her to get us everything we’d need to surf and since we were leaving in a few days, he told her to teach us as fast as she could. She laughed and began talking about the four stages of waves and how to approach them.

“The first stage is a lump in the water, and basically impossible to catch. The second stage is the delicate sweet spot and hitting it right is essential. This is where you begin paddling into it. In the third stage is when the wave breaks onto your back. The wave is broken in the last stage and now white water. Positioning is everything when trying to predict when the wave will break.”

Elliot was listening so intently as she spoke. Her accented words were becoming glued to the inside of his mind.

“You want to be about five meters out from where the waves are breaking. Look for the lumps in the horizon that look like stage A waves. Once you pick a wave paddle with it matching the speed of the wave. Matching the speed is difficult because there is no force pulling you forward. Once you have proper paddling strokes and your body is centered on the board, gravity arrives. Keep your head down low over the nose of the board as you’re lifting up on the wave. Gravity becomes your best friend once you’re in position. When you feel confident on the wave, you’ll know when you feel it, that’s when you pop up. Never hesitate to pop up.”

She popped up on a surfboard on the carpet showing us the proper ways.

“Don’t go out too far, it’s such a common mistake new surfers make. See where other surfers are and follow their lead.”

She helped us pick out surfboards, and then even waxed them for us. Elliot’s board had a drawing of a guy on it that looked like he was vomiting a rainbow. It looks much better than it sounds. He said that specific board spoke to him as if it were the chosen one. I just nodded my head and said OKAY. My board had a skull on it with a snake crawling through the mouth and up through the eye of it. It was colored with the most beautiful blues and greens. The first wetsuit Elliot tried on was too tight leaving little to the imagination. It was hilarious watching Lorelei try not to look down at his forty-six-year-old package. He was almost flaunting it, but he kept a straight face.

 Lorelei said she’d be happy to meet up this weekend at Nauset Beach to help us get our feet wet, no pun intended. Her words not mine. We agreed to stay through the weekend, because well, Elliot was now obsessed with wanting to surf… in Boston, in October. It’s also weird how long ago the marathon felt … fucking time.

We kept it pretty low key later that night. We went to an Italian restaurant called Giacomo’s on the north end and ordered the works. It was our favorite spot to eat whenever we came into town. Italian food tastes worlds better in October than it does in June. Maybe we’ve been doing it wrong the entire time. Elliot ordered as if it were his last meal. King prawns, calamari, manicotti, some sort of pasta with scallops too. He ate every god damn bite and then washed it down with a five-hundred-dollar bottle of Amarone. I was full just watching him eat as I snacked on bruschetta drizzled in the freshest olive oil. I also had the caprese salad with pesto along with a seafood linguini. Everything tasted so damn good I almost wished it was our last meal.

“You really think we can pull off surfing?” I said tossing my napkin onto my plate.

“We’re going to god damn try.” He said still chewing whatever it was he was chewing.

“Always an adventure.” I said feeling a bit sentimental.

“Still can’t believe I couldn’t finish the marathon…”

“But you did…”

“In a way.” He said modestly. “I wasn’t going to tell you by the way.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I am dying.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I haven’t even told Louise.”

“Are you kidding?” I almost choked on a cherry tomato.

The waitress interrupted and Elliot ordered us an entire key lime pie for dessert, and I must be honest, I didn’t think I could fit another calorie in my body. When they put it in front of us it was still smoking from the freezer and God dammit when I sunk my teeth into that tangy ice cold vanilla and key lime pie all down to that glazed graham cracker crust I saw my life flash before me in a montage both bittersweet and beautiful from the time Elliot and I were kids in the street playing baseball and drinking lemonade, all the way up to the rooftop last night with Juno Rafferty and attempting to feel up every single one of the shiver bumps on her tight cold skin. All the good, the bad, and the ugly, in that same fucking blender that I call my mind that just spins constantly like a cyclone vomiting rainbows among other things less attractive.

After dinner we walked out into the rainy night and up and down the streets in the north end. We bought cigars and smoked them on a sidewalk outside of an all-night café before catching a cab back to the hotel and calling it a night.

