#best ethnic shirts for men

[pickkro]

wedding saree for women

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[eevees-hobbies]

Honeyed Kisses Against Tender Flesh (Fem!Reader x Hayato Suo) - NSFW

Author’s Note: I got carried away with this one. But shoutout to those of us who write for Hayato Suo cuz we really are working with crumbs. Like he’s whatever we say he is until we get more information. 

Synopsis: Your friend Kotoha and brother Hiragi are worried about your relationship with Suo. It all comes to a head at the beach, to your embarrassment and Suo's delight. No big deal, though; you’ll just have sex against Hiragi’s truck or whatever. 

Content Warning: I’m a really bad judge when it comes to dark content. To me, it’s a spectrum and while I don’t consider this particular story truly dark, others might. So I encourage you to read the warnings and make the best decision for yourself:

Smut with a plot, the obsessive kind of love, possessiveness, hickeys, bruises, biting, spit, enjoyment of public humiliation, teasing, licking of blood, sex/nudity in public, super brief mention of a golden shower, praising/worshipping language, unprotected sex, no-pulling out despite being asked (wrap it up, folks!), like he straight up says “nah.” 

Also, please note that you are written as Hiragi’s sister in this story. I do not expand on your relationship, so you might be his half-sister, full-sister, step-sister, adopted sister, etc. I say this for my readers who may hold a racial/ethnic identity different from Hiragi, hoping that you can still feel like this story is for you (because it is <3). Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 3.2K

Divider by Saradika. Story banner by me.

On a day when you and your Bofurin friends decide to visit the beach, the unforgiving intensity of the sun makes you feel as though you’re simmering in a boiling pot. No one except you is ill-prepared; the men are wearing various colored shorts that seemingly match their personalities, and their unclothed torsos are on full, unapologetic display.

Kotoha, sitting on a beach towel next to you, is in a three-piece halter bikini set with a sheer sarong skirt that accentuates her curves. Even your brother Hiragi has abandoned his usual band shirt to showcase his well-toned arms and abs. You find it pretty horrifying but good for him, you think. 

It’s hard not to be jealous of all the bare, suntanned skin as you take inventory of your fit. You are wearing an oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants combo that covers every inch of you. Underneath your hefty clothes is a simple but cute black two-piece bikini you originally planned to show off that day. 

You are roasting under the sun's rays—and in your anger—as you glare at the person responsible for your attire: Hayato Suo. 

He’s sitting on the beach towel with you, his perfectly parted hair blowing softly against the breeze. Despite his attempt at trying to appear inconspicuous in reading his book, you can tell that he’s very much aware of your disdain for him with the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. 

Kotaho lowers her sunglasses so she’s looking at you over the rim of the frames.

“Why are you wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants at the beach of all places? I’m getting hot just looking at you.”

You shift uncomfortably, having hoped that this was not a conversation that would come up. You instinctively pull the collar of the sweatshirt higher until it’s tucked snuggly under your chin. “It’s not so bad! I just have to stay hydrated!”

Kotoha leans closer to you and lowers her voice, obviously trying not to catch the attention of Suo. “But why? Is this a cry for help because of you-know-who? Say the word, and I will scream.”

You and Kotoha have become close since you applied for a position to work at Cafe Pothos. She was your boss, but she’s also the embodiment of a girls-girl. You bonded over cooking and annoying brother figures; there wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about each other. 

So color her shocked when one day she picked up her cell phone after receiving a series of texts that were coming in rapid succession. She had assumed the sender was Umemiya, but instead, they were from you!

8:50 PM: OMG 8:50 PM: You won’t believe what just happened to meeeeeeee ihfdnf 8:51 PM: SUO! SUO! 8:52 PM: He KISSED me!  8:55 PM: HELLO?! The love of my life just put his tongue in my mouth and you HAVE THE AUDACITY TO NOT ANSWER!? I’m heading to the cafe right fucking now.

Kotoha was confused, not because she didn’t think you deserved the world—you deserved the world and more. She was confused because she couldn’t picture you and Suo together. He was pleasant whenever he came into the cafe, only ordering tea and always leaving a big tip. But other than that, she didn't know much about him, and no one did, and that was a difficult thing to accomplish in a small town. 

So when you finally ran into the cafe, practically colliding into the glass door as you shuffled in, Kotoha poured you a fresh cup of coffee, sat you down, and asked if you were sure about this.

Were you sure it was a good idea to date a guy who wore an eyepatch, had never been seen eating, and had a different story about his life every time he was asked? You assured her that Suo was the man of your dreams and you’ve never been more sure of something in your life. And while Kotoha may not know much about Suo, there were small moments that felt as though you were gradually building up to this kiss all along. 

The way he’d offer to walk you home even though it was out of his way, how his hand would brush up against yours and linger when passing you coins to pay for his tea, and god, that smile of his that usually didn’t reach his eyes but did when he was talking to you.

You were adamant that this was something you wanted.

You didn’t exactly come out as “official,” though. In a strange way, your relationship just “was.” 

Your friends acted as though you had always been together, and the way Suo became a constant in your life—walking you home after every shift from the cafe, texting and calling you more often, holding your hand in public, and taking you out on dates to your favorite places—made it difficult to remember what life was like before him. You quickly became the shadow of the other, and not without concern from Kotoha and Hiragi. Some would call your love for each other smothering, but to you; it was anything but that—it was perfect. 

“Everything is fine, Kotoha, I promise.”

She lets out a sigh and pulls her sunglasses back up. You can see the reflection of the guys in her dark shades—Hiragi, Umemiya, Sakura, and Kaji playing volleyball, sand kicking up as shouts of, “get that, doofus!’ and “who are you calling doofus!?”  traveling over to you but being drowned out by the roar of waves breaking shore.

A bead of sweat travels down the side of your face, and you look up at the sun, hoping to will it away with a pitiful look.

“Why not take off that burdensome outfit, sweetheart?” 

Your head snaps in the direction of Suo, the tone in his voice–thick with faux concern–alluding to the pleasure he’s getting from watching you like this. He’s all too aware of what you’re hiding—he’s the culprit who put you in this situation.

He shrugs innocently, “you’re developing sweat stains,” you follow his finger as he points at you. To your horror, giant wet spots have formed at your armpits and collar. You groan, the realization that if you don’t shed these clothes soon, you’ll likely meet your untimely demise via heatstroke—and that’s a very unsexy way to go. 

A shaky hand grips the drawstring of the sweatshirt, and you peel it off with the sweatpants following shortly after. Before you can set the clothes beside you, Kotaha lets out an audible gasp. You wince, knowing that your movements and her sharp intake of breath will surely draw the boys' attention—a result that you were trying your damnedest to avoid.

You thought Hiragi’s booming voice would be the first to reach your ears, but instead, it’s Sakura’s. 

“What happened to YOU?!” 

The volleyball spinning through the air hits him square in the chest; a loud thud has him doubling over in pain, but it’s not enough to break away Hiragi’s stare from the bruises and hickeys that litter your neck, chest, and thighs.

After gathering himself, Sakura stands up and turns his attention to Suo, “You should really keep a better watch over your girl. She’s obviously getting her butt kicked somewhere-”

Sakura is unable to finish before Hiragi interjects. He takes a step forward, and if you weren’t on sand, you’d be almost positive that the sheer force would shake the earth. “Suo, what did you do to my sister's skin?”

You stare at Hiragi, deep veins already protruding from his forehead. If looks could kill, Suo would be dead right now. You give a sideglance at your boyfriend, who has two hands raised near his head and his shoulders shrugged up to appear non-threatening. 

“I am NOT doing this right now!”  You proclaim, hurriedly picking up the keys to Hiragi’s car and padding through the sand, trying your damnedest to escape the sound of rising voices. 

Suo follows you soon after de-escalating the situation. Assuring Hiragi that he may have gotten carried away with the amount of hickeys and bruises he left on your skin wasn’t easy by any means, but you two were both consenting adults, so there wasn’t much Hiragi could do anyhow. He desperately wanted to add that you didn’t mind the bruises when they were happening to you—but that didn’t seem wise.

Hiragi’s truck is parked next to the property line between the beach and the expanse of forest. When you arrived, the parking lot was full of people, but beach-goers packed their belongings and left as the day neared its end.

Suo can’t see you as he approaches the truck's passenger side, so he assumes you’re on the driver's side. As he rounds the corner, he’s met with the sight of you bending over and attempting to fish the keys off the ground, which must have fallen. The sight of your ass completely swallowing the seat of your bikini bottoms has him suddenly leaning against the car for support and blood flowing south. Even with one eye covered, he can see the outline of your puffy pussy. The bikini is much better, he thinks to himself.

You turn around, hearing the sound of gravel shifting quietly—hoping that your brother hasn’t followed you, but it’s Suo. 

“Well, that was awk-“ you begin, but you're cut off. The fluidity and quickness of his motions still surprise and catch you off guard. He pins you in place to the truck with his body—chest to chest.  

You can see arousal churning in his eye as his now rock-hard cock presses against your thigh. At that moment, you’re thankful that the shade of the trees shrouds this side of the truck and that anyone coming from the beach would need to walk around the vehicle to catch you in the act.

For Suo, the build-up of knowing what you were trying to hide from the group and the eventual reveal of his handiwork had given him one hell of a rush. Being in on the secret was fun, but the way Hiragi’s eyes darted over your skin, the way he caught Kaji’s cheeks reddening as his eyes swept over your exposed and marked-up flesh, it was practically unbearable.

Suo’s hand tugs at the string of your bikini top, and it doesn’t take long before the flimsy fabric releases and drifts to your feet. You shiver as cool air licks at your breasts and nipples, hardening the sensitive buds upon contact. It isn’t until Suo’s warm hands cup and massage your breasts that you let out a whimper; his touch feels firm and needy, delivering pinches and squeezes to the over-sensitive and bruised flesh.

“S-someone could c-catch us!” You protest in a hushed whisper, but you’re not pushing him away—you tilt your head back to rest it against the truck and arch your spine to give him more access to you.

“They’d be so lucky,” he growls softly into your neck.

As your stomach twists in arousal and nervousness, you know that the Hayato Suo who is fondling you in the parking lot against your brother's truck is a different Hayato than the one your friends interact with. 

Suo is often poised and has immense control over his emotions, but sometimes, he gets so overcome by desire that it feels like a gaseous cloud is seeping into your pores and lungs. 

You’ve become a welcome victim to the Suo that likes to grip you so desperately that he leaves bruises, bites you so hard that sometimes it breaks the skin, and fucks you so roughly that you’re confident that you’ve experienced the closest thing you can to death.  

“Suo, we shouldn’t. They saw my bruises and the hickeys. Toma might kill you.”

“You can’t convince me that this isn’t something you want. This,” he presses two fingers against the seat of your bikini, which sink into the moistness of you, “tells me otherwise.”

Your face grows hot because he’s right. You’re not innocent in your shared dynamic like Kotoha, and Hiragi would like to think—you crave him just as much as he craves you. 

You’re just as much of a thrill-seeker as he is but you two have to be quick; anyone in your group could come looking for you any second—and nothing would destroy your arousal more than Hiragi seeing your boyfriend fucking you in public. Suo would enjoy that, though. 

It’s as though he can read your mind because Suo is pulling down your bikini bottoms so that they hang around your ankles. 

His lips are on yours, his kisses somehow hungrier than his touches. Suo kisses you as though he’s found solace against the plush of your lips and the treasure housed within your mouth. He tilts his head so his tongue can explore every inch of you deeper; he’s unapologetically devouring you.

When he finally pulls away for air, his voice is low and almost gravelly, a departure from his usual calm tone.  

“You make me become the most disrespectful version of myself, Y/N.”

His fingers roll and pinch at your nipples, but his eye is on yours. His gaze is intense, and even though he looks at you as though you are his prey and he is your predator, the last thing you want to do is look away.

He continues, “I want nothing more than to be the nice, sweet boyfriend your friends and brother want me to be, but you turn me into someone I don’t recognize.”

He’s pushing his shorts down, and you groan at the sight of him. His dick sits straight up against his abdomen with a slight curve, an aggressive vein pulsates on the side, and the crimson tip of it is smeared in an ungodly amount of precum. How can such a pretty dick look so angry? 

Without much prep or warning, he pushes into your wet sex; he’s so deep so quickly that your body jerks reactively. 

He can’t hold back the moan that escapes his lips at finally burying himself in you. His mouth has found purchase against your neck; both he and you can feel your pulse quickening, firing rapidly against his tongue as it reaches out to lick at your skin. 

“When I look at you, just as you are, I want to ruin you. So if that means I’m covering you with bruises, hickeys, or the most intimate parts of me, so be it.” 

He sinks his teeth into your neck, and the sharp pain makes your eyes roll back. The searing sensation doesn't last long as his tongue laps up the droplets of blood that bubble from the punctures.  

“Tell me that you’re just as obsessed with me as I am with you,” his fingers are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he holds your legs around his waist, allowing him to bounce you on his cock.. 

“H-Hayato, I’m just as obsessed with you, baby. I promise.”

And you mean it. You’ve never felt a love quite so all-consuming and suffocating. He’s explored every inch of your body; at first, the way his eyes drank you in made you squirm, but he assured you that he was simply appreciating what was his—you wouldn’t fault an art curator for appraising the Mona Lisa, would you, Y/N? No? Then let me be.

Suo has licked parts of you with enthusiasm, parts that you’d be embarrassed to admit to anyone. 

And for you, the taste of him is just as nourishing. When he pulls your head back by your hair,  his hungry eye communicating to you without him having to say it, you find yourself eagerly opening your mouth and accepting his spit on your outstretched tongue. 

The good girl muttered in his smooth voice afterward, and his infamous smile that reaches his eyes when he looks at you makes your clit twitch. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s his spit, cum, or other golden liquid of his, you want it all. 

During intimacy, Suo tears you down to the most basic, hedonistic version of yourself—his delivery never includes harsh language in the traditional sense—he would absolutely never call you out of your name. You are far too important to be called something derogatory. Sometimes you’ll refer to yourself as “his whore” or “his slutty girl,” and it will make him leak so much precum he has to catch his breath, but he hasn’t reached a point in which he has personally referred to you as those titles…yet.  

For now, he uses deft fingers and honeyed words dripping in veiled threats of orgasm denial and overstimulation to push you to the precipice of your pleasure—and you trust him to build you back up afterward with softly cooed hymns of worship and strokes of your tender skin. To Suo, you are a goddess, a deity to be revered. To Suo, you are everything. 

And it isn’t until moments like this that you see his mask slip. Your usually stoic boyfriend's mouth opening and closing in pleasure the same way that yours is, soft guttural moans escaping his lips and his brow furrowing, obviously about to lose control to you—-for you.

“You are everything, dove. You are my everything.” He groans as your silky walls clench around him, clutching him for dear life.

“You like it when I compliment you, pretty girl?”

You give him a grunt of approval, feeling yourself so close to becoming undone as he fills your head up with chants of his devotion.

At this point, each thrust has his dick bottoming out into your sopping-wet cunt. Pelvis to pelvis, you can feel every inch of you stretching to accommodate him. His maroon-colored pubic hair tickles at your skin, dampening at the contact of your slick as deep thuds from frantic thrusts fill the air.

And even though you’re only participating in a quickie, a rarity for you both, your cunt still drools just the same, streaks of it managing to glide down your inner thigh and leave droplets at his feet. 

“S-suo,” your nails dig into his shoulders, resulting in a delicious hiss from his lips. “Y-you have to pull out! You aren’t wearing a c-condom!”

Suo presses his lips to your ear; you can barely make out what he’s saying over the soft gasps and the way he’s suckling at your earlobe that he has pulled between his teeth.

“I can’t. You’re mine, and I want to fill you up. So you have to take it, dove. Take all of it.” 

And the way Suo says it, you know that he isn’t asking; he’s telling you what he plans to do to your body because you are an extension of him–you are his, and it’s his right to cum in you without silly obstacles like “protection.”

His pounding against your cervix feels animalistic, and the force of him fucking you is making the truck rock back and forth. 

You bite your lip and hold onto him for dear life as that oh-so-familiar feeling takes over. Your thighs squeeze him, and to muffle the scream bubbling up into your throat, you take a note out of Suo’s handbook and bite his shoulder so hard that he sees a hot, white flash. 

In that moment, you give each other everything—all of you becomes all of him—mixing into a mess of creamy, frothy white essence that drips down balls, legs, and thighs.

Between soft kisses on the fresh hickeys and bite marks along your neck, Suo chuckles, “Hiragi is going to be upset.”

[loganbcrnes]

Celebration fuck

Logan Howlett x GN!reader x Cable (Nathan Summers) x Victor Creed No warnings in this, just horny dirty sex. Reader's ethnicity and body type etc is not mentioned, but Cable does call reader Sweetheart. I didn't think i needed to mention this, but i will anyway, this involves Logan/Cable and Cable/Victor as well. Not beta'd Enjoy!

The 3 men were doting on you, feeding you lots of different expensive chocolates. Tonight was your 2 year anniversary of being together so the four of you decided to do something special together. It was after a tough mission with the X-men. Victor thought it’d be a nice idea to have a small romantic getaway at a cabin in Canada, you immediately agreed as you have always loved the mountains.

Nathan walked over to the stereo and put on some soft romantic music. You didn’t like to drink alcohol often, so Victor made some sweet fancy cocktails for you. After severely bottles of root beer and liquor later (even though the 3 men couldn’t get drunk) they felt more at ease.

——

Nathan collapsed onto the couch and tore his shirt off. “Fuckin’ hot in here”. He said as he scratched his burly chest a little.

Victor was a little bit giggly, he always got like this after a dozen drinks, you were beginning to think that alcohol does have an affect on them, because a man like Victor doesn’t just giggle.

Logan remained composed, but his mind was swimming like mad. H ewas horny as hell, the build up to this moment was slow. He wasn’t complaining, it’s nice to have some build up to the main event, but now he was beginning to become impatient.

Already shirtless, Logan went over to you and coaxed you to undress as far as you were willing to go, which ended up being your underwear. It was some fancy underwear you only kept for certain occasions, this being one of them.

“Well now, don’t you look so sweet looking”. Nathan said, licking his lips.

“Well, why don’t you come and have a taste then?”. You asked. You leaned back on the big couch in the living room, spreading your legs a little.

“Mmm, damn right you do, Baby. I’ll let Logan have a go first, you know I like having the sloppy seconds”. Nathan winked. You chuckled at his comment.

Logan shook his head at the comment and pulls you into his arms, placing his giant hands onto your ass. You both moved in an almost slow-dancing fashion as the soft melody of music sang in the background. Logan was a passionate and rough lover, his intense desire to give pleasure to his partner. Most people assume, he just fucks for his release, and leaves without a thought for the other person, but it simply isn’t true.

With the years of experience, it’s taught him that the best kind of sex is with a person he trusts and where both parties are experiencing pleasure. It should be the bare minimum, but it isn’t for a lot of people. You have never had sex with them where you were left unsatisfied.

Logan began sniffing up the side of your neck as if starving for your flesh. He greedily squeezed your ass, and then shoved you onto the enormous couch and climbed on top of you, pinning your wrist to the side of your head. He started licking and sucking on your neck, leaving marks that will show for the next week, but you couldn’t complain. The sensitive places gave you so much pleasure. His ran his hands all over your body, feeling every curve and muscle as they tensed and relaxed under his touch.

Your nipples stiffened from the cool air, Logan drifted downwards to lick at your armpits and inhaling your scent. You felt a growl against your sensitive skin. He moved towards you nippled and continued to suck on them. You wore a look of pain and bliss as they continued his actions on your nipples.

“Filthy lil’ slut, ain’t ya?”. Cable said. You weren’t sure if he was speaking to you or Logan, but you released a moan anyway. You looked to your right to see cable with his legs spread, soft squelching sounds coming from him as he stroked his cock quickly. Logan drifted even further downwards towards the area you want him to be at the most. He kissed your thighs, his big hands squeezing the fat, while holding them open. You down at him, his huge body in comparison to yours, you felt so dominated and taken care of. All of your worries slipped away whenever you were with them, because it meant you could count on them.

Logan looked up at you as he dipped down to lick and suck on your hole, You threw your head back, the pleasure building up as he licked the sensitive areas. “Mmm, taste so sweet, darlin’. Can’t get enough of ya’” Logan mumbled as he continued with his tormenting actions.

“Slow down, Sport. Don’t want it all to end so quickly.” Nathan said while he grabbed Logan’s ass and gave it a squeeze and played around with his balls from behind. Nathan leaned down to kiss Logan’s back. “Fun watching you two play, but I want to shove my face in your sweet ass Lo’ while Victor here can have a turn fucking Sweetheart over here.”

Logan paused his actions, and turned around to look at Nathan. “Fine”, was all Logan said, he turned to give you a kiss, while they moved to the other side of the couch, to give Victor space with you.

Victor walked over to you, his cock swaying, you looked over his body, the hair on his chest going down to his pubic area, it was dark and coarse. You spread your legs even further apart as you grabbed the lube from the small table beside you. “Gonna have some fun with you, Frail.” Victor smirked, as he sat in between your legs. He grabbed the lube and spreads a generous amount onto his fingers.

“Ready?” Victor asked as he positioned his finger to your hole. You nodded and pressed yourself toward his finger. Victor’s finger slipped easily into your sex. Your head fall back onto the couch with a moan. Nathan grabs an extra pillow to put under your head so you can see everything that is happening.

“Fucked this pretty hole this morning, Sweetheart will be nice and open for you.” Nathan said. Victor growled as his finger spearing in and out of your body rapidly, getting you ready for his thick canned shaped cock.

“Mm please, I’m ready”. You said, grabbing onto Victor’s thick biceps. Victor pulls out his fingers with a squelch. He started adding more lube to his cock, slicking it up so you’d be wet as possible.

“Look at you, such a good little cockslut” You hear Nathan say. “So eager…”

You turn to face Logan and Cable and watch as Logan is on his hand and knees while Cable is eating his ass. You moan at how hot the scene is, not being able to stop staring.

Victor aligns his cock at your sex, He places a hand on your check so you would look at him. “Ya’ ready?” he asked. You nod and wrapped your arms around his neck and bring him down to a kiss.

Victor’s cock head nudges at your rim, You cry out as it enters you, back arching off the couch. Victor keeps going until he’s fully in. “God, you feel fuckin’ amazing, Frail” Victor said, with his eyes closed. Victor began to move his hips, pulling out until the head is only inside of you and then thrusting back in.

“You’re doing so well, Sport, make sure they cum first.” Cable said somewhere in the room. Victor began to increase his movements, the sound of wet slapping skin filled the room with the stench of sex. Which made you even more hornier. You grip Victors shoulders as he slams into you, holding your thighs to the side of your head. Getting deeper and deeper.

Victor fucked you hard. Using your body like a rabbit in heat. You moaned, rocking as you took every thrust. You watched as Victors muscles clenched at each thrust, his chest hair becoming sweaty and wet. Excess lube kept squirting out of your already fucked out hole, causing the couch to become wet.

“Jesus, fu-ck”. You screamed out, all you could do is lay there and take the fucking. Victor’s exponential

You look down at where his cock was disappearing into you, his pubes brushing against your sex with every thrust. It was so hot, you felt like you have left the planet, the pleasure building up to the point your close to coming. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m close, please!, oh God”. You continues to scream.

“Tell me how it feels, Kitten.” Victor said, not slowing down his pace.

“So good! Oh, God, aah—ha—ah, fuck, it’s oh, so good!”.

“You want it harder, Frail?” Victor asked. “’Cause y’know I like it hard”.

Tears streamed down your face, every inch of your body quivers like a leaf in the wind. “Yes!, yes, yes”.

“Alright, Frail, you asked for it.”

And then Victor starts to increase his thrusting. Without missing a beat, he starts to pound into your body, getting deeper and deeper, you never thought was possible. His thick cock stretching your hole wide open sloppily,

With every slap of skin on skin, a moan breaks out of your mouth. You turn your head to see Cable fucking Logan. Logan has always been loud in bed, but when he’s the one getting fucked, he’s even louder. You love the sounds he makes, low toned moans, sprinkled in with some light moans, and a whole lot of growling.

Cable noticed you staring and smirks. “Can’t wait to watch Logan fuck your greedy hole after this too, Sweetheart.” Nathan says as he grips Logan’s hips tighter as he goes harder.

You moan loud as you feel yourself come towards the end. The fiery pit in your stomach building up until it explodes. You cum hard and when Victor pulls out, your cum dribbled down onto Victor’s cock. Victor growls as he slides into you again, reaching for his own high. When that comes, hot cum shoots inside you, filling you up to the brim. A man like Victor cums a lot. It goes on for about 30 seconds and you both catch your breath.

Once Victor has emptied his balls inside of you, he slips out. “Fuck”. He groans. He drops to the side, while you catch your breath. You roll onto Victor and pull him into a kiss.

Victor pushes you to the side and gets up. He looks down at you, “Always look so good when you’re fucked out, Frail.” Victor smirked and leaves to go clean himself. You feel empty as you lay there. Watching Cable and Logan calm down from their own overwhelming orgasms.

After a couple of minutes, Victor cleaned you up a little, so Logan could have his turn. “Ya’ lookin’ pretty, Bub.” Logan said to you in an extra gravely deep voice while sitting down beside you. He patted his knee so you could take your place in his lap.

You wrap your arms around him and nudged your face into his neck. Inhaling his sweaty musky scent. Logan spanked your ass. You both make out for a few minutes, until you began to get aroused again. Cable takes a place beside you. “Feeling good?”. Cable checking in with you.

You nod. Couldn’t form any words due to how fucked out you already were, and it was only the beginning. Cable chuckled as he began to insert his finger into your wet hole. “Did you break them? Looks like you could’ve fucked them unconscious”.

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor said, filling a glass with some scotch. “Not the first time that’s happened”

Victor is right, you’ve lost count how many times you went unconscious due to how overwhelmed you were. They stopped immediately of course, but it was always a good laugh afterwards. The sex was that good.

“Logan…” You whine. You reached down to grab his thick cock, wanting to be be filled once again.

“Yeah, Kitten. I know, ya’ just want to be filled with cock all the time, don’tcha?” Logan chuckled, as did the other two men. You whine, hiding your face in Logan’s neck.

“You heard them, Lo’. Nathan smirked. “Hop to it.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

“Aah-ah!” is the noise that leaves you mouth a few moments later when you feel Logan’s cock enter you.

It still aches a little, though not as sharply. It soon goes away once Logan sets a slow rhythm.

“Are they still tight?” Victor asked. You hear him on the other side of the couch.

“Fuck, yeah still tight. Feels fuckin’ amazing.” Logan moaned. His head falling back against the couch.

“Doing so well, Patch. Ya’ better fill them up. I wanna eat them out after this.”

“Cause’ ya’ do, gross little shit.” Logan grunts and Cable chuckles at the remark. Knowing fully well, Logan can be just as gross.

You claw at Logan’s shoulders. “Please, fuck me, fuck me!”. Whine desperately.

“Your wish, my command, and all that…”

Logan grips your hips and began thrusting into you. His balls slapping against your ass as he quickens up the pace.

“Fuck, fuck. Ahh!” you moan as your head falls back. It’s so easy to fall back into incoherency. It’s so easy to disappear out of your head and onto only your body. No thoughts, head empty. Leaving only sensation and the burning desire to reach your high.

All you can do is sit there while Logan penetrates into you. His hips meeting your ass as his big balls slap against them. He switches position by laying back onto the couch. He forces your body up and down onto his cock, the squelching and wet noises would make you blush if you weren’t so fucked out.

“Look at that. Baby all gone again.” Nathan chuckles, squeezing his cock.

“They fucking love it.” Logan said.

And you do. Its amazing. Your skin itching to burst, your body feeling heavier heavier as the sensations overfills you.

“Fuck look at you. All gone, but still squirtin’ like that.” Logan said.

Oh, does that mean you came again?

“They’re perfect, aren’t they?” Logan said, as he continued fucking into you.

“Sure are, Sport. Now hurry the fuck up, I want my turn before they pass out completely.”

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll stay awake. Plus ill show you idiots how to really fuck their throat next time.” Logan said, as he squeezed your ass while he thrusts up into you.

“Well, you now have my attention.” Nathan mumbles.

“Shut up, Logan. Less talking, more fucking. Before we all die of old age.” Victor rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Excuse me for enjoyin’ myself.”

Logan changed positions once again, he repositions your legs over his shoulder and began to thrust. He watched as his cock disappeared into you, wet noises fill the room once again. The air was thick and hot.

Victor came over and kneeled down in front of the couch. He began sucking on one of your nipples while he played with the other with his fingers. You arched your back at the intense pleasure that ran through you. Your nipples being so sensitive.

“Mmm, lemme use that pretty mouth of yours.” Cable said. He patted your cheek to open your mouth wider. He kneeled over you so he could slip his cock into your wet mouth. His balls barely nudging against your eyes “That’s it. You know how I like it.”

You reach your hands up to fondle Nathans fat balls as he sped up the speed.

“Fuck, that’s hot as hell. Love being used like this dontcha?”. Logan growled out. You could tell he was close to the end, because the speed of his thrusts were shortening.

Cable began caressing Victors hairy chest, bringing him in by the neck to kiss him.

You continued to lick and suck around Cable’s cock. You fucking loved having their cocks in your mouth. To feel the heaviness them, swirling your tongue as you watched them squirm in pleasure. The feeling was incredible.

“Shit, I’m close, Baby. Where do ya’ want it?” Nathan pulled out so you could answer.

“My mouth, face whatever.” You kept on rambling, unable to form any cohesive sentence. The three boys chuckled at how pathetic you looked.

“Sure thing, Baby.” Nathan began jacking off, wet sounds filled the room, until he spilled his release over your face and tongue. The taste of bitter salt filled your senses. You hated the taste, but you were so far gone and incredibly horny, you didn’t care.

Cable threw his head back with a groan. “Fuck, I will never get tired of this.”

Logan finally reached his release, you could feel the cum covering your wet walls. You moan when Logan slips out, he watches as the cum drips out of you.

Logan sat back against the couch, he reaches for a cigar and lights it up.

“You good, bub?” He asks. You nod your head in response, unable to form any words. Your throat feels so raw from the blowjob.

Nathan came over to your side, he wipes you down with a warm towel. Afterwards he offered from fruit to fill your stomach a little.

“So, how was that for an anniversary?”. Nathan asked. He grabbed himself a cold beer from the table and sat beside your head.

“I could definitely get used to this every year”. You responded, on the verge of falling asleep. All you could hear were your boys chuckling.

[artificial-transmutations]

I'm the ugliest nerd in the world and I have nobody. I wish I was a man with dark brown eyes, nice muscles and everything that makes a himbo... and every nerd I kiss becomes a man like only an Arabian fairy tale could tell. He would only want me. Only I could keep his muscular body up with kisses and fucks.

Can you grant me this one Wish?

An Arabian fairy tale

Once upon a time, there was a nerd called Gregor. He lived his life in a big city and every day, he was miserable. Not only was he gay and lonely, no, the little nerd was also ugly. He wasn't just ugly, no, he was the ugliest nerd there was in the whole country.

Every day he wished he could find a lover and live happily ever after, but every day, he was reminded of his status as a lonely nerd. He tried online-dating, but due to his exterior, nobody seemed to want him.

Gregor was a shy, awkward guy who didn't get many chances to talk to strangers. In his free time, he enjoyed writing fantasy stories, a hobby that didn't bring him too many friends, either. It was frustrating, too. In his stories, the hero always managed to find a true love. He wasn't alone, no, he had someone at his side.

In his real life, however, Gregor didn't have such luck. The best thing that happened to him in a while was meeting another nerd online. There wasn't going to be anything romantic between them. As fate would have it, the other nerd, called Evan was also gay and lived not too far away, but Evan had made it pretty clear early on that Gregor just wasn't his type. Instead, he rooted for manly men, with a different ethnic background. Evan and Gregor spent a long lonely night in voice chat together, discussing their preferences. Evan apparently longed for the firm touch of a strong man with Arabic background.

Meanwhile, Gregor didn't dare say what he wished for. What was the use, anyway? There was no way it was going to happen. No one wanted to be with a weak, ugly nerd like him. To be honest, he didn't actually really know himself. In his thoughts, a partner was something so abstract, so far away that he hadn't even thought about how such a person would look like.

Evan's fantasy wasn't bad, though. After their talk, Gregor lay awake in his bed and imagined strong, middle-eastern men, along with Evan. Perhaps he had developed a slight crush on the other nerd. Finally, he drifted off to sleep, wishing that he and Evan could be together.

When Gregor awoke the next morning, he felt strangely energetic and in a pretty good mood. Thinking nothing of it, he quickly got dressed and thought about what to do today. He didn't have any work to do and would usually have spent the day indoors, writing one of his stories. However, after the refreshing talk yesterday, that didn't feel all too appealing. Instead, he had an idea: He knew where Evan lived and worked. Perhaps he should walk over to that other part of the city, and they could have a coffee. Not as a date, of course - but more as a continuation of last night's talk.

Gregor didn't have time to waste and left the house. As he stepped into the sun, the first thing he noticed was how bright the world suddenly appeared. He didn't think much of it, but a few moments later, the second strange thing happened: People were looking at him!

Now, Gregor was of course used to people looking after him - he was really ugly, after all! But today, it was different. The gazes that lingered on him didn't seem to be hostile or disgusted. They seemed curious.

Perhaps his shirt had a hole in it, Gregor thought. He checked himself, but no, the shirt was fine.

As he walked, the attention he drew increased steadily. Was there something on his face perhaps? Or his arms?

As he checked his arms, Gregor was amazed by what he saw: His milky-white skin that usually had a sickly tone to it was entirely different today: instead of the pale and blotchy skin, he now had a healthy and firm complexion. The muscles in his arms, which he usually thought of as scrawny and flabby were now clearly visible.

He checked the other arm, and it was the same. What was going on? Also, his vision was getting blurry. When he took off his glasses to clean them, however, his vision cleared up instantly. It was as if his short-sightedness was just gone!