“Today was a good day.” Elliot said before we parted ways for the night.

[mokking-bird]

☆…SHOULD WE KNOW US A LITTLE BETTER TAG…☆ (aka 92 THINGS TAG)

☆…SHOULD WE KNOW US A LITTLE BETTER TAG…☆ (aka 92 THINGS TAG)

@pastor-weeb Thanks pal.

LAST…

[1]drink: Water with lime in it

[2]phone call: Discord with my own brother in the other room lol

[3]text message: “ty ily gnite!

[4]song you listened to: I’m going through the whole Breath of the Wild OST rn so

[5]time you cried: At the Eagles concert I just went to.

[6]dated someone twice: Yep.

[7]been cheated on: Probably not.

[8]kissed someone and regretted it: Yes lol

[9]lost someone special: Not yet.

[10]been depressed: Always and forever.

[11]gotten drunk and thrown up: Yes I have, and I almost passed out in the bathroom.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

[12] Olive drab, or green

[13] Red

[14] Black, but I’ve been trying to add more color to my wardrobe.

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU…

[15] made new friends: God not really lol, no one really even talks to me anymore lol.  I guess I have reconnected with some old friends though. [16] fallen out of love: Idk maybe. [17] laughed until you cried: Has never happened to me. [18] found out someone was talking about you: Lmao who talks about me. [19] met someone who changed you: Yeah, they push me to be more outgoing and I guess that’s a good thing. [20] found out who your true friends are: I found out who my true friends aren’t lol.  [21] kissed someone on your Facebook list:  Yes.

GENERAL…

[22] how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Pretty much all of them, but I barely use FB anymore. [23] do you have any pets: I got two puppers and one doggo. [24] do you want to change your name: I hate my name and i wish i could, but idk to what lol. [25] what did you do for your last birthday: Got fuckin white girl wasted lol. [26] what time did you wake up: 10 am [27] what were you doing at midnight last night: Falling asleep because I can’t stay up that late anymore. [28] name something you cannot wait for: My wife. [29] when was the last time you saw your mother: Like 40 minutes ago. [30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: I wish I wasn’t depressed lol that’d be nice. [31] what are you listening to right now: Hateno Village from Breath of the Wild [32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: Probably some time in my life. [33] something that is getting on your nerves: Nothing atm [34] most visited website: Tumblr and youtube. [35] elementary: Was fun, could’ve been better but it’s not like I can change that now. [36] high school: I wish I took more practical classes like shop and culinary, would’ve helped out more in the long run. [37] college: I made super cool friends in college but they don’t talk to me anymore because classes ended lol, honestly I miss them. [38] hair color: brown. [39] long or short hair: Some people would say it’s long, but it ain’t long enough. [40] do you have a crush on someone: Yeeeaaah. [41] what do you like about yourself: I’m pretty funny sometimesf. [42] piercings: I have none and probably never will. [43] blood type: Whichever one is the universal donor, so come buy my blood, it’s the good stuff ;) [44] nickname: Nope. [45] relationship status: Single. [46] zodiac sign: Scorpio [47] pronouns: He/him [48] fav tv show: I have no clue tbh, I watch too much shit. [49] tattoos:   Someday. [50] right or left hand: Right.

FIRST… [51] surgery: I got four adult teeth pulled out does that count [52] piercing: No [53] best friend: I don’t even know anymore [54] sport: Badminton binch [55] vacation: Hawaii [56] pair of trainers: The fuck are those

RIGHT NOW…

[57] eating: Nothin. [58] drinking: water [59] i’m about to: probably play games with my brother. [60] listening to: It’s still the Breath of the Wild ost [61] waiting for: my wife [62] want: my wife [63] get married: Fuck if I could ever be so lucky. [64] career: Writer. [65] hugs or kisses: Both, I’m a touch starved binch. [66] lips or eyes: Ehhhh I like both.

[67] shorter or taller: Don’t really care.

[68] older or younger: Near my age preferably  [70] nice arms or nice stomach: Who knows [71] sensitive or loud: Always good to have a little bit of both. [72] hook up or relationship: Relationship preferably

[73] troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant, I dont wanna go to prison

HAVE YOU EVER…

[74] kissed a stranger? No [75] drank hard liquor? It’s my favorite [76] lost glasses/contact lenses? I don’t use either so HA [77] turned someone down? Yes [78] sex on first date? Nope. [79] broken someone’s heart? Yeeeeeeep [80] had your own heart broken? Of course [81] been arrested? No. [82] cried when someone died? Of course geez [83] fallen for a friend?   Lmao all the time till I convince myself it’s not gonna happen.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN… [84] yourself? Boy I’m sure trying. [85] miracles? Sometimes, when they actually happen lol. [86] love at first sight? idk i guess it happens. [87] Santa Claus?  I am Santa now [88] kiss on the first date? Never happened to me before lol. [89] angels? No, but I like the aesthetic 

OTHER…

[90] current best friend’s name: LOL

[91] eye color: Light Brown.

[92] favorite movie: It’s constantly changing.

@allsystemsgoe @figwine @stupitho @ct-7567 

Since you are the only people who actually talk to me anymore, I’m gonna have to subject you to this :/

[pi-romantic-artdump]

6/26/17

ok ok ok i think i designed everyone. idk how. still don’t have names for most of them but i’m working on it..... im working on it

edit: i cant believe i didn’t make any of them memelords. kate is ur character a memelord if not i will make it one of the kids i think

edit 2: fixed caphag’s symbol

edit 3: ACTUALLY fixed caphag’s symbol i chose the wrong picture ugh

ummmm yeah the blue guy kinda looks like a mishmash of the striders and er*dan, i know, i think part of his character arc is that he has a lot more self-esteem issues than he lets on and mimics the qualities of the strider bros that he finds ‘cool’ because he doesn’t know how to just be himself (the irony, given how they really were....). hence the alt hairstyle. later on he starts putting his hair in a ponytail zuko style, when he’s trying to figure out who he is. im thinking that he could be the constellation corvus (raven), partially because idk ravens are cool, and partially as a reference to poe’s story, because this guy wants to write deep stuff. he kinda sucks tho

he will correct your grammar, even though he doesn’t always have flawless grammar himself and/or it’s part of your typing quirk. everyone lowkey hates him for it but know he’s taking out frustrations on pointless stuff so they don’t get too mad

if i go with the raven constellation i’ll probably make him and cygnia foils? brainstorming here:

he and cygnia are the two trolls who most look up to some of the creators of their universe (dave and rose, respectively), but don’t really know much about who they really are (since they disappeared centuries ago). they’re both kinda pretentious and think they know better than others

girl on the far left is a gamer, she acts laid-back but is competitive as fuck she is in this game to win it, despite it not even having a real prize. practiced with both strategy and actual fighting, but will default to the latter in a crisis. yeah i could see her being a player of rage or doom tbh, but i need to think about it more

cygnia loves puzzles, history, and the intersection of those things is what the fuck happened during the game session which created this universe?? so of course when she hears there’s a version of flarp which mimics it she drags everyone into this game with her. there’s a lot of info on human/troll society on this earth because of the batterwitch’s presence and remaining documents, but since the creators didn’t stick around long there’s only bits and pieces of what actually happened with them. she thinks for certain she’ll be a player of light, but gets something else (breath maybe, since she thinks it’s useless) and is super pissed

(since she’s obsessed with solving puzzles, when things don’t go the way she thought they would she gets really upset/unsure of what to do next)

she plans to be a diplomat between different realms (later to become kingdoms) when she gets older, so she puts aside her issues to help others out, even when it hurts her

the snek dude is cheerful, but has a very... morbid sense of humor. colorblind, hunts stuff (similar to nepeta), either olive or lime blood, likes collecting sparkly/shiny things in his caves, also keeps trying to convince caphag to combine certain chemicals together ‘to see what would happen’, even though both of them know it would create poison.