As Gregor kept walking, the changes became more apparent: His legs, which had always been thin and small, were now visibly muscular. His stomach, which had always been a little fat, was now a firm six-pack. His clothes, which had been a bit baggy before, were getting tighter and tighter as both his height and his shoulder width increased more and more.

His hair, which had always been a dark brown, was getting even darker, and a strong stubble covered his chin. His skin, which had been the same milky white tone, was getting a darker, more exotic tan.

Gregor had no idea what was going on, and he was a little scared. But the more his body changed, the better he felt about it. He wasn't an ugly nerd anymore. He was not yet sure what he was going to become, but it was surely better than what he had been.

Meanwhile, his clothes were getting increasingly tight, and he felt like taking them off. That was not something he would ever do in public, but his urges were stronger than his shyness. With a quick movement, he took off his shirt and ripped his pants open. To his surprise, below the tight jeans, a pair of silk shorts in a shiny royal blue had formed instead of his slip, which covered his privates. However, even though he wasn't naked, the ample bulge that stretched the silky fabric left little to imagination: a large and thick manhood had formed between his legs, which left a clearly visible dick print, along with the thinly veiled big orbs of balls he now had.

By now, Gregor's appearance was attracting a lot of attention, as his body kept growing more and more, becoming larger and more impressive by the second. He wasn't even "lean" or "fit" anymore. The way his body expanded, he definitely qualified as "muscular" by now, perhaps even "bulky". His shoulders were wide and strong, and his back had filled out so much that his neck had almost disappeared entirely. His biceps and triceps were both at least the size of his head and were covered in a fine, dark fuzz. The rest of his body had also become much hairier: His chest was covered in a generous carpet of dark hairs and a thick bush of pubes was pushing out against the silky shorts.

People had stopped and stared, and even a few had started to snap pictures or take videos with their phones. Gregor was enjoying the attention. His facial structure reformed into something much more manly. His new Arabic heritage became clearly visible on his face. His nose, his eyes, and his jawline changed and became broader, more prominent. His eyes became deep and dark, and his bushy eyebrows made him appear quite serious and manly.

A superior grin appeared on his face that wouldn't go away anymore. Gregor knew he had become a walking wet dream of Arabic hunkness - especially for Evan. He couldn't wait to surprise him like that.

Even though his identity hadn't changed much, Gregor didn't feel like calling himself Gregor anymore. Ghalib. That was a far more fitting name for his impressive Arabic stature. It meant 'victor' or 'conqueror' - and Ghalib felt exactly like that.

Ghalib wasn't even sweating when he arrived at Evans place a short jog later. He rang the bell, and when the little nerd in front of him opened, he didn't waste any time: Ghalib pulled Evan into a tight and sensual kiss, invading the other man's mouth with determined force. Evan moaned in his mouth and his legs gave in.

Ghalib held the small nerd up and carried him inside the flat, kicking the door shut behind him. The rest of their clothes soon littered the floor as the two men kissed passionately. However, as they were making out, Evan, too, began to change. It was almost like watching his own changes in fast forward: The hair on his head receded into a shorter style and was replaced by a thick fuzz that grew on his chest and the rest of his body. Evan's face morphed into a masculine and rugged appearance. His skinny, pale arms and legs grew more and more muscles, until they looked like they were sculpted out of marble. His skin darkened and an Arabic ethnicity appeared by it.

Finally, the smaller man's cock expanded and swelled up. Within a few seconds, it reached almost the size of Ghalib's.

As they continued kissing, the two men, now equally hung and ripped, felt up each other's bodies. Ghalib had no idea why this was happening, or what had brought on these changes, but he didn't care. All he knew - or was pretty sure about - was that it didn't have to stop with Evan.

As the other hunk went down on him, Ghalib made a decision. Evan and he would share their gift, turning more and more nerds into a true harem of sexy Arabs!

[basilknell]

Vasily's Ethnic Background

Howdy! I tend to ramble about history books I read adjacent to Vasily on my private accounts, so I figured I’d accumulate some of the information I read regarding headcanoning Vasily’s ethnic background. This’ll be a big ‘ole post, so I’ll stash it under a read-more for anyone interested.

This isn’t meant to be taken as a concrete ‘Vasily is canonically ethnically x’ post, and as you’ll read none of the options I cover are necessarily concrete as there’s overlap and conjecture to be found in every choice. Nonetheless, this post's biggest purpose is reference for myself, as I rotate what I headcanon him to be often; I’m hoping some others might take an interest in alternate backgrounds for him from this, as I only ever see him portrayed as ethnically Russian.

I’d be happy to provide further reading/direction for certain information covered if wanted, and a special thank you to Rdstrpv for some of the information unavailable in English for me to find! I will also occasionally update this post over time as I read more documents and come across more evidence/contradictions.

Please be aware that much of this can be a sensitive subject, and I have condensed much of this information to be understandable to the average reader which means nuance is lost. This is especially true in regards to the intersection of ethnicity and nationality of Cossacks when relating to Russian and Ukrainian history. I especially suggest further research beyond my simple blog if you have any interest in headcanoning Vasily as a Cossack. I stress it, even. I try my best to tread the history and terms, but a short blog can only touch upon so much.

Russian

To address first and foremost, comes the ethnic background the vast majority of fans (and likely Noda as well) ascribe to Vasily – an ethnic Russian. There’s not much information I need to corroborate regarding why exactly one might find Vasily to be ethnically Russian, and it is the easiest background for him to tread if you wish to play it safe regarding headcanons if you don’t know much about Russian history.

Vasily, given his first name and appearance, has no contradictory elements to him being Russian. s. His first name, Vasily, is one typically only ethnic Russians use, but we'll discuss this further in a bit. He speaks Russian in the show (though non-Russian ethnicities do sometimes speak Russian), he has an appearance typical of an ethnic Russian, and is found to be in an Russian Imperial Army (RIA) uniform – though I’d like to add there was mandatory conscription for most all males in Russia starting in 1874. Regardless of ethnicity, typically most men who resided within the empire could be conscripted into the army. The one time we see Vasily without his shinel (greatcoat), he’s wearing a kosovorotka, a shirt that specifically was worn by ethnic Russians at the time.

(Pictured Vasily’s kosovorotka.)

An argument could be made that another ethnicity would’ve worn a kosovorotka given it being one of the few clothing options when stationed further East, but the more likely assumption is he is simply Russian. After all, Vasily’s birthplace, Yeleninka, was, and still is, in Russia; he never bothers to correct other characters that call him Russian either. Though, this could also be in part that he either could no longer speak at all after being shot, or he didn’t find worth in arguing about it.

But, regarding Vasily’s clothing, there are some major inconsistencies beginning with the fact Noda clearly had little idea about the Russian uniform or military organization in 1907.

To begin with: an ethnic Russian being a border guard was unusual. Not impossible, by any means, but not exactly the norm. Border guards at the time were found to be one of two categories: Cossacks (I will be discussing them later) or a specialized military unit called the Special Border Guard Corps (SBGC). While Cossacks were typical to find as border guards, and oftentimes had their own separate units from ordinary military units, you often could find ethnic Russians in the SBGC, though border protection more often than not belonged to Cossacks in the Far East. You might also find the occasional ethnic Russians serving as a Cossack out East, but again, this will be further discussed below as to what that meant.

Neither Cossacks nor the SBGC wore the uniform Vasily and the other members of his unit are found in. In fact, technically the RIA did not either, as the uniforms of Vasily and his comrades are WWI uniform designs. It's important to note here, however, Sakhalin was not monitored by the SBGC in 1907 as there was a lack of funds, and as such Cossacks almost exclusively guarded that border. An argument can be made, however, that normal RIA members also helped in guarding the border since it had not been long since the Russo-Japanese War had ended. I mention the SBGC and their uniforms as reference for those that might wish to find justification for Vasily being in the corps and on the border somehow.

(Pictured 1909 uniforms of the SBGC.)

While this is a graphic of 1909 SBGC uniforms, they remained largely similar to the years before, and are notable for their green coloration to mark their identification. It’s far harder to pinpoint Vasily’s outfit had he been a Cossack, namely because he could have been in several different uniforms depending on which voisko (AKA a Host – think of these as state/territory distinctions between Cossacks residences) he originated from. To be a Cossack on the Sakhalin border, he could’ve been from a number of different voisko that created the East Siberian District that covered Sakhalin. Simply though, no Cossack uniform matched the uniform Vasily canonically wears either. Nor does in match the uniforms of the RIA at the time.

So what uniform is Vasily found to be wearing, then? His outfit is a generic foot soldier uniform of low-ranking members of the RIA, lacking any tags to denote which unit Vasily prevails from entirely. However, the bulk of the uniform Vasily is found in was introduced in the year 1907 by order of complete uniform overhaul by Tsar Nicholas II, but other elements come from post-1910 reforms seen most typically in use during WWI. Given Vasily being in the Far East, it would be rather unusual for Vasily to wear a newly-issued uniform such as the one he’s found in. How would a soldier presumably on a remote border have such a newly printed uniform (albeit, anachronistic in some aspects such as his Papakha being from a 1910 reform), structured for a separate occupation he does not have? He is on the border as a sniper when he first appears after all, not merely a foot soldier.

All of this culminates into a couple of pieces of important information regarding Noda. (1) He was entirely unaware that the regular military did not cover borders, and instead it was the job of specialized units, Cossacks, and less commonly the SBGC. (2) He intentionally avoided pertinent information on Vasily’s uniform and gave him a generic one from the very year Russian uniforms were massively changed lasting until the Revolution. In fact, Noda had made edits to Vasily’s uniform between the original release of his appearance, and the volume releases, meaning he wasn’t thorough in depicting the Russian soldiers. (3) To culminate most of this, Noda had simply cobbled together information that created Vasily to be versatile for several different headcanons, not just as an ethnic Russian. If Noda had failed so spectacularly regarding Vasily’s uniform, could he also not have made a mistake in Vasily’s kosovorotka? After all, gimnasterka were typically worn under shinel, and while Vasily’s shirt looks more like a kosovorotka than a gimnasterka, Noda simply could’ve drawn the gimnasterka wrong and accidentally created a kosovorotka.

There is a reason why most fans label Vasily as ethnically Russian, aside from general lack of knowledge on the subject, but in that same vein much of the evidence that he is ethnically Russian can be refuted in the same breath. Regardless, it's a simple headcanon to choose above the others if one wished.

Ukrainian

While Vasily’s silence and clothes tell one story about his background, his name itself tells another. Specifically, his surname! ‘Vasily’ is found typically upon Russians and those who want to Russify themselves while 'Vasyl' is the Ukrainian equivalent, but his surname, Pavlichenko, is distinctly Ukrainian and not Russian. His father’s family, at the very least, had to have been of Ukrainian origin, regardless of his birthplace in Yeleninka (which is not located very close to any areas of modern-day Ukraine). It would be up to interpretation if his mother was also Ukrainian, but it does not conflict history to state his family could have moved from the regions of Ukraine (perhaps after serfdom was abolished in 1861) to different areas in search of land. Being leased onto Cossack land to farm in the Orenburg voisko, where Yeleninka was located, was common for laborers and poorer non-Cossack locals. An ethnic Ukrainian being found in Yeleninka is not as outlandish as one might think and is entirely plausible, as a portion of Yeleninka was indeed ethnically Ukrainian (whether this was through forced displacement or general immigration, I am unsure). And, as discussed in the previous section, when assuming how an ethnic Russian was a border guard, the same logic can apply to a Ukrainian simply being in the RIA.

It’s difficult to explain away Vasily’s last name without him being, in part, Ukrainian. But again, part of this information likely comes from Noda’s lack of research into Russian history. Vasily’s last name is taken from a famous sniper, Lyudmila Pavlichenko, just as Vasily’s first name and birthplace are taken from another sniper, Vasily Zaitsev. Despite being ethnically Ukrainian, Lyudmila is often regarded as just a ‘Soviet’ sniper, and thus it's likely Noda assumed she was simply Russian and gave her name to Vasily because of that, unaware that there was a difference between Ukrainian and Russian last names.

Vasily's first name not being the Ukrainian variation of 'Vasyl' could be explained by that stated mixed heritage. However, it was also incredibly common for Ukrainians in the past to go by a Russified name. For example, the famous writer Nikolai Gogol's true name is actually Mykola Hohol. Vasily could very well have chosen to start going by a Russian first name while in the army, or had it changed for him, as it was not uncommon for well-known Ukrainians to have these double names.

If you’re a stickler to the specifics despite Noda’s intention, Vasily’s Ukrainian surname cannot be argued against as easily as many of the ethnic Russian factors for him. Whether that means you’d find Vasily to be exclusively Ukrainian, or a mix, that is up to one’s own headcanon interpretation.

Orenburg Cossack

Cossacks are a very long and convoluted subject in Eastern European history, but I will do my best to explain this as clearly as I can without dredging into too much history. First, and most important to remember, is ‘Cossack’ was not necessarily always a distinct ethnic identity from other ethnicities within the Empire. But it was an ethnic identity to some.

The Cossacks emerged from various ethnic backgrounds. They culminated into one as different groups fled from whatever situation they found themselves in and drew into banditry together. Russians and Ukrainians fleeing serfdom, Poles fleeing the hetmans, those of Turk background, etc., all became a hodgepodge group called ‘Cossacks’ in modern-day Ukraine and parts of Southwestern modern-day Russia. Over time, this group obtained special privileges from Imperial Russia in return for their extensive military service. Cossacks began to develop into an ethnic identity separate from Russians, Ukrainians, and Turks. Their own culture was Slavic mixed with Turkish culture – distinctly blended so they did not identify as one or the other. This was not always the case, and often the further back in history you go, the more often you would find Cossacks who identified with an ethnic identity outside of Cossackhood. You might often hear the term 'Ukrainian Cossack' in reference to Zaporozhian Cossacks because of this, as many of these Cossacks would have identified as being kin to what we now call modern-day Ukrainians rather than having a distinct ethnic Cossack identity. But, later in the empire, certain Cossack groups did distinguish themselves as ethnically different from the Russians, Ukrainians, and other Slavic groups in the area.

However, because of these special privileges given to them by the Russian Empire, a legal definition of a Cossack had to be applied to persons. Due to this, as Cossack voiskos began forming further East into Siberia where the Russian government wanted Cossacks stationed, they would often bestow the title of ‘Cossack’ to people living in certain areas who ethnically had no connection to Cossacks whatsoever. This created situations where those who did not want to be involved in the military were now legally obligated to give military service, and it was now possible to find even ethnically Chinese Cossacks in Eastern voiskos. A Cossack had become both an ethnic identity and a legal title to be bestowed, though the vast majority of Cossacks still remained those of the ethnic background.

To summarize, Cossacks found in Western Imperial Russia often regarded themselves as distinctly different ethnically from other groups (Russians, Ukrainians, Khalmyks), such as with Don, Kuban, and Ural Cossacks. This is often exemplified in Russian Literature (although written by those who are romanticizing the Cossacks) where it is highlighted that Cossacks consider themselves a separate ethnicity from those around them. However in the more Eastern voisko, while it was possible to find Cossacks who believed themselves ethnically Cossack, sometimes being a Cossack was simply a legal title and held no other cultural or ethnic significance.

Now, in regards to Vasily, border guards were often Cossacks in Imperial Russia, as it was one of their duties when not in an active military turn. This immediately gives him claim to potentially being a Cossack, if you choose to headcanon him as a Cossack rather than just in the RIA. But, specifically, Sakhalin was only guarded officially by Cossacks until the succession of the Soviets. Now, as stated above, he was far more likely to consider himself ethnically Cossack (which would explain a Ukrainian last name, but not consider himself Ukrainian due the blended nature of Cossacks) if he was from a voisko further West. But, Sakhalin was one of the Eastern-most points in Russia, and lacked a specific voisko to cover it. Instead, a group called the East Siberian District chose to cover Sakhalin, which was a collection of different voisko. If one was to headcanon Vasily as being a Cossack from any of these Eastern voisko, it’d be much easier to state several things at once: (1) Vasily is legally a Cossack and (2) Vasily considers himself to be ethnically Cossack, Ukrainian, Russian, or whatever else one might choose to headcanon him as. The only background you cannot headcanon such things in conjunction are legally Cossack and ethnically + religiously Jewish for a number of reasons (if a Jew converted, they could indeed be dubbed a Cossack. Antin Krzyzhanovsky is a historical figure notable for doing this).

But, let us backtrack, as there is further evidence to Cossack Vasily beyond his occupation as a border guard. Yeleninka was located in the Orenburg voisko, and those who resided in Yeleninka were legally considered Cossacks. In fact, regardless of headcanon purposes, when following only factual history and no conjecture, Vasily should have been legally a Cossack if he had been born in Yeleninka itself (if born outside the town or if he moved there young, he could’ve been considered a non-Cossack living in the area. Certain ethnicities like Jews and Kalmyks were exempt from the legal title being applied however). I’ve never found specific statistics regarding Yeleninka’s official ethnic makeup, but as for the Orenburg voisko as a whole: when the Orenburg voisko was created, the government supplanted several ethnic Cossacks in the area, but also legally defined some ethnically Russian, Tatar, Mordvin, and Chuvash persons living in the area into Cossacks as well. Thus, one could easily consider Vasily ethnically Cossack, or instead consider him to be one of the other ethnicities listed above while only a Cossack in legal title.

To return back to the discussion about Sakhalin coverage, Yeleninka’s existence in the Orenburg voisko does, in fact, line up with history correctly, though I’m sure Noda was entirely unaware of this. Orenburg was a voisko part of the East Siberian District, and it is entirely plausible Vasily would have been stationed on the border because of that. Though it would have been more likely for a further East voisko to send soldiers to that specific border, but not impossible because Orenburg was part of the District.

Ussuri Cossack

Now, the Ussuri Cossack headcanon hinges upon everything I’ve just said above regarding Orenburg Cossacks. Whether or not Vasily is considered ethnically or legally Cossack matters little, only that he is simply titled an ‘Orenburg Cossack’ at the time of his birth, which he otherwise legally should’ve been if he was born in Yeleninka.

As mentioned, the Ussuri voisko was the voisko found furthest East – and because of that, it was the voisko that supplanted the most Cossacks to Sakhalin. However, there is indeed precedent for an Orenburg Cossack becoming an Ussuri Cossack. While it was notoriously difficult for Cossacks (and peasants in general) to transfer between voisko, starting in the 1890s (after a large famine hit the Orenburg voisko the hardest) the government began supporting Orenburg Cossacks in moving to the Ussuri voisko.

So, in essence, Vasily could have been born in Yeleninka, legally considered a Cossack, and then moved to be raised in the Ussuri voisko as an Ussuri Cossack, allowing for a more probable likeness for him to have been stationed at the Sakhalin border. Because of how devastating the famine was to the Orenburg voisko, movement to the Ussuri voisko was a fairly popular choice for some Cossacks.

Mordvin (Moksha & Erzya) + Chuvash

To get out of the way an important piece of information: I am going to use the term ‘Mordvin’ for ease. However, Mordvin is an umbrella term referring to two distinct, but related, ethnic groups known as the Moksha and Erzya. Think of it like the term ‘Slav’ in reference to Poles and Russians.

Aside from Vasily’s place of birth – Yeleninka – and its place in the Oreburg host, there’s not much other specific evidence towards Vasily being Mordvin. There was a decently large population of Mordvins in the Orenburg voisko, and quite a few of them were also legally deemed Cossacks as well. And, while that is the little info I have (mostly because there is very little information involving Mordvins published in English and even Russian), no other information would contradict him being Mordvin either aside from his Ukrainian last name. But, of course, his last name can always be easily explained away as mixed marriage in the past.

I am adding Chuvash as another ethnic group similar to the Mordvin’s in Fors and Againsts. They had a decent population size in the Orenburg, and some also served as Cossacks. However, unlike the Mordvins which are a Finno-Ugric peoples that had assimilated and intermarried with Russians quite a lot, Chuvash tend to have more of a Central Asian appearance which is a bit of a contrast to Vasily’s canon appearance (blond-brown hair, strong nose bridge, blue hooded eyes).

Turkish

I’ll quickly preface that Vasily being full-blooded Turkish is highly unlikely. But I wanted to at least mention that it wouldn’t be uncommon for him to be a quarter or half Turkish. The reason why is that during the Russo-Turkish War during the 1860s, Cossacks often brough Turkish brides back to Russia with them after the end of the war. Given that Cossacks already have some mix of Turkic culture, they were partial to bringing these women back with them (though I must stress this was not always done morally). Regardless, if one is running with the idea that Vasily is a Cossack, his parents being mixed Turkish or a grandmother of his being fully Turkish is completely plausible.

Jewish

I’m going to attempt this as respectfully as I can, as it would be remiss of me not to entertain the idea of Vasily being Jewish because Jews were a significant population of the Russian Empire. Nonetheless, the facts stack against this headcanon, but I want to lay them out for clarity’s sake as perhaps the info is useful to someone attempting to work with the headcanon. The history of Jews in Russia is quite extensively plotted in academia, and though I’ve read a couple papers and books about it, I could very well be missing important information. Please feel free to correct me.

First and most importantly: Vasily could not have been a Cossack and religiously Jewish. If, perchance, he was only ethnically Jewish but his family kept this information completely hidden or they openly converted to Orthodoxy, then he could’ve been legally defined as a Cossack. But otherwise, Jews were never given the legal title, and even ethnic Jews who had converted to Orthodoxy were still heavily discriminated against by other Cossacks. While I’ve never found a specific law mentioned against legally defining Jews as Cossacks, there are social issues to consider. Cossacks, particularly ethnic ones, were notorious in their violence against Jews. They instigated and typically were the ones who committed pogroms against Jews in the empire and had a long history of using them as scapegoats in political matters. If a Jew was to gain the legal title of ‘Cossack’, there would not have been a particularly peaceful outcome to such a situation. Thus, to be religiously Jewish Vasily must have only been in the Separate Border Guard Corps which did allow Jews.

Next, Vasily’s last name, Pavlichenko, can be explained. While the majority of Jews in Russia had Germanic last names (and ordinarily first names as well), they sometimes took Slavic names, especially if conversion or intermarriage occurred. Given that Pavlichenko is Ukrainian as well, it is actually more favorable than him having a Russian last name – Jews in Russia were majority confined to an area called the Pale. The Pale covered what is now modern day Ukraine, Belarus, Poland, Lithuania, and a bit of Latvia. If he was to have a non-Germanic surname, it was more likely to have originated from one of these areas, such as Ukraine, hence him more likely to have a Ukrainian last name than a Russian one.

Unfortunately, discussion of the Pale leads into a major problem concerning Vasily: Jews were constricted to this area. A handful of Jews could be found in major cities of European Russia if they were artisans or merchants, as they were allowed to legally reside in these cities when given permits*. For example, about 4000 Jews resided in Moscow around 1900. However, this only extended to major cities just outside the Pale. Upon my research into the Orenburg Oblast, a 1897 census survey finds a grand total 4 Jews living in the entirety of the Oblast (special thank you to Rdstrp for providing me the census). Though I will say, upon reading other papers, there is mention of a single Jewish Cheder in Orenburg that supported 20 students. This hints that perhaps there were more Jews living in Orenburg than the official census denotes, but not by much. Of course, as stated with the Cossack background, there are ways around this statistic. Vasily could be ethnically Jewish, but his family hid this fact and became baptized in order to live outside the Pale and major cities. 

Finally, if Vasily had been Jewish, it would’ve been strange he didn’t bring this fact up to the Japanese cast. During the Russo-Japanese War, Japan was heavily funded by wealthy American Jews who despised Russia for their strict, antisemitic laws and their recent pogroms. Because of this, Japan was especially favorable towards Jews and during the war would often separate Jewish POWs from the other Russian military POWs, giving them better treatment as if they were guests. To this point, Jews often wanted to stay in Japan because of how well they were treated by the Japanese. I’m unsure exactly how long this favorable view lasted, but it is not remiss to believe as close post-war as Golden Kamuy is, this favorable stance would still hold. Instead of viewing Vasily as an annoying Russian, he very well could’ve used his Jewish background to cement himself a more favorable disposition from the Japanese cast.

*There were some Jews living outside the Pale, but not significant numbers. The Georgian and Central Asian Jews of Iranian background were allowed to reside outside the Pale in their origin areas. There were also some Siberian Jewish communities created by Jews who had been exiled into Siberia, but none of these communities were particularly close to Yeleninka.

End Note

I’ll end this on a note that, with all this information laid out, I only wish to encourage people to choose what they personally feel drawn to for Vasily’s background. While some headcanons have more evidence than others, each has their own difficulties with history in ways, as Noda accidentally contradicted much of the information he applied to Vasily. I hope this encourages more people to do research into the history here – which I think is especially needed if you intend to headcanon Vasily as a Cossack, even if you are headcanoning him to be a ethnically non-Cossack, but legally defined under the title. But a mix of ethnic background is entirely possible for Vasily according to just the factual history, so restricting him to one ethnic identity isn’t needed if one does not wish.

Personally, I often write and draw Vasily as being half Ukrainian half Russian, though in my actual preference I find him to be an ethnic Cossack that was raised in the Ussuri voisko. However, I feel when I present him as a Cossack I want nuance following it, so I’ve never bothered to draw or write him as such beyond a couple sketches.

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Chapters two through seven from Tommy’s POV.

Warning: language, smoking, war mention(ish), PTSD mention(ish), suicide thought, ethnic slur

Side Note: Taking some liberties with some of the back and pre-pilot stories, as well as some of the stuff we just don’t know (Harry’s backstory and involvement in the war, as an example). Just go with it lol.

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter Eight: Devil Inside Me

There’s a devil inside of me, and he’s holding on. And I don’t know if he’s staying, or for how long.  Pulling at my heart-strings, kicking in my mind. And I’m sad to say he’s got me thinking, about the bad parts of my life.  — Devil Inside Me, Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes

Tommy was a dead man, walking through a life he knew he shouldn’t be walking, breathing an air that he shouldn’t be breathing. The realization that he hadn’t in fact died, or that he was actually going to go home, hadn’t even set in until hours after he stepped out of the train station the day they all came home. 

Well, not all of them came home. The faces of those he left with, who he fought with, who hadn’t been “as lucky” as him were always there, flashing just behind his eyelids with each blink. 

Ghosts of a fate that should have been his. 

He knew he wasn’t the same Tommy Shelby who’d left those handful of years ago. None of the men who were returning with him were. He could see it in Polly’s eyes the moment she saw them — a relief that was immediately replaced with a new coat of worry. 

Looking around as he stepped off the train, he was surrounded by men of all ages embracing their loved ones, crying, weeping. He watched John cradle his wife’s face as he kiss her, his children surrounding his legs. He watched Ada hug Arthur, then Freddie, before pulling him in for an extra tight hug. Tommy should have felt that same level of relief that he could see on his brothers and best mate’s faces, to be walking on English soil. 

But he still felt like a dead man. And it was all because of her. 

The first face Tommy saw as he stepped off the train was hers — the same face he saw while he laid in the mud. Another ghost, standing amongst the sea of people. 

The girl seemed just as surprised to see him as he’d been, and in a moment she was dropping her head and turning to leave. Tommy started to move forward faster, determined to reach her before she disappeared again. But by the time he breached the crowd in front of him, she was gone, and the cries of welcome from Polly, Ada, Finn, Martha, and John’s kids pulled him out of his odd trance. But still, in the back of his mind he wrestled with whether she’d really been there in the flesh this time, or if she were just another vision. 

Riding back into Birmingham, into Small Heath, and then walking down Watery Lane felt like a dream. His brothers and mates wanted to go to the Garrison first thing, but Tommy just wasn’t ready. After years of living in the trenches, the world around him felt very loud, very crowded, and he just needed a moment of peace in his old bedroom. 

Polly had kept his room the same as when he left. The clothes and sheets were recently washed, she’d told them on their way in. Tommy wondered if he could even fit in those old clothes of his anymore, instead choosing to pull out a shirt to sleep in from his luggage, breathing in the familiar scent. 

As he dug around further in his bag, he found the medals they’d given him. Acts of heroism and gallantry, the voices of those who’d presented them to him echoed through his mind as he scoffed. He picked them up and threw them in a drawer, then laid down on his bed. A few minutes later, he sat up and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He could hear the cheers outside, the music, the merriment and excitement of the war end, of husbands and fathers and sons returning home. 

Suddenly furious, he tore the drawer open and grabbed the medals and his coat, barreling out of his room and into the streets. 

“Tommy!” A female voice he barely recognized called out to him from the outside of the Garrison. 

He turned in time to Lizzie Stark wave a handkerchief at him, starting to walk his way. Ignoring her, he turned away and continued to walk, knowing that would be enough response to keep her from following as he walked down to the bridge. He waited at the ledge for a moment to see if anyone had followed him, but the music and merriment remained behind him as he pulled out a cigarette and looked down into the watery darkness of the Cut. 

The canal always made him think about his mother — another ghost in his life — and he wondered for a moment how much better it would be if he joined her. He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, how easy would it be to just lean his weight forward. 

Right now, he reasoned that there were only two futures at play for him. He already saw the effects the war had on some of the other survivors, some of his comrades — the Flanders Blues. 

Danny had nightmares, and now it was starting to effect his waking hours, taking him ages to come back even after he’d already awoken. And there were others who were suffering far worse — like Barney, who had what they were now referring to as shell-shock, and Tommy feared would never be able to shake it and wondered if he’d ever leave the institution they’d admitted him in. 

Even now, Tommy could close his eyes and still hear the guns, the shouts, of shovels and picks breaking into the earth. He could feel the ever looming threat of breaking through the mud and finding the enemy — of always being so close to death.

He couldn’t even imagine a world where the things he’d seen would ever fade from his memory. The gore, the blood, the flesh. The smell of burning, of gas, of fire, of dirt, of blood. 

Whether those who’d died had found their way to a better place, Tommy no longer believed such a place existed. There was only a hell, and he’d volunteered to enter. 

The medals burned in his hand as he thought about all those ghosts — his friends, his comrades, even his enemies. They were gone, and he was here. 

He thought back to what he’d said to his brothers and comrades after they found out the war had officially ended. That this was their second life, their bonus life. Even then, Tommy wasn’t sure if he actually believed what he’d said in the throws of victory, of finding out that they weren’t going to die after accepting their fates. But now, standing over the Cut, Tommy knew that the only option for him was the second option. 

No one was ever going to put him or his family in the mud again. That one day, he’d build his family up so high that not even the King himself would be able to touch them. That was the only way they’d ever truly be able to find safety and peace. 

Lifting the medals into the street light, he read the engraving one final time before letting them slip through his fingers. He closed his eyes until he heard the expected splash. 

What he hadn’t expected to hear was a person exclaiming below the bridge. 

“Oi!” Tommy shouted, suspicion that he’d been followed creeping into his paranoid mind. “Someone down there?” 

Not waiting for a response, Tommy was already off the bridge and walking toward the underpass when he heard a woman respond. 

“You almost took me out,” the voice quipped, the body still leaning over the waters edge near where the waves were still bouncing. 

When the body straightened and turned toward him, he instantly recognized it. 

It was her — it was you. 

He breathed in deep, remembering his lit cigarette, and for a moment he had the thought that he’d actually jumped. 

Tommy could tell by the look on your face that you recognized him as well, and that the fact that you were standing there together was just as a surprise to you as it was for him.

“You were at the train station,” he tested, moving closer to the street light to get a better view and hope that it would prompt you to follow suit. Which, you did. 

The last two times he’d seen you felt different than this. Where before, even at the train station, you’d felt ethereal, otherworldly. Now, in this moment, you felt real, your body fidgeting uncomfortably as your eyes moved everywhere but refused to meet his own. He took the opportunity to get a better look at the mystery woman. 

The first thing he noticed was how different you looked now than you had in his vision. You were dressed in something similar to what his sister had been wearing earlier that evening. And while your hair seemed slightly in disarray and face looked flushed, you looked just as beautiful as you had the first time he’d seen you. 

His vision flashed before him, and he recalled the different version of you he’d seen. In his vision, you had on considerably less clothes, the recollection of your long, bare legs had him moving his eyes down your body. 

When his eyes reached back up to your face, your eyes finally met his again and a blush crept across your cheeks. Part of him wondered if you could read his thoughts. 

“I was,” you finally replied, your voice a little stronger than he’d expected. You motioned toward the water. “And you were throwing some medals into the river, yeah?” 

Sobering up, Tommy felt his back straighten a little at the notion. He hadn’t expected you to notice what exactly he’d thrown into the water. He narrowed his eyes, took a long drag of his cigarette, and made some comment about how the fish could have them. 

“Don’t think the fish’ll have much use for them,” you replied back, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes wrinkled and mouth flinched, as if holding back a smile at your own joke. 

Despite himself, the sight actually amused him enough to breathe out a shrug. “Seems we have that in common, then.” 

Not prompted at all by the thought of your legs from his vision, Tommy began to wonder how difficult it would be to persuade you to join his bed. It’d been a while since the last time he’d slept with someone. 

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realized you’d indicated that you were leaving. He didn’t want you to leave though.

“You a whore?” He asked, reasoning that if he could pay you to stay with him, it’d be the easiest way to keep you from disappearing again. 

It wasn’t a crazy question. There weren’t many women walking around alone, at night, in Birmingham, who weren’t offering some intimate services. He knew it was where his unmarried brother and mates would be ending their nights tonight. Hell, one of them was probably giving Lizzie the attention he’d denied her at this very moment. 

He didn’t have anything against prostitutes, it was just another business transaction in his opinion. Plus, it was an easy way to have sex without the mess of feelings. 

But the way you’d rounded on him, planting your feet just a step away from him as your face contorted into something different than the one he’d just seen, his opinion on the question changed. 

You dove into a rant asking what the hell was wrong with him. 

“No, I’m not a whore!” You’d finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t support a woman’s choice to sell her services to men who will pay if it means making enough to survive in this God awful existence!”