yellow dude is.... ugh idk yet. i keep accidentally making him a knockoff of luci0 (and by extension, the pink person on the top right similar in personality to tracer, and the third human i had to steer away from making a dva copy... dammit 0verwatch). i think he’s a pretty dynamic and energetic person, not necessarily working to motivate people, but his presence just tends to inspire people. confident in himself, confident in others. not sure about hobbies yet, as with pink person. he might lean towards artistic stuff

caphag is kate’s, and she has a description of her somewhere. from what i remember she likes animals!! and chemistry stuff!!! and is a mess lol. i got nothing else to add except kate if u see this is it ok if i make her moirails with cygnia, i think they’d balance each other out well

triangle person is named almiza, she/they (interchangeable) like to create gadgets and mechanical contraptions that are mostly pointless. her ability to move metal around with her mind (thanks to blood color) helps with delicate operations for this stuff. probably uses this to make booby traps and such later on, discovers how much they like architecture while spending time with carapacians. she is pretty strong bc she lifts heavy tools and materials by herself a lot. she also lost part of a leg at one point during an accident with her contraptions, and built herself her own leg (not robotic) which she now stores tools n shit in. does not get along with cygnia at a personality level, though i’m not exactly sure what hers is yet. cygnia starts out with a one-sided caliginous crush on her, but idk where it goes from there. ∆_∆

and again, pink person idk much about but their design felt right. so yeah. with her hairstyle.... im trying to not make her either a tracer rip-off or a stereotypical Tumblr User™ so. yeah. ideas would be great for both her and yellow guy. i think their name is gonna be sage

#sketch #ocs #fandom #hs #413 ac

[rapidpunches]

Colors to think about:

#000000 - Solid Black #002211 - Absolute White A dark green, useful for darkly shaded grass/plants (???) Really dark green, like a forest at night or distant mountain peak #002288 - Primary Blue A solid blue. Blue, almost bright, reminds me of the royal blue in my watercolor pallet #0044dd - Bright Matte Primary Blue Another solid blue, similar to #002288, except slightly lighter. Blue, a shade paler than the 002288, reminds me of the sky in  summer days #010101 - Solid Black Black. Black #031658 - Dark Primary Blue A dark blue, almost like you’re getting to the deeper parts of the ocean. Dark blue, the night sky right after sunset but before true dark #081022 - Very Dark Blue A very dark blue. It’s close to black. Blueish black, reminds me of payne's grey in my watercolor pallet #0C0B1D - Dark Ultramarine Blue An even darker blue. Very close to black. Black with a touch of blue, like above but with less blue in it #0c80af - Sky Matte Blue A light, warm shade of blue. It’s shade is bright, and warm. Blue, creamy, like it's been mixed with other colors and a fair bit of white but not quite pastel #0d0908 - Near black tint of Red Black. Black, not quite true black but close. #111133 - Less dark Ultramarine Blue Dark blue, similar to #031658, except very slightly lighter. Dark blue, like the open ocean when away from any continent #114444 - Dark Teal (sky blue with green tone) A shade of turquoise, except dark, and dull. Green with a touch of blue. Makes me think pine trees and evergreen #121a1a practically black elvish cloak green Almost black, with a very, very time hint of turquoise. Blue with a touch of red, not quite purple but really close. #162856 dark deep blue A dark shade of blue, close to #12084D Black, with hints of blue green #1a37f5 almost true blue Solid blue. Dark blue #1c2140 charcoal blue Dark blue, like #031658 Blue, bright a bit like 002288 #1f1435 practically black purple A dark shade of purple, very close to dark blue. Black/greyish blue close to 081022 #211716 light black? Black, with a hint of red. Black #221E5E grape blue Dark blue, #12084D. Dark blue #22aa44 lively grass green Bright green. Bright green like new growth in spring #23104c eggplant purple A dark mix between purple and blue. Esentually a lighter version of #1f1435. Dark purple, like a plant trying to pull off the black flower look, but on closer inspection it's a dark purple #24182e charcoal purple Black, with a hint of purple. Really dark purple grey #29292B actually charcoal A very dark black, with a tiny bit of gray. So, still black. Dark grey #2f4342 green tinge facial mud? Dark turquoise. Greenish grey, a bit like lichen on stone, or the light through a wave on a stormy day #303FAA impure poser blue??????? Solid blue. Blue, a bit like 002288 #311c45 dark grape purple Dark purple, similar to what Erb uses with his lines. Purple-y black #319FDC almost sky blue A light blue. Not turquoise, not solid blue. A fusion between the two. Blue, creamy, a bit like the water of a tropical beach but laking the transparency/brightness #334422 dark olive A dark, dull green. Dark green, reminds me of moss and forest undergrowth where they don't get much light #334477 dusk sky blue A dark, but not too dark, blue. Blue with some grey in it #3377aa nausicaa blue A slightly darker version of #319FDC. Pale blue, almost pastel #341237 homemade grape juice Dark pink, to the point where it is like a dark purple. Dark purple, black with some purple in it #38314c charcoal lavender Dark blue, with a hint of purple. Bue-ish (almost purple) grey, kind of like the underside of a rain cloud #393fef eiffel 65 blue Solid blue. Blue, bright a bit like 002288 #3ab9c8 turquiose Solid turquoise. Turquoise, tropical water like #3b6ea6 blue jeanish A soft blue, not too dark, not too solid, and just the right amount of softness to be pleasing to the eye. Blue, made me think of stone, but not quite right, there should be a bit more grey in it #3e4889 poliwhirl blue Slighty dark, solid blue. Blue? Dark lavender ? #413FA9 blue grape Solid blue. Blue-ish purple, like some wild flower. #421723 dark wine A dark, velvet red. Reddish brown, burgundy (?) reminds me of indian red in the watercolor pallet. #441144 garnet's left leg purple Dark pink, similar to purple, but still distinct. Purple, like pansies or lilac #4499ee deep skyblue? A light, soft, eye pleasing blue. Pale blue, forget me not blue, summer sky blue #4653a1 storm cloud blue Solid blue. (A lot of solid blues have barely any different between them.) Faded lavender blue #54aaff skyblue Soft, eye pleasing blue. Pale blue close to 4499ee #558822 cooked broccoli? Solid grass green. Green, with a touch of yellow to it, like moss I would say #573aa7 grimace purple >:D Purple, with a hint of blue (Purples and blues are similar in color, so it’s alright if one gets confused between them. Heck, I do, a whole lot…) Purple lighter than 441144 #5852c8 faded indigo? Solid blue. Pale purple almost pastel #5EF6FF electric blue Solid turquoise. Pale bright blue #5f4357 dry soil purple A dark, slightly gray shade of pink. faded purple almost brown, makes me think of old furniture #603d9f deep lavender Solid purple. Purple, bright #641f4f grape lollipop A dark-ish pink, sort of velt-y looking. Reddish purple, a bit like a red grape #652b42 chocolate purple Same as above, except more red. It’s like red lipstick color. Brownish purple, like some red mud used to build houses #662299 royal purple Solid purple. Purple, bright, reminds me of amethyst #68215c blood bruise purple Same as #68215c. Brown with a touch of red (indian red on watercolor pallet) definitely reminds me of some type of mud #68AB3F guacamole Solid bright green. Green, pale, a bit like the underside of leaves #6BD2E8 Wynaut blue Bright, light blue. Pastel blue, rather bright, the sky at the horizon on a nice sunny day #6c8db3 lint blue Soft, slightly washed out blue. Grey with a touch of blue,  close to slate grey? A bit like a stormy sky #7536d9 obnoxious purple Solid purple. Purple, rather rich, #7733dd still obnoxious purple Solid purple. Purple, almost pastel #7953ba faded lavender Solid purple. definitely pastel purple #7c75b0 storm cloud purple gray Washed out blue, with a tiny hint of purple. Grey Purple #7f3b79 grape nerds Same as 641f4f. It’s a dark pink. Between pink and purple (damascus rose?)

#808080 dark ash Gray. 50% white, 50% black. Pure gray. Grey, pure grey #832e8b purple people eater Slightly dark pink, looking almost like a shade of purple. Purple, red grape like, can be found in some flower #855dae vaguely calm purple Light purple. Pastel purple #873a8c nidoking purple Same as 641f4f. Purple, close to 832e8b #8b94ab blue grey stone Washed out blue, looking gray. Blueish grey (cold grey) #908b8b warm grey Gray, with a hint of red, making it look slightly brown. Grey, warm #97a1a1 cold grey Gray, with a hint of turquoise. Grey, cool #9a2f3d light blood stain Solid red. Brownish red, paler version of 68215c #A32C6B very berry blend Solid pink, with a hint of red. Some kind of pink, remind me of something I can't quite place #B13DBC purple drank Solid, slightly purple, pink. pinkish purple #B40F0E cherry red Solid red. Red #E7BDF0 hazy posion cloud Light, washed out pink. The same shade as the starbucks pink drink! Pastel pink tending toward purple #FF2E85 hot (nuclear) pink Very light pink-red. Bright pink, really pink #FF74FF lip stick pink Very light purple. Pink, close to barbie pink #FF7789 almost peach pink Very light red. Pink, almost a skin tone for someone with too much sun #FFED39 canary yellow Solid/very light yellow. Yellow, bright daffodil yellow #FFFFD3 vanilla bean ice creamish Very light, washed out yellow. Pastel yellow, almost ivory white #a3a9d0 faded jean Washed out blue. Cool grey, purplish tint #a63b59 wine stain Red, with a hint of pink. Some kind of muddy red, that tends toward pink? #aa22aa almost cobalt violet Solid pink. Bright light purple #aa54ff light lavender Light, solid purple. Pastel purple #aaff55 mountain dew Solid lime green Bright green, light make me think of easter eggs #abffff cotton candy blue Very light, solid light blue. Bright pale blue, light make me think of easter eggs #ae044f beet red Red-pink (50% red, 50% pink). Pink, concentrated rose color (?) #b898a7 red smoke Washed out red-pink. Warm grey, purple tint #c14682 shady pink Solid pink. Pale pink, rose like #c197c5 smokey purple Solid pink. Pastel purple with a touch of grey to it #c42c7f dark magenta Solid pink (again). Pink #c42db0 lipstick purple Purple-pink (50% purple, 50% pink). Pink, starting to turn purple #c6b7cc purple tinge mid grey Highly washed out purple. Grey with a hint of purple #d02855 spiked punch bowl Solid red. Reddish pink #d39dac cherry gray Washed out red. Grey-ish pink #d8e8ef icy breeze Washed out turquoise. Pale pastel blue, almost grey #db67ce ambiguous blueish pink Solid pink. Pink, rose color shade? #dd4595 not quite magenta Pink-red. Pink #dd55dd plastic light purple Solid pink. Purple starting to turn pink #ddffdd pastel green mold Washed out, light green. Bright pastel green #df0063 nuclear magenta Solid pink-red. Pink #df5aec toy plastic grape Purple-pink (50% purple, 50% pink). Pastel pink, starting to go purple, kindda pastel #e43338 strawberry syrup red Solid red. Red, almost orange, like a faded brick #e79049 yam orange Solid orange. Pastel orange, or diluted brown with a dominance of red in it #e96a3e dark pumpkin orange A darker, more red orange. Orange, rather bright, like a foggy sunset #ef9590 salmon pink Washed out, slightly orange, red. Pinkish, could be used as a skin tone #f25c80 rosy pink tulip Pink-red. Pinkish, could be used as a skin tone #f5ddaf light fry sauce Washed out, orange-yellow. (Looks more yellow than orange.) Sable color, like dry sand on the beach #f6b0f5 pastel purple lily Sort of washed out solid pink. Pastel pink, rather bright #ff54aa hot pink Solid pink-red, leaning slightly more towards pink. Bright pink, barbie pink #ff88ff not quite pastel purple Light, slightly washed out purple-pink. Some kind of pastel pink #ffdcff pastel purple Washed out light pink. Pastel pink, almost grey #ffddff pastel purple Washed out light pink. Pastel pink less grey than ffdcff

#thanks for the help