Tommy chuckled, realizing that the two of you felt the same way about the profession. “So, you aren’t a whore, but you respect ‘em, is that it?”

You rolled your eyes and the sight made him want to smile again. He reasoned that this woman before him had no idea who he was — no person in Small Heath outside of his own family dared to talk to him like this, much less roll their eyes at him without the fear of his blade cutting through them, male or female. You were fearless, it seemed — or stupid. Either way, for the moment it intrigued him.

“Everyone sells part of themselves for something eventually. Sometimes it’s a woman laying on her back for a man. Sometimes it’s a man crawling through the mud for a King.” 

Your comment made Tommy shift immediately from amused and intrigued to angry. 

No, you weren’t afraid of him, but you should be. 

His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to you, straightening his back and shoulders, expecting you to flinch. But you didn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why the refusal to back away or even break eye contact made him want to kiss you rather than punish you. 

“You should go home,” he decided to say, choosing to soften his voice instead of raise it. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop himself from scanning down your face to your lips. “The next man you meet alone, under a bridge, at night, might not be as accepting to your ideologies as I am.” He darted his tongue out to lick his own lips when you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth. While he was willing to let you get away with what you said to him this time, he still wanted to make you realize the vulnerable state you were in, how much power he really had. “If he says you’re a whore, he might treat you like one in spite of your pretty words.” 

He watched you finally react, a shiver running through you as your eyes met his again. He noticed the blush on your cheeks deepen as you took a step back, telling him you appreciated the advice before a strong breeze caused you to wrap your arms around your body. 

Tommy hadn’t even felt the cold since the minute he laid eyes on you, the adrenaline from marching down to the Cut and then finally getting to speak to you had his blood boiling. Without even realizing it, Tommy was shrugging his coat off his own shoulders and offering it to you, who hesitated slightly before accepting it. The sight of the oversized coat hanging around your shoulders made his chest tighten. He couldn’t figure out why it looked so right on you. 

Before he realized it, you were stepping away from him toward the steps of the bridge. His eyes met yours again, and something shifted behind them. Before he could ask, you welcomed him home and turned to finally disappear into the darkness, leaving him alone by the water’s edge again. 

Tommy didn’t know why he’d had a vision of you months ago. He didn’t know why he had met you tonight, or how it seemed you also knew about him. But he did know one thing — he was going to find out. 

——

Despite his initial internal promise to find out more about the mystery woman, Tommy found his attention otherwise occupied as he threw his energy into building back up the family name and reputation. And despite Polly’s insistence that they take a few days to get back in the swing of things, Tommy spent all his free time reacquainting himself with the family books, starting with the furthest back and moving his way forward. He was happy to discover that true to her letters, Polly had been keeping the betting business going with no qualms. Even with the amount of men in the war, there was enough steady flow of cash to keep everything afloat. 

The family business side of things hadn’t been as lucky. While still viable thanks in part to members of their gang who hadn’t enlisted, there had definitely been a drop in income. Tommy made a note of all the people he was going to need to visit. 

He could feel Polly hovering as he read through the books throughout the days. Having grown up with his aunt practically raising him, he knew how overprotective she was over her kin, so part of him thought nothing of it at first. 

He was nearly done with all the books, finally getting halfway through this year’s ledgers, when he discovered the real reason for Polly’s hovering. 

“Polly!” he shouted from his office, standing up and grabbing both books he’d been looking at before moving into the kitchen. He threw the first book open on the table in front of his aunt and pointed to the margins. “Who the fuck’s handwriting is this?” 

“Tommy—“ Polly began, moving quickly to close the doors to the bustling betting den. 

“Who the fuck’s handwriting is this, hmm?” He tapped against the book pages harder, leaning against the table as Polly closed the other doors, concealing them from any eyes or ears that may have followed Tommy’s tirade. “Fuckin’ answer me, Pol.” 

“I hired someone, alright Thomas?” her voice answered softly in contrast to his volume as she shook her head, waving him off. “You didn’t expect after all this time that we wouldn’t bring in new help.” 

Tommy threw a second book on top of the first and pointed again at the same handwriting in the margins. “And what is the same fucking handwriting doin’ in the family book, eh?”

Polly held his gaze. 

“Did an estranged family member show up while we were away? Perhaps a bastard looking for a father, or a long lost brother?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes narrowing at her nephew’s condescending questions as he went on, taking her silence as a no. 

“Okay then, how ‘bout a new uncle? Did you get married and you just forgot to bloody mention it, Pol? Is there a new last name we should be calling ‘ya?”

“No,” Polly answered straight, crossing her arms defensively as Tommy rose up. 

“No,” Tommy repeated as a mock and his body mirrored hers, crossing his own arms. “So, there is a non-family member auditing our family books then, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Polly answered again. 

Tommy took a deep breath, trying not to let his aunt’s stubbornness rile him up. There was information she was keeping from him, that she’d been keeping from him, and he wanted to know everything immediately. 

“Go on, Pol,” he went on, his voice still even despite its rise a few moments ago. “Tell me what you were thinking.” 

Polly held Tommy’s gaze for a moment before finally relenting, taking a deep breath that matched his own. 

“She’s a friend of Ada’s—“

“Fucking hell—“ Tommy’s eyes shot upward as he felt his entire body groan at the mention of his sister. 

He loved Ada, but the girl had never shown any interest in their business, either business, her entire life. In fact, the girl had never taken anything serious, so he couldn’t imagine the kind of company she chose. 

“She’s smart, Thomas,” Polly insisted, the use of his full name showing her seriousness. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to him. “Here, see for yourself. That’s a list of everyone who has tried to steal or skim money from us since she started.”

Tommy opened the paper, and immediately recognized most of the names. Two had been men he’d hired himself years ago. 

“It started with the betting books. Then I gave her one of our books just to see if she could spot anything. She didn’t know what it meant, just told her to cross check names and numbers.”

Tommy took another deep breath, “If she’s so smart, how do you know she didn’t know what it meant, eh? How do you know you can trust her?”

“Ask around,” she offered. “You’ll come to the same conclusion I did.”

“Where is she now?”

“I told her to stay away until you made your decision.”

“What decision is that? Whether to invite her back or kill her?” Polly’s eyes narrowed, and the reaction actually surprised him. He scoffed, “Really, ‘ave you gone soft on us now, Pol?”

She held her glare before raising her hand. “Just— just look into her first. Do that, and I’ll tell you everything I’ve learned. But, be discreet. Her employment was and still is a secret. Plenty of men were angry when we started taking care of that list.”

Tommy noticed some of the names next to the list had symbols next to them, understanding the meaning behind them. The two men he’d brought in both had black stars next to theirs. 

“Any threats?” Without realizing, Tommy began to take a closer look at Polly, searching for any new cuts, scars, or faded bruises. 

She scoffed, smiling as she shook her head. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy took a deep breath, taking another look at the list. This really was impressive, and he was curious how exactly the girl had come to discover all of this. He’d paid close attention to her notes in the margins of the books and could already believe Polly’s insistence of her intelligence. 

But that didn’t mean she was trustworthy. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d been double crossed or infiltrated by an enemy or copper. 

“Fine. You’ve got a deal,” he finally said, folding the list up and putting it in his own pocket. “Just tell me her name.”

“Y/N.”

——

It didn’t take long for Tommy to find out where this Y/N lived and worked. Not only was the number of people moving into Small Heath minimal, but especially young women. 

Tommy had been avoiding the pubs since he came home, he still wasn’t ready to dive back into the crowds. But he heard the rumors of a pretty, out-of-town barmaid at the Garrison, and his curiosity finally won over. 

He thought his chances would be better if he went over early, and despite being gone for a few years, the old pub hadn’t changed a bit. Which meant, he knew exactly which nook and cranny to hide inconspicuously while the afternoon bustle began to ramp up. 

So far, it was just Harry tending the bar, the sitting area still sparse enough for one person to manage. Tommy watched as a couple men filtered in and out of the snug, and an idea began to formulate as he waited. 

He’d always liked the Garrison — it was conveniently closer to the house than any of the other pubs in the area, and it was slowly becoming the heart of the town for the everyday man. Presumably, all were welcome, even the men who preferred pubs that catered more toward the commies or Fenians. 

And he liked Harry. The man had never treated he or his family any different for being gypsies — Tommy chalked that up to him coming from Irish travelers himself. Even after Harry began to pay the Shelbys for their protection, he’d still treated them without some of the passive aggressive bitterness that some other patrons held. There was always a layer of respect, of common sense, and even a hint of humor that Tommy always appreciated. 

Even now, when Harry found him sitting in the dark corner of the bar with his paper raised like a shield, he hadn’t questioned and didn’t bring attention, an unspoken understanding it seemed and instead simply dropped a tumbler down in front of him and kept an eye on its fill level. And as if the man needed any more of a reason, Harry had fought in the war, up until he was sent home, and Tommy respected any man who fought for his country.

Yes, Tommy liked Harry, and decided in that moment to make the Garrison the Shelbys official pub.

He was beginning to formulate the deal proposal when the office door to his right opened and a body emerged. He pulled back up his racing paper, lowering it just enough so he could take in the backside form of a young woman as the door closed behind her and she walked toward the bar. He tried to listen as the women sat a book on the counter in front of Harry. The owner scratched his head as he looked at the page and shrugged. Tommy could read Harry’s lips as he shoved the book back toward the woman and told her he trusted her. She grabbed it and practically skipped away from the counter, obviously happy with the outcome of the exchange, and turned back toward the office door. 

It was you. 

The girl from his vision, from the train station, from the Cut. 

You were Y/N. 

Tommy felt his blood run cold at the realization and froze as you continued to look down at the book and walked right back into the office. You hadn’t seen him this time, and for that he was grateful. 

Because right now, he was angry. 

Who the hell were you, and what right did you have invading his space like this? First his mind, then his home, and now his business? Who the hell did you think you were? 

His blood turned from ice to a boil as he stood up and stormed out of the front door. Tommy could feel Harry’s gaze follow him with a silent question that he knew better than to ask. 

Tommy’s feet took him to the person who led him there: his aunt. 

Polly was near the fire, stacking some of the logs from the shed in preparation for a cold night. It was mid-December now, and the days were growing shorter than ever. All outdoor chores had to be done before supper and Polly always liked to get everything squared up and out of the way before she had to begin.

She heard Tommy storm in through the front door, she could always identify the sound of his footsteps over his brothers, even at a young age. He was heavy in the heels and he was always in a hurry, walking with his shoulders forward. Polly took it as a sign that he would be a leader one day, always firm in his resolve and destined to forever chase a dream bigger than himself. 

“Welcome back,” she said evenly, already feeling his attitude before he even made it through the doorway. 

Tommy didn’t answer her, only moved to close the door behind him, and then the betting doors, despite the house being quiet at the moment. 

Polly wiped her hands on her skirt and rose to look at her nephew, the sight bringing a crease to her brow. 

Tommy was always composed, the number of times she hadn’t seen him so could be counted on one hand. But now, in front of her, she could add another count to her list as she reached for him. 

“Tommy,” she started calmly, urging him to sit before taking the seat next to him. She was trying to decipher if his expression was one of anger, shock, or something worse. “Tell me, what is it?”

His eyes finally flicked up to his aunt, and the anger returned. “Y/N.”

Polly took in a deep breath, more of the picture starting to fall in place as her back straightened. “You saw her?”

He nodded. 

“You talked to her?”

He shook his head. 

Polly licked her lips and tightened them. “Why not?”

Tommy ran a hand over his face and assessed his aunt. He was contemplating whether he should tell her his vision. Polly was more in tune to visions and spirits than he was. And despite his outward skepticism of most things religious or religious adjacent, there was something deep within him that was never able to fully dismiss some of the mysteries that came from the Romani people. That’s why he was always respectful toward old gypsy women, and took extra caution to his aunt’s warnings. Same with Curly, his Uncle Charlie, and even his mother back in the day. Whether it was real or just something familiar from his upbringing, he knew without a doubt his aunt could have some insight into all this. 

Hell, she probably already had some insight. It wasn’t lost on him that his aunt often knew things that he didn’t. And while usually that was something he trusted to use to the family’s advantage, right now he wanted to know everything. 

“We’ve already met,” he decided to begin there, not totally lying but not divulging the whole truth yet. “The night we returned, down by the Cut. It wasn’t exactly the best of introductions.”

“Oh Thomas, tell me you didn’t —“

His brow creased at her response, noticing the look on her face and realizing what she must have thought. He breathed out of his nose, “Nothing like that, Pol. We just talked. I did ask if she was a whore and she nearly pushed me in the water.”

The corner of Polly’s lips flew into a smirk as she tried to refrain from chuckling. It was difficult though, she could only imagine what that must have looked like. 

“Tell me what you know,” he continued, back to business. “This girl keeps showing up in my life and I want to know why.”

Polly took a deep breath, her smile turning serious as she leaned back in her chair. He wondered if she caught his use of the word ‘keeps’ and would push on it. 

She didn’t, for now at least. “I told you I would tell you once you found out more for yourself.”

“I’ll keep looking into her — discreetly,” he added when he saw she was about to remind him of her secrecy. “But right now I know enough and if I don’t hear what you have to say it might make things worse.”

The anger he was feeling before crept back up. He thought about facing you again in this state, and truly he wasn’t sure how he’d react. Part of him believed he’d just torture you into telling what you wanted from him, who you were working for, what your game was. The other part of him believed he’d fling you over his shoulder and bring you to his bedroom. Both of which would be unhelpful to his current situation. 

Something bigger was going on here. He could feel it. And he wanted to know what. 

Polly was watching him during his internal battle and could sense his edge. She took a deep breath before nodding. “I believe she’s gypsy,” she stated simply. “Maybe not bred, but by blood.”

Tommy hadn’t expected Polly’s big insight to be this. He restrained himself from scoffing. “That’s it? Just because she might be gypsy you think she’s trustworthy to be privy to our family books?”

Yes, Tommy and his family came from a long line of Romani blood. But that didn’t mean it held any stock with him. Outside of his own family and extended family, other gypsies would be some of the last people Tommy would trust. 

“I think she has a gift, Thomas,” Polly continued seriously. “The first day I saw her, the day she met Ada, she predicted the end of the war months before it happened. To the day.”

Tommy’s brow creased. “One correct guess and suddenly she’s a fortune teller?”

“It’s not just that. There was gossip when she first arrived. Mrs. Tully was chirping about a batty new tenant who finally arrived in the empty lodgings they’d been keeping. Said she acted like she’d been living under a rock all her life — didn’t even act like she knew there was a war going on. Strange that a girl who barely knew about the war could guess the exact date of its end, isn’t it?”

Tommy made a mental note to add Mrs. Tully to his list of people to question. “I suppose. But still doesn’t sound concrete to me.”

“Perhaps, but there’s one piece that solidified my guess,” Polly replied, straightening in her seat. “She has a tattoo on her back — I only caught a glimpse but I’m sure of what I saw. I’ve seen the symbol before, once, when I was a girl. The crest of the Delphi family.”

Tommy’s shoulders squared at the name. He, like most gypsies, were familiar with the name and the crest. It was one of the oldest Romani families still around, and there was a reason for that. Their age and their affinity for fortune telling deepened their pockets enough to provide them with muscle and protection. They were ruthless when wronged, and their leader was said to unleash unimaginable curses on her enemies. 

And according to Polly — you, his mystery woman, had their symbol branded on your back. 

He ran through the possibilities of what this could mean in his head. You could have been a family member who ran away, or a slave to one of the leaders. Polly had mentioned she didn’t think you were brought up in the gypsy life, and from the little bit of interaction he had with you, he was inclined to agree. There had to be a connection between this woman, this family, and his dream. Which was beginning to feel more and more like a curse, or an omen to stay away. 

But then, why did every instinct fuel him to get closer, to find out more?

He got up from the kitchen table and began walking back toward the pub. He ignored Polly’s call behind him, obviously worried he’d do something irrational. 

But Tommy was beginning to form a plan, a battle strategy, if you will. To defeat the enemy, you had to know the enemy. And whether Y/N fell in that definition for him or not, he needed to gather as much as he could before he made any call. 

Over the next day, he managed to speak with Harry while avoiding you. It was easier to ask about you in the pretense of dangling a business proposal, claiming that he needed to trust his employees as much as the owner when it came to matters like this. 

“Oh, ‘ya shouldn’t ‘ave a problem there,” Harry had told him. 

“Forgive me for askin’, Harry, it’s just you don’t normally give jobs to women. Especially pretty women.” 

Harry breathed out of his nose before waving his hand dismissively. “Findin’ anyone to work when I got back was bloody impossible, mate. And when I finally could find help, even if they was a girl, they’d end up spending more time makin’ their own money on the side, if’ya know what I mean.” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “But let me tell ‘ya, Y/N’s been a dream since she showed up.” 

Tommy’s back tightened at the use of phrase. 

“She came in with all these ideas and improvements, ‘processes’ she calls ‘em. I tell ‘ya, I ‘aven’t met a more educated woman before in my life. I fought the changes at first, but dammit I can’t fight against less waste and more money. Oh, and don’t worry — I made sure she wasn’t a prostitute. Asked her ‘for I hired her.”

The corner of Tommy’s cheek rose slightly at the comment, curious if he’d been the latest of a long line of people asking her the same question. 

“And you’re sure?” Tommy asked, just to scratch a curiosity. “Not even recreationally?”

Despite himself, Tommy couldn’t keep out the thought of your blushed cheeks down at the Cut, the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and the bareness of your legs in his vision. He adjusted in his seat before forcing his mind to stop before it went too far, noting to make an appointment with Lizzie the next time he saw her. 

Harry shrugged, oblivious to Tommy’s internal struggle. “She’s nice to the men at the bar, enough to keep the place calm and in good spirits. But I’ve ‘eard her turn down enough of ‘em to know she’s not interested in making an extra bob like that. Only once did I ‘ave to throw a man out for trying anything on her, and that was after she’d already damaged his boys herself. After that, the men seemed to get the message. She’s pretty though, and a good barmaid — think that’s why they keep comin’ back.” 

Tommy breathed a short breath of amusement out of his nose at the thought of you fighting. Granted, he’d seen enough fights between Ada and John to know that women would hit where ever they could to get the upper hand in combat, and he didn’t blame her. 

“I promise ‘ya, Tom,” Harry had continued talking. “You can trust her. Whatever business you want to do with me, Y/N could only make it better.” 

“Give me a week to make my own assessment,” Tommy replied. They ironed out the stipulations of how Tommy could make such an assessment and agreed to keep it secret. He could sense Harry’s hesitation, and he wondered if it was out of protectiveness or something else. 

But eventually, a handshake sealed the agreement and Tommy promised to have the deal finalized and ready by the time he finished.

A little more than a week later, and Tommy came to three absolute conclusions about you. 

First: you had a secret. He could tell predominately by the way you talked to people and by the way you carried yourself when you thought people were looking. It wasn’t obvious — in fact, it’s subtlety was one of the more glaring identifiers to someone who was looking as closely as Tommy was. 

Second: you weren’t a threat. At least, not to his family or their operation. Aside from the Garrison, your lodgings, the local grocer, and the bath house that he knew Ada frequented, you didn’t have any odd routes that previous coppers narcs had taken in the past. Y/N hardly had a life outside of the pub, Tommy realized, and found it strange. You didn’t go out with any men or friends, the way other women your age did. Hell, even Ada managed to leave the house at least twice a week to go out with her friends. But not you. 

You were especially less threatening when he caught you on the first night you were closing up the pub since he began his investigation. Everything was going as expected, until about an hour into the clean up when you began to sing. From his spot (which he’d managed to obtain permission from Harry to watch from with the promise that he wouldn’t do anything unsavory or harmful) he could see and watch as you sang some foreign song and danced around frivolously with your broomstick. 

It was hard to imagine you as some nefarious mastermind after watching you slip on a spot of tobacco spit on the floor while extending your arm in front of you and clasping your hand together, then jumping in the air as you shook your fist while singing some repetitive salutations to an invisible audience. 

That had actually caused him to laugh, something he hadn’t done genuinely and wholeheartedly since returning to Birmingham. 

The last conclusion Tommy made while watching you was the oddest, he thought. 

You didn’t smoke. At all. 

He didn’t know anyone who didn’t smoke. Hell, even Finn had been caught smoking a handful of times since the brothers returned. And he was ten years old. 

Tommy chalked the last observation up to the air of posh-ness he sensed you possessed. He felt strangely drawn to it, and after your odd drinking game after he finally approached you did it only increase. 

He still couldn’t quite get a read on you. There was an innocence he could see about you, especially when it came to your understanding of who he was and his place in this world. On the other hand, your eyes held a heavy weight to them that warned him not to underestimate you. That there was wisdom mixed with the innocence that he couldn’t quite detangle. 

He’d gauged your reaction to his reveal that he’d dreamed about you. You’d been genuinely surprised, though that hadn’t brought him much reassurance. If anything, it made him more frustrated by the series of events, especially when he had to use every ounce of resistance not to kiss you.

You'd given him all the signs — hell, he probably could have bed you that night if he’d asked to walk you to your bedroom. But you weren’t just some random woman or a prostitute. He’d asked you to officially work again for their company, for their family. He couldn’t be flippant with his more primitive instincts with you.

Plus, if there was something more going on here, something deeper, he wanted to make sure he had all the answers before he made himself too vulnerable. He had not only himself, but his family to think about.

After he left you at Mrs. Tully’s, he began his search for Johnny Dogs, determined that some kind of explanation had to be found in the Delphi camp. 

But now, you and him were here. And Tommy felt just as confused and frustrated as he had when they first met. 

Just get through the night, Tommy told himself as he led a freaked out you toward the jovial crowd of gypsies dancing around the bon fire. The time for secrets must end. 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @ilovestrngrthgs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @lovelydivs @whoisf4yryl0v3r @itscheybaby @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @piceous21 @xoprincessmel @invisiblexch @arcanebabe

I tried to tag everyone who requested, but if I missed you, let me know and I’ll add you! Also, I’m not sure why it doesn’t link everyone, but idk how to fix that. Next chapter will be published right after this one!

[famousinuniverse]

Vietnamese Cultural Dress

The Ao Dai and Non La, the 2 most singinficant dresses of Vietnamese Culture 

The cultural dress of Vietnam is called Ao Dai, meaning "long top". It has been a part of Vietnamese culture since 1774, when it was ordered by Vo Vuong and made mandatory to wear by the Nguyen government. The women wear a long tunic which is long-sleeved, has a high neckline and slits cut down to the waist. It is paired with comfortable trousers, usually white or black in colour. Men also wear the same thing, except that their tunic is shorter than that of a woman's and not slitted. The dress is made up of cotton only, keeping in mind the weather conditions of the country. The colour of a woman's ao dai reflected their marital status as well. White colour was worn by young girls, pastel colour dress by unmarried and bright colours by married women. At present times, the colours do not really reflect what a woman's age/marital status is, because they wear any colour of their choice.

Ao dai is often paired with non la, the cultural hats in Vietnam. The cone-shaped hats are made up of palm leaves and provide shelter from both rain and sunlight.

Vietnamese traditional dress: insights and traditions

Vietnam is a country of diversity, with more than 50 ethnic groups and an array of mountainous and urban communities with a whole host of different traditions. The variety of Vietnamese traditional dress is therefore vast, with some prominent and subtle differences in various parts of the country.

Ao Dai

This is one of the best-known pieces of Vietnamese traditional dress, most commonly worn by women. It consists of a long, fitted silk tunic worn over loose trousers. While young girls often wear white ao dai to reflect their purity, older girls who aren’t yet married tend to wear soft pastel colours. Rich and bright colours are usually worn by married women. The first version of the ao dai dates back to the 1740s, but the look of the ao dai today dates back to the 1930s, when a chicer version of the garment was designed, influenced by the French fashion houses. Men do wear ao dai too, but this is usually reserved for special occasions.

Ao Tu Than

This four-piece dress was mostly worn by women in the north of Vietnam. It is largely obsolete now, but can still be seen worn at special festivals and events in Vietnam, such as Tet.

Ao Ba Ba

This two-piece outfit is worn by both men and women. It’s more common in southern Vietnam, particularly around the Mekong Delta, and consists of a long-sleeved, buttoned silk shirt with a scooped neck and high splits from the bottom up on each side, worn with silk trousers.

Ao Gam

This traditional outfit is worn by Vietnamese men at special occasions. Described as a brocade tunic, the material is thicker than the ao dai and other forms of traditional dress.

Conical Hat

The conical hat (non la) is a common hat spotted in Vietnam. It originally had a practical use as it helped to keep the rain of peoples’ faces as they worked in rice paddies or in other outdoor jobs. It also helped protect the face from the strong sun. They’re made with natural local materials, usually bamboo, palm leaves or tree bark. The shape of the conical hats means they have even more practical uses than this, also used to carry shopping from the market or as a bowl to drink water from!

Ethnic dress

Ethnic groups who live in the more remote hills, mountains and lowlands each have their own distinctive style of traditional dress. The origins of the different styles of dress are usually led by practical matters. For example, people who live in lowland regions often live in houses on stilts over the water. They tend to wear more practical trousers, but shirts have symbols inspired by their surroundings, such as forest flowers. People who live in the mountains tend to wear garments that are easy for working in the fields and traversing mountain passes. However, one thing all such traditional costumes have in common are bright colours and genuine creativity in terms of design.

Silk

Vietnam is a country which produces a huge amount of silk. This tradition is rooted in history – King Ly Thai Tong was encouraging silk production in Vietnam as far back as the year 1,000 – in a drive to further Vietnam’s economic development. Continuing to this day, silk garments can now be found across Vietnam. As well as ao dai made from silk, many people also wear silk shirts and scarves. Interestingly, silk painting is another typical Vietnamese tradition.

Vietnamese traditional dress gives amazing insights into the colourful country of Vietnam. Join us on small group tours to find off-the-beaten track localities and traditions in Vietnam

Vietnamese traditional dress: insights and traditions (mrlinhadventure.com)

[harveyguilleniconodelamoda]

Photoshoot: Spring Style

Spring is in and those of us who hate the cold are celebrating! I'm also celebrating because Harvey recently posted this gorgeous photoshoot he did with Toronto-based photographer Kye Mack (Instagram, website), where he's sporting a very springy outfit, and the vibes are immaculate.

Warm Pallet, Cool Vibes

I'll be honest, spring is also not my favorite season. I'm not a spring hater, but I much prefer the in-your-face heat and brightness of summer or the cool, golden crispness of fall to anything spring has to offer. Also, I have allergies, so the months of March to May must be enjoyed through a haze of heavy-duty antihistamines. But I digress!

One other thing I'm not usually crazy about in spring is the fashion. Spring tends to be when the pastels and cool tones dominate, and I'm simply not a fan. Lilac, coral, mint...I like my colors saturated and on the neutral to warm side, what can I say?

All that being said, I love this outfit! The crocheted top seems so breezy and comfortable, and those warm colors look amazing on Harvey. The stripes add definition and structure, with their placement almost evoking the "cartoon in real life" trend which has been all over artistic spaces from makeup to clothing to cake decoration.

Against the warm, almost autumnal colors of the shirt, the bright pop of teal from the slacks really stands out. The choice of a bright, jewel-toned shade is so perfect to match with the warmth of the shirt's pallet while still pulling those warm tones more toward the beach than toward falling leaves and pumpkin spice.

Hair & Makeup

For the grooming in this shoot, Harvey credits Toronto-based makeup artist Holly Jones (Instagram, website), who describes herself as "a firm believer that makeup has no boundaries" and only uses "cruelty free brands and brands that cater to any age, ethnicity or gender."

I love that! I feel like this is another great example of the way that Harvey consistently works with artists who share or reflect aspects of his own style ethos. And the styling here is absolutely gorgeous! The loose, tousled curls and golden glow really sell the windblown, just-in-from-a-springtime-walk vibes.

Affordable Options

Crochet Textured Shirt - The shirt Harvey wears appears to be from Zara. It meets my "under $100" affordability requirement at $69.90 and comes in sizes up to a men's Large. The site also offers a list of options with similar vibes that go up to men's XL, with prices ranging from $45.90 to $69.90.

For the teal slacks, I couldn't determine the exact brand of the pants from the little showing in the photo, but they appear to be slacks similar in color and fabric to these from Dolce Vita Men, a brand that describes itself as "affordable luxury menswear." Their definition of affordable and mine are vastly different, however, with these pants clocking in at $1,228.08.

It was difficult to find that exact shade of jewel-toned teal in a light, warm-weather fabric, but here are some of the best matches I could find!

Teal Titans Suit Pant from Shinesty - $29.99, available in sizes up to 42-inch waist.

CONCITOR Men's Flat Front Dress Pants in Aqua Green from SolidColorPants.com - $39.99, available in sizes up to 44x32 (and I'm delighted to learn there's a site specifically for finding solid color pants!).

Collections Etc Drawstring Cargo Pocket Knit Casual Capri Pants from Target - $28.98, available in sizes up to XXL.

[guardian-of-gotham]

//Filled out a questionnaire by my lovely mutual, Kirby, earlier in my hiatus, and I finally decided to post it. Also, there are NSFW themes in the Sexuality section. I've colored milder answers in orange and more potentially uncomfortable ones in red.

-- Appearance

001. Do they have any scars?

Yes, several. Most from before the Batsuit actually served as armor, when his dealings with Gotham's mobs saw him stabbed and shot repeatedly. And yet it still took a kid insisting on joining him for him to realize he should sacrifice some mobility for a more durable fabric.

002. Do they have any tattoos/piercings?

No.

003. What is their natural eye color?

Steely blue.

004. Do they wear contacts to change their eye color?

Not unless in disguise.

005. What is their natural hair color?

Black.

006. Do they dye their hair?

Not unless in disguise, and a wig is not an option.

007. Do they keep their hair long, short, or in between?

He's had the same short, combed back side part since he was a child.

008. What does their clothing style look like?

He dresses as formally as appropriate on any occasion. If he's going for a real casual look, he might wear a vest without a jacket or forgo outerwear entirely. No tie and leaving a couple buttons open at the top of his shirt is a popular go-to for a particularly laid-back date night.

009. Do they dress in “the norm” for their gender presentation?

Kind of? He dresses more formally than most men, and there are some common items of clothing he never wears, but his outfits are all still masculine, even if they sometimes get a bit too fancy to be considered normal. Also, he wouldn't be entirely opposed to wearing more feminine clothing if it was part of a disguise he knew he could pull off or if a partner expressed interest in seeing him in a particular garment/outfit.

010. Do they wear any kind of make-up?

Not usually, but he has used it for certain disguises, to help hide injuries, and when necessary for media and/or public appearances.

011. Are they invested in their physical appearance?

He tries his best to look presentable as Bruce Wayne and intimidating as Batman, but if those qualities weren't necessary for his goals, he probably wouldn't care much. His monetary investment in his appearance is pretty substantial, though, mostly due to extensive efforts to minimize his scars as much as possible to avoid suspicion towards his secret identity.

-- Identity

012. What is their gender identity and sexual orientation?

Cis male and demibisexual/romantic.

013. What is their relation to their gender identity and sexual orientation?

He's never questioned either and still thinks he's straight (by default). Given his place on the ace/aro spectrum, it's already difficult enough for him to form and realize attraction to others, and his stubbornness leads him to deny his feelings longer still, so he's never really needed or been presented with the opportunity to wonder if his interests go beyond women. Funnily enough, his first crush was on Harvey Dent in college, but it was also his first time experiencing real friendship, and he's so emotionally stunted, he didn't realize his feelings went beyond that.

014. What is their relation to their ethnicity/heritage?

Bruce was raised in both the Jewish faith and culture and still engages in the associated traditions despite now being disconnected from the spiritual aspects of his upbringing. There were some mild Christian influences from his father, who belonged to the Episcopal Church before his relationship with Martha, but those had much less of an impact on his life than the strong family values and emphasis on making the world a better place. "Tikkun olam" may as well be his life motto.

015. How do they feel about their nationality, current or of origin?

Having been born and raised in the U.S., he can appreciate some of the ideals behind the country's founding and the independent spirit it can inspire in people. However, he is also aware of just how deep corruption runs through every system currently in place, those in Gotham being some of the worst examples. To say that he loves his country in its current state might be a bit of a stretch, but he does care about the people living in it and does his best to play his part in its eventual improvement.

016. What family members had the most impact on them?

Considering his parents both instilled his current ideals in him and set him on his current path through their deaths, probably them. Although, he never would've gotten this far if not for the support and influence of his butler, and essentially, second father, Alfred.

017. What is their relationship with their family?

He does his best to love and protect every last person in his family, blood relation to them an unimportant factor, but he would never ask the same of them. As far as he's concerned, they would all be better off without him, and their continued association with him only increases the likelihood of their death. Any apparent distance he might place between himself and them is simply him trying to prevent that outcome.

018. Do they connect with their sense of self or reject it?

He sees himself as a tool, a necessary evil to help others. Any moments of self-discovery or humanizing experiences, regardless of if he's eventually appreciated them or not, have happened against his will.

019. Is their sense of self tied to another person or thing?

Very much so. As stated previously, he has built his entire life around aiding others. He sees no point to his existence otherwise. Honestly, he doesn't even know who he is anymore. Bruce Wayne pretty much died the same night his parents did, Batman is a purpose, not a person, and even the moments in his life where he feels the most real and alive only occur because of the people he's grown to love.

020. What does their morality look like?

He is intent on making the world a better place through self-sacrifice and systemic change. He unfortunately has found it necessary to hurt people to stop them from hurting others, but he refuses to kill, because he doesn't believe in any one person having the power to end another's life, and he believes that when people seen as heroes kill, it can corrupt their mission and/or inspire more malicious forces to pose as heroes and take advantage of people's trust in them to carry out harm on a mass scale.

021. What other names are they known by? 

Batman, Bats, The Bat, The Dark Knight, B, Brucie, Brucie Boy, Brucie Baby, Bruce Old Boy, Mr. Wayne, Dad, Father, Baba, Spooky, and more.

022. Do they know any languages besides their birth tongue?

English, French, Spanish, Russian, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Filipino, Korean, Arabic, Turkish, Polish, German, Latin, Greek, Italian, Portuguese, Hebrew, Thai, Vietnamese, Kryptonian, Swedish, Swahili, and Kasnian. Possibly more.

023. What religion were they raised in, if any?

Judaism.

024. Are they religious at present?

No. He's seen too many unbelievable things to completely discount the idea that everything he was taught in his youth was true, but there seems to be no explicit evidence supporting its existence either. Regardless, he still engages with the cultural aspects of Judaism and lives by the ideals instilled in him, holding the belief that faith in an otherworldly being isn't necessary to uphold family traditions or to be a decent person.

025. Do they hold to any superstitions?

Only if they've proven to be true, at which point, they can no longer be considered superstitions.

-- Health

026. Do they need glasses?

No.

027. What mental conditions do they have?

Autism, PTSD, C-PTSD, and Dysthymia (a.k.a. Persistent Depressive Disorder).

028. What physical conditions do they have?

Other than a plethora of scars, none at present.

029. Do they have any allergies?

No.

030. What notable injuries and/or illnesses have they had?

Broken bones, bruises, blood loss, sprained joints, strained muscles, dislocated bones, head trauma, bullet wounds, burns, stab wounds, incisions, temporary hearing loss, temporary loss of vision, temporary death, the common cold, pneumonia, frostbite, radiation poisoning, food poisoning, ingestion of poisons, exposure to fear toxin, Joker venom, Poison Ivy's pollens and pheromones, and various other psychoactive substances, paralysis, comas, hangovers, and many, many more.

031. How diligent are they about their personal hygiene?

When he needs to go out in public, very much so, but he has been known to neglect himself when focused on a particularly frustrating mission.

032. Do they keep up with their medication if they have any?

Alfred makes sure he does whenever necessary, but he does sometimes intentionally skip doses if he finds that the effects interfere with his ability to carry out his work.

033. Are they particularly concerned with staying healthy/clean?

Only to maintain respectability and the ability to fight crime. He doesn't fear death so much as no longer being able to protect others.

-- Symbolism

034. What colors are they related to?

Black as Batman, obviously, and perhaps gold as Bruce Wayne? He would be associated with wealth and extravagance, the color is the same as the champagne often served at his parties, and he is seen by some as a ray of light and symbol of hope in Gotham's dark, corrupt atmosphere.

035. What animals symbolize them?

Other than his clear connection to bats, there are also some parallels between him and a wolf. Both are seen by others as solitary predators despite clearly being pack animals. Plus, the animal's fierce and loyal characteristics are also very present in Bruce's own personality.

036. What plants symbolize them?

From Victorian Floral Code:

Asphodel - Remembered Beyond The Tomb

Red begonia - Dark Thoughts

Bluebell - Constancy

Bittersweet Nightshade - Truth

Box - Stocism

Cedar - Strength; I Live For Thee

Pink carnation - I'll Never Forget You

Cypress - Despair; Mourning

Dogwood - Love Undiminished by Adversity

Eglantine - Poetry; I Wound To Heal

Everlasting - Enduring Remembrance

Fennel - Force; Strength

Adonis Flos - Painful Recollections

Forsythia - Good Nature

Dark Geranium - Melancholy

Gladiolus - Strength of Character

Heliotrope - Devotion

Hyacinth - Sorrow

Ivy - Fidelity

Lavender - Mistrust

Marigold - Grief; Despair

Monkshood - Chivalry

Snowball - Bound

Johnny Jump-Up Viola - Thoughts, Remembrance

Wallflower - Fidelity in Adversity

Water lily - Eloquence; Purity of Heart

Weeping willow - Mourning

037. What celestial bodies symbolize them?

Stars - guidance, hope, and destiny

Comets - change and upheaval

038. What time of day are they most related to?

Night. A time of secrets and darkness. Light still exists; it's just harder to find. So long as there are those who can't rest safely each night, he will make this darkness his home.

039. What is a number or numbers that relate to them?

2. A number of dichotomy and conflict, as well as partners and cooperation. Two parents lost, two identities formed, the dynamic duos that protected him from the harm of self isolation, the two alters at war within his best friend, Harvey Dent, once the white knight to his dark knight, and the minimum number of people he can count on to continue residing at Wayne Manor, as they have since the other two were lost.

040. What elements are they most connected to?

Earth. Grounded, solid, steadfast, and dependable. Rich in resources and the foundation for all continued life.

041. What type of weather are they?

Gloomy and overcast. Melancholy and mundane, he isn't always appreciated and can be a source of misery for some, but to those of an acquired taste, he offers peace and hope, with the promise of a better life to come after putting up with a downpour or two.

042. What season of the year are they?

Fall. A time of death, loss, and change. He sacrifices and sheds parts of himself, so life and hope can begin a new in those around him. Even if he doesn't live to see the eventual spring, he will bear the brunt of the coming winter to leave the world stronger than he left it.

043. What kind of precious material are they?

Diamond. Forged under pressure and difficult to break.

044. What type of music fits them best?

Classical instrumental. Filled with soul and complex emotions, even if often overlooked or misunderstood by others due to a disconnect from those who rely more heavily on verbal communication.

045. What songs are closely tied to them?

Symphony No. 3 by Henryk Górecki, also known as the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, is a piece that always spoke to something in him, especially after the deaths of his own parents. He might give its name if asked for his favorite song, but to actually hear him listening to it nowadays would likely not be a great sign for his emotional stability in that moment.

-- Preferences

046. What is their favorite food and drink?

Steak and steamed vegetables have always been a reliable go-to, and he wouldn't be able to function without the vast amounts of black coffee he consumes each day. Although, if he were trying to pair the two, red wine would be a better fit for the aforementioned meal.

047. Do they like sports?

Not particularly. He likes engaging in physical activity and appreciates the value sports add to society, but he's not the type of person who needs to keep up with a particular game or team. His priorities lie elsewhere.

048. Do they like hot or cold weather?

Cold. He's used to Gotham's gloom and recognizes the practical truth that it will always be easier to warm oneself than attempt to cool off.

049. How do they feel about animals?

While he appreciates them and finds it himself easily growing to care for them, he does think that there's a limit to how many of them people can personally care for within a single household and hopes Damian's penchant for collecting strays doesn't end up getting out of hand.

050. How do they feel about nature?

It's a precious resource that needs to be protected, but unlike a certain adversary of his, he doesn't believe the loss of human lives is necessary for that protection.

051. Do they prefer science or the humanities?

Personally, science. However, he does believe teaching the humanities to be more important when it comes to fostering a kinder society and making people aware of societal warning signs before true corruption can take root.

052. Are they booksmart or streetsmart?

Mostly booksmart, but he's streetsmart enough to do his job as Batman. He's knowledgeable on how the criminal underworld works and capable of analyzing his enemies' psyches, but there are deficits regarding his social intelligence in general that often get in his way.

053. Are they more comfortable in large crowds, small groups, or totally alone?

While he would likely say alone, he does, in fact, work and feel best when in the company of a few close friends or family.

054. Do they feel more in their element in urban or rural settings?

Urban, but specifically an older, darker version of urban. Places like Metropolis can feel too bright and overwhelming, and they lack the harsher architecture and abundance of hiding spots he's grown used to in Gotham.

055. How do they feel about math and language?

Both are important cornerstones of society, and he's made sure to remain well-versed in each subject.

056. Do they prefer to travel or stay in one place?

Stay in one place. There's a comfort in familiarity, even if Gotham can't exactly be described as comfortable on its own.

057. Are they good about getting out of their comfort zone?

Not really. That may seem hard to believe, given his nighttime activities, but pain and fighting have become commonplace to him. It's much harder to trust others or allow himself to be vulnerable than to face off against increasingly more difficult foes.

058. What’s their sense of humor like?

Dry, sarcastic, and often deadpan. It's sometimes hard to tell that he's joking beyond the sheer ridiculousness of some of his statements.

059. Do they have any special interests?

Justice and social reform.

060. What pieces of media are important to them?

The Gray Ghost and The Mark of Zorro, although, he hasn't seen either in decades. Television and film in general have lost much of their appeal to him since his parents' deaths.

061. What are their pet peeves?

Recklessness, greed, and cowardice shown by people who have others depending on them.

-- Sociabilities

062. Are they more introverted or extroverted?

Introverted, for sure, but he can pretend to be extroverted when he needs to be. He enjoys being around those he cares about, but even then, he prefers to observe them interacting with each other or quietly enjoy their company.

063. Are they paternal in nature?

Given that he has managed to amass a small army of children, several of which were acquired against his will and best efforts, it's safe to say that he's so paternal, it's often to his detriment. He doesn't believe any kid deserves him and the trouble that seems to follow him in their lives, but he will always care for the few that made their way into his life regardless. He also treats kids in general with as much kindness as possible, knowing all too well how frightening and lonely it can be to exist as one.

064. Do they want kids?

Surprisingly, no. He's only adopted kids if he's felt he's been their best and/or only option, which doesn't happen often. He didn't plan to have Damian, and he doesn't plan to willingly bring any more children into his horror show of a life. Of course, that's how he's always felt, so odds don't look great for him actually maintaining that goal any time soon.

065. What level of emotional intelligence do they have?

His emotional intelligence is fairly decent; however, his emotional wisdom and social skills often leave something to be desired. He can understand that he's in distress and needs to care for himself just fine, but that doesn't do him any good if he convinces himself he can handle things alone, believes himself to be undeserving of compassion, and actively refuses to take said care of himself. Likewise, while he can often understand the emotions of those around him, not everyone appreciates some of those emotions being treated as a simple problem he just has to find the solution for.

066. How do they communicate their thoughts and feelings (positive or negative) to others?

He doesn't. He bottles it all up until they push him too far or the occasional feeling dawns on him that he should them know he cares about them. After all, he's very obvious in showing how he feels (in his mind, at least), so why does he need to specifically voice it all the time?

067. What are their love languages out of the classic 5?

Acts of service, gift-giving, and quality time. Physical touch is also a common one for him in romantic relationships, but he doesn't initiate it nearly as often in platonic or familial relationships.

068. What are their love languages not included in the classic 5?

Memorization of small details, protection, avoidance, and sacrifice (up to and including his own life).

069. How strong is their sense of empathy?

Not very. He can be incredibly sympathetic and has his ways of reading people, but unless he can specifically relate to their current situation, he can't actually place himself in their shoes and feel what they're feeling. Even when he can relate to their situation, he moreso taps into his own past feelings than connects with their current ones, which can be counterproductive if they feel differently.

070. Do they allow themself to be vulnerable or keep all at a distance?

He absolutely keeps everyone at a distance, but those patient and persistent enough can definitely break through his walls and witness moments of vulnerability from him despite his best efforts to pretend such vulnerabilities don't exist. Those who pay close enough attention will even realize that the very fact that he allows them to get close means that he's already become vulnerable to them. The only time he doesn't try to hide that, though, is when he truly believes they need a reminder of how much he cares for them.

071. Do they struggle relating to others with foreign experiences?

Very much so, but that doesn't mean he automatically dismisses them. He'll always try to help others in their struggles as long as they aren't harming others. Even then, he's been known to offer words of kindness to those most in society wouldn't seem worthy of such an act. People can't change if never presented with the opportunity or motivation to do so.

072. How quickly are they to give their trust?

What trust? Joking aside though, trust always needs to be earned with Bruce. However, once fully earned and fostered, it's hard to break that trust entirely. He might not trust them in small matters anymore, but he'd likely still trust them with his life if push came to shove.

073. Are they more of an optimist or pessimist?

He would describe himself as more of a realist, but his life experiences have led him to expect the worst more often than not. Despite that, he continues to fight for a world where better expectations might more easily exist.

074. Are their emotions easily influenced by others’?

Only by those he's already started to grow close to. Usually, there are too many walls in place, but once someone's slipped past his defenses, it doesn't take much to have him wrapped around their finger.

-- Romance & Sexuality

075. Do they fall on the aromantic/asexual spectrum?

Definitely. He's demi in both spectrums, requiring an existing emotional connection before developing feelings for or attraction to anyone.

076. Do they want to be married?

Ideally, yes. In practice, it would take a lot to convince him to add yet another potential family member for him to lose into his life, though.

077. What type of features are they attracted to?

Sharp/angular facial features, plush lips, slender builds, toned muscles, broad shoulders, long hair, heights not far below but potentially fairly far above his own, and nice hands

078. What type of personalities are they attracted to?

Passionate, charismatic, mature, strong-willed, kind, and respectful people who are good with children.

079. What type of personalities repulse them/are a turn off?

Rude, violent, manipulative, reckless, egotistical, immature, and/or chauvinistic people unable to take anything seriously.

080. Would they be open to a threesome?

Not unless it was one mind shared between two bodies or one body shared between two minds.

081. Would they be open to a foursome or more?

The previous answer would still stand, but there would be more hesitance for each additional body/mind. More alters/other variations of head mates would be more likely to cause real discomfort than more bodies, though, since each one would technically be a separate partner with their own thoughts and personality. 2 minds might actually be a max for him.

082. Would they be okay with an open relationship?

Not at all. I could see him agreeing to his partner seeing others to keep them happy if he was talked into it, but he wouldn't be able to keep up multiple relationships at once himself, and even sharing his current partner would be very unhealthy for him and would eventually break him to the point of pulling away entirely.

083. Are they polygamous?

Absolutely not, as explained in the previous answer.

084. Are they open about their sexuality (both orientation and general)?

Nope. He doesn't even realize he's on the ace/aro spectrums, much less that he's bi. Even with women, he denies his attraction to them as long as he can and tries to avoid even purely emotional attachment to them, due to his tendency to repress emotions, his lacking romantic experience and his fear of loss. He's also a deeply private person in general and tries to avoid being the focus of a conversation.

085. Are they comfortable with casual sex?

No, he doesn't even feel the need to engage in such acts when not in a relationship. He would have no reason to seek out temporary companionship, and he wouldn't be attracted to anyone without forming a deeper connection to them. He hadn't even had his first kiss before becoming involved with Selina, and his one night stand with Talia was not intended to be so brief on his side of things.

086. How comfortable are they with discussing sexuality in general?

In general, incredibly uncomfortable, but with a (potential) partner, usually the most discomfort he'll feel is some mild shyness or embarrassment.

087. What are their kinks?

Bondage (mostly receiving), dominance (receiving), body worship (giving), sparring/wrestling, sensation play, adrenaline/danger play (only when no real risk/threat exists to deal with or after dealing with something real not brought on by his partner where nobody else could've been hurt), roleplaying (mostly bringing hero/rogue personas into the bedroom, though he's too embarrassed to reveal so without prompting), clothed sex (either both or just his partner), costumes/uniforms (mostly formal attire, business wear, and hero/rogue uniforms), lingerie (on either his partner or himself, but he hasn't been introduced to that second option yet), teasing (mostly receiving), and suspension (mostly receiving).

088. If they could choose, on average, would they prefer slow and sensual or fast and rough?

He definitely prefers to slow down and appreciate things as they occur, but he'll speed up if requested, and he certainly wouldn't have any complaints being treated a little rougher if his partner was the one controlling the pace.

089. Does emotional intimacy play any part in their enjoyment of sex?

Absolutely. He cannot enjoy the act if he isn't physically pleasing a partner he has grown emotionally attached to. He doesn't even tend to himself, though there's generally no need to if he hasn't interacted with such a person recently.

090. How tolerant are they of kinks they don’t have?

It depends on the potential they have to cause harm or illness and how much physical pleasure it would bring his partner. Outside of his own relationships, he doesn't care what people do as long as they're being safe and discreet.

091. Are they more prone to the dominant or submissive role?

Submissive. He can fake being dominant occasionally to please his partners, but it doesn't come naturally to him, and prolonged teasing or pushback would quickly break his resolve.

092. Do they prefer the penetrated (bottom) or penetrating (top) position?

He has no preference, but given that he has only had cis female partners in the past, he is more experienced as a top. Although, he would be uncertain of himself either way at first with a partner who had the same genitalia as him, and until he became more confident in his skill with that type of anatomy, he would likely always make sure they were still stimulated from the front in some way when topping. He also tries to use other forms of stimulation when taking the bottom role with partners lacking the necessary natural anatomy, wanting to make sure their needs are still being met. In any case, constant audible confirmation of his partner's pleasure greatly helps to reassure him and keep his anxieties from interfering.

093. Are they a sadist, masochist, or both?

He's not exactly a masochist persay, but if any pain is going to occur, he would much rather it happen to him. Anything on his end couldn't go beyond gentle love nips, lightly running his nails across skin, or minimal pressure/squeezing applied to certain body parts, and that last one would take a bit of convincing before he was comfortable trying.

094. Do they prefer to give or receive oral sex?

Give. He grows deeply uncomfortable whenever he is doted on in any way unless he is able to return the affection, preferably simultaneously, Even when he's already made sure his partner has had their fill for the time being, having all attention turned on him can still make him tense or squirmy, especially when when unable to at least touch them while it's happening.

-- Misc.

095. Would they be considered “out of touch” with the present day?

In some ways. He doesn't necessarily keep up with the latest trends or what slang is currently in use among the youth of today. In fact, he could easily be described as a product of an older era. However, he is more aware than most of the things that truly matter in life, and people trust him to pay attention to their needs and do his best to fight for necessary changes, when others with his level of power in society often ignore anything that doesn't directly seem to affect them or even make things worse for those less fortunate if it works to their advantage.

096. What are their feelings about recycling?

It's an incredible method for reducing waste, but an individual's efforts to engage in it won't make a difference if the corporations that create most of the world's waste continue not to take any accountability or make any attempts at change themselves.

097. Do they have any grasp of Internet culture?

Basically none. If it could provide insight on a case, he might put in the effort to learn a thing or two, but beyond that, it holds no relevance in his life.

098. What’s their average level of energy?

Probably a 5. Tired and overworked, but he manages to carry on regardless.

099. What are they proud of?

His family, his friends, and people who have chosen to better themselves despite any struggles involved in doing so. He holds no pride for any of his own actions or achievements, though.

100. What do they regret?

Every mistake, real or imagined, that he's ever made, the people that he's failed to save making up the majority of that regret.

101. Do they have any secrets?

...He's Batman.

[nikolaraftis]

Character Profile: Geronimo

Artist unknown.

Name, age, gender: Hieronymos “Geronimo” Sotiriou alias Jerome, 24 (immortal), male

Physical appearance; how the character feels about their physical appearance: fair skin with gold undertones, copper jaw-length wavy hair, pale Verdigris green eyes, Grecian nose and sharp jaw, tall and hunched stature, lithe figure, a scar running across his nose, more scars litter his body, impassive face, always wears an heirloom gold necklace with a compass star on it from his mother; he is absolutely beautiful yet he feels ugly and unsightly since he has not seen his own reflection for a while, though he used to feel that he was good-looking. Clothing: button-up shirts and a variety of waistcoats with suitable trousers and boots underneath. Wears suspenders under waistcoats. He won’t admit it, but for formal events, he will wear a men’s corset underneath his attire. Over top he wears a grey trench coat (casual) or overcoat (formal), but he starts the story in an Inverness cape that is quickly ruined.

Race, class, ethnicity: human, middle class, Mundus Rimor.

Childhood experience – family relationships, friends and key figures, lifestyle, education, activities and interests

Family relationships: all of Geronimo’s family are dead. His father, Konstantin Sotiriou, died before he was born, and his mother, Helen, raised him until she died when he was 16 from pneumonia. He had no extended family and was taken in by the Moralises until he reached adulthood.

Friends: Thaddeus Moralis was his best friend, and he was good friends with Echo whom he knew since he was a boy (and Echo’s name was Barbatos back then). He still knows Echo, but the two do not talk much anymore. Geronimo has since befriended Ryota Kurniawan who comes into the city to trade at the farmer’s market, and he’s agreed to bring groceries every month. Jezzabelle is another immortal whom Geronimo has known for a while, though they are not particularly close.

Key figures: Peregrina is the goddess of Mundus Rimor, and Geronimo is her champion. When Mercer attempted to steal from her pyramid of stars, Geronimo killed him, and returned the stars, and so was granted a wish in return. He wished for immortality, and he received it – but with some unforeseen twists.

Lifestyle: disabled, not very well maintained, he is pretty much completely blind and can only see faint lights/shadow. Though he has his own ways of getting about and living, his house tends to be a depression nest mess.

Education: Geronimo attended the Trouvaille Academy and learned many subjects, though much of his literary knowledge is now behind by 200 years.

Activities/hobbies: ceramics, weapon wielding, listening to the radio, animal care.

Interests: music, sculpting and ceramics, history, art (specifically really into textured paintings), animals.

Attitudes and moral beliefs: Geronimo’s attitude is cautiously ambitious and perfectionistic. His moral beliefs centre around what does right by the most people, but also what keeps him alive.

Current relationships – parents, siblings, romantic partners, friends, children, etc.: no parental relationships, no siblings, no current romantic partners, few friends, no children.

Religious background and current religious beliefs: not a particularly religious background, he just worshipped Peregrina, Hermes, and other gods like most Mundus Rimor until immortality began to weigh too heavy on him.

Occupation; relationship to boss and coworkers: retired self-employed detective and adventurer.

Main aspects of personality – introvert/extrovert, pessimist/optimist, thinking/feeling, etc.: Geronimo is an introvert, recovering pessimist, thinks more than he feels and yet he feels a lot – just keeps it bottled up until it leaks out in the only avenues possible.

What are they proud of? Ashamed of?: Geronimo has only ever been proud of his knowledge and skill, and he is ashamed of his failures and cowardice.

State of health: Geronimo’s health is perfect (except mentally).

Fears: death, sickness, forgetting, being lost, going deaf, claustrophobia, wolves/werewolves, never waking up.

Sense of humour: surprising, teasing, wry.

Core characteristic: representing the moon in his moodiness, the swells between calm and wild, his close but misunderstood connection to humanity and other creatures, he’s mysterious, cool, and has a subtle kind of friendship/familiarity. The moon also relates to his ‘sleeping’ curse (the twist to his immortality). His core characteristic is his self-preservation.

Inherent contradiction: Geronimo’s inherent contradiction of character is his fear of death and desire to bring an end to his life – since he does not register it as wanting a change in his life. He is stagnant because of his fear.

Favourites: jade green, pomegranates, Barn owls, spring, thyme tea, cold baths, duels (swords) (sport), sun showers, midnight.

Dislikes: dark chocolate, dancing, honeyed tea, coffee, itchiness, coughing.

[roobylavender]

This is not directed to that anon but I disagree with the statement that everything ex muslim women say is true. While I do sympathize with them that's why I never speak on them bc the best thing to do is just leave them alone so they can heal on their own but some of them just don't know how to read the fucking room. Like when that stupid discourse started about hijabs in the middle of a genocide bc of that video of a guy wrapping his shirt around a woman's head to cover her hair. God forbid a woman has agency. If we will have nothing else left anyways why not leave one thing in our own control? And people saying that they wouldn't have taken her out otherwise omfg- WHERE did you see her safety being compromised? she was first taken out then they helped her cover up better

i think this is a good example of why it's necessary even if uncomfortable to balance various nuances against each other. i completely agree that the discourse around that video was ill-timed, disrespectful, and presumptive. and i vehemently disagree with the presumption from a lot of radical feminists and terfs that palestinian women in this moment share more material reality with israeli women than they do with palestinian men. that discourse was a perfect example of the lack of intersectionality inherent to a lot of purportedly feminist spaces. but as i mentioned in the very first ask i don't think we can deny ourselves the reality of something even if it's not necessarily the most pressing thing to address in a given moment. palestinian liberation is the foremost priority right now, but like any ethnic group, the palestinians are possessive of various hierarchies whether with regards to class, race, gender, etc. the civilian population at large doesn't have the infrastructure to work towards addressing those hierarchies currently. but they exist nonetheless and they are contributive to material realities regardless of how minimally important we may perceive them to be in the face of the rampant destruction. and i think to be good activists we have to be intelligent and patient enough to not let people with the wrong intentions prevent us from acknowledging those realities or having conversations about them if they are prompted from a place of good faith. obv in this situation they were not. but it's not to say every single person who wants to talk about those material realities is simultaneously incapable of wholeheartedly advocating for the liberation of the people. a very large part of advocating against phenomena like ethnic cleansing is acknowledging that people don't have to be perfect to earn your support in that regard. you advocate against ethnic cleansing and genocide because it is wrong and evil to do. not because the morality of the people you're supporting is pristine and without flaw

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

hi, if it wont take up too much of your time, could i get a match up for obey me?

i'm 20, male (trans), and unlabled in terms of sexuality though i am fine dating any gender.

personality: I am usually very nervous and quiet when I first meet people, (which a lot of my friends call me emo for 😭) but if I do get to know people I become much more friendly and often make a lot of jokes, though i will always be slightly introverted and shy. however, I am kind and show sympathy and empathy regularly, especially when people need it. I have an issue with sort of acting 'head empty' around my friends, but i do trust that i am mature and have strong ambitions for the future. I often don't discuss this with others as the people i'm surrounded by mostly only like me when i'm funny and stuff. i'm not sure if this is more personality or physical, but I also have times were i don't talk a lot. I can get cold and snappy if people irritate me too much, but am usually quite patient.

I can made judgements on people's characters and get their personality down very quickly, and if i do not like them, I will try keep a distance. however, i can sense when people are using coldness or harshness to hide problems and will either try stick around and subtly help them or make sure they're doing well from a distance. I don't like overly energetic and spontaneous people as i get tired and burnt out easily, and often prefer doing less chaotic activities though I do enjoy watching others do stupid stuff.

I'm an intp-t.

physically: I am 163 cm and 52 kg (so basically i have the build of a malnourished child in a charity ad). I am also chinese, so i carry some ethnic features from there. I have relatively short black hair and pale-ish skin. I have a multiple scars and bruises on my arms, legs and elbows which have come from completely random causes, and also some sh issues. I usually wear oversized sweaters and t-shirts with silly goofy cool prints on them. because i'm ftm, I still have female genitals, though i am on testosterone and blockers for the last two years. planning on getting top surgery soon.

hobbies: swimming, baking, cello, aquascaping, botany, chemistry, taekwondo, marine biology, reading, philosophy, drawing.

other-

I have ADD, ASD, and MDD . currently being medicated for major depression, but it's going badly 💀 also had issues with anger and eating disorders in the past but they've gotten a lot better over the years!

I have a higher iq than most but i forgot the exact number

I have daddy issues so naturally my taste in men is immensely fucked up

I don't have much time on my hands due to being in uni, being in a state/national swim team and a strings orchestra, but if i had a partner i would do my best to try spend as much time with them as possible.

I give love through physical touch and gift giving mostly.

I have a dog, but i had to leave him with my parents when I went to uni :( planning to get a cat one day i love cats sm ughhh

I'm not very used to physical touch or words of affection but I do like it a lot!

Thank you so much for your time! Have a good day :))

Hi Anon! Thank you for your request! I hope you like your matchup!

In Obey Me, I match you with...

Lucifer is a good balance for you. He’s physical enough without being overwhelming, and quietly supportive.

He’s very observant so he can tell when you want physical affection or words of affection, as well as when you need a break from any displays of affection and will adjust his advances accordingly.

Lucifer’s not excessive with his words of affection. He’d rather let his actions convey his fondness for you. But since he knows you like words of affection, he’ll do his best.

No need to worry about him being overly energetic. I don’t think we’ve ever seen Lucifer “energetic” unless he’s under a spell or someone else is in his body. That’s just not who he is.

His brothers on the other hand…Lucifer knows you’re not fond of people who bounce off the walls every other second so he’ll try to keep his brothers under control. But there’s only so much one demon can do.

Loves listening to you play the cello. He enjoys classical music and finds any little imperfections in your playing simply add character to the song.

[lavendcrhaze]

( Taylor Zakha-Perez, 26,male,he/him) oh! it’s that [ GREASER ] from {THE ANGEL RIDGE DEMONS ], they live in [ HILLCREST ]. they’re called [ SECOND IN COMMAND(LION) ] but their real name is [ LEON 'LEO' HAKIM ]. they work as a [ MECHANIC AT KING'S GARAGE ]. i heard they are [ SPITEFUL ], i also heard others say they are [ HUMOROUS ]. but who knows? the gossip mill says [ HE'S STARTING TO DEAL POT ON THE SIDE FOR EXTRA MONEY ]. (brie, 28, she/her, est, suicide/self harm) 

TW: Mention of the following; Domestic Violence, Abuse, Alcoholism,Drugs(marijuana)

GENERAL DETAILS.

FULL NAME: Leon Ivan Hakim   NICKNAME(S):  Leo, Lion (only by other greasers) NAME MEANING: Lion(of Greek Origin) AGE:   26 DATE OF BIRTH: September 9th CURRENT LOCATION:  Angel Ridge, CA ETHNICITY: Middle Eastern/Mexican GENDER:  male PRONOUNS: he/him SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual RELIGION: agnostic OCCUPATION:   mechanic at King’s Garage EDUCATION LEVEL: high school diploma & Trade Certification in Automotive Repair GANG AFFILIATION: Greaser ( Angel Ridge Demons) POSITION: Second in Command SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT:  semi deep with a slight rasp SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English and un poco espanol

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

FACECLAIM:   Taylor Zakhar Perez HAIR COLOR AND STYLE:  black curly hair that is usually at some variation of mid length COMPLEXION:  Type IV - Olive skin, rarely sunburns, always tans. EYE COLOR:  dark brown EYESIGHT:  20/20 HEIGHT: 6’2” WEIGHT:  178.5 lbs BODY AND BUILD:   athletic build TATTOOS: n/a PIERCINGS:  ear CLOTHING STYLE: jeans and some sort of button up layered over a t-shirt or his work uniform.   DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:  Tall stature, Prominent Adam’s apple, Fuller lips, Defined jawline

SIGNATURE SCENT:  either smells like grease or his knock off Acqua Di Gio Cologne. FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

MOTHER: Angelica Hakim (nee Perez) FATHER:  Hugo Hakim SIGNIFICANT OTHER: n/a BEST FRIEND:  tba EXES: Samantha Clinton (secretly) SIBLING(S):  n/a PET(S): cat named odin

Plot points: TW: Mention of the following; Domestic Violence, Abuse, Alcoholism,Drugs(marijuana)

Pre Leon his father was one of the best men the Greasers had in their ranks. He was second in command of the Angel Ridge Demons. His father's reputation began to slip as Hugo began drinking more and more heavily.

The drinking turned to yelling which ultimately lead to his father beating Leon’s mother; Angelica. This carried on for years, and his mother became very good at hiding bruises. It wasn't until Leon was about 10 years old that Leo stood up for his mother. From there the lashing was directed at Leon anytime his mother set his father off. After an altercation which landed both the men in some hot water during Leon's early teenage years the abuse tapered off, his father now knowing Leon could hold his own.

He spent most of his childhood anywhere that wasn’t his parent’s trailer in Hillcrest. Most of the time you could find him loitering around the junkyard which is what sparked the beginning of his automotive career. 

Leon had always loved the 'Greaser' lifestyle and emersed himself in their world pretty early on in life. As he got older and with a little bit of help from his nepo-baby privilege he rose in the ranks. When his father's drinking got to the point it was affecting his ability to do his job Leo often found himself stepping in for him. Leon finally burnt the bridge of any sort of relationship with Hugo when he usurped his position from the unfit man.

Through working odd end jobs Leo rebuilt his first passion project when he was 16. His bike is his baby.

Flirtatious by fault not by nature

Growing up he took pride in the ‘Menace to Society’ title he had received from the local PD. By the time he was 14, he had a rap sheet that was as long as he was tall.

Has really only had one serious relationship. His ex-girlfriend being the ‘Soc Princess’ herself. He was deeply wounded by her when she flipped on him to save herself once they were caught sneaking around. He didn’t care that she lied and had gotten him locked up because of it he more cared that he let someone in and they double-crossed him. He’s still pretty pissed she narced on him when the only thing ‘wrong’ he did was let his guard down and let her get to close.

He can be a bit of a douche but to his friends and fellow Greasers, he’s loyal to the end and would take a bullet for them.

Currently working at King’s Garage as a mechanic. 

Has recently started to sell weed out of his trailer on the low as a way to bring in extra money.

[kyndaris]

The Singles Mixer

Over the last few weeks, after returning from my overseas trip, my dating life hadas all but dried up. Conversations grow stale on Hinge. After a few days, messages start to drop off as life gets busy. People tread and retread topics. And even my own enthusiasm at finding love withers and dies on the vine. It doesn’t matter that some of my friends, both at work and in my personal life, look upon what I’ve written on this blog and feel inspired to put themselves on the market. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been much chemistry between me and a stranger on the internet. No whirlwind romance.

So, in a fit of desperation, I signed myself up to a singles event to mingle and chat with complete strangers at a suburban club with stereotypical Aussie pub food disguised as Italian. Fun!

As soon as I did though, I began to despair that I’d signed myself up for yet another disappointing experience. The doubts returned. Will people judge me too harshly because I don’t put on make-up? Should I wear a dress?

Long story short, there was a lot of dread leading up to the event. In the end, I mustered as much courage as I could and went with a nice pair of black skinny jeans, a shirt and vest combo along with a blazer.

You may ask, dear reader, why I was so dressed up. Well, the answer is simple. It was bloody cold! A wintry polar chill was blowing through Sydney in early May. While I did not know where we would be sitting beforehand, it was lucky I dressed warmly for we were outside. Well, maybe not technically outside but it was in an area of the club that was open to the cold cutting wind.

Thankfully, I’m always prepared and I didn’t suffer too much. Else I might have walked away from the mixer with more than just disappointment.

As soon as I entered, I was caught off-guard by the large jump in age ranges for those in attendance, as well as the diversity of people that were there. So many came from various walks of life. As for me, I quickly found a spot at the kid’s table (which was essentially the 30-40 year olds) before I was joined by a man from Hong Kong.

Like I’ve told many a work colleague and friend, this man was...well...very loud. At least, that’s the best way to describe him in a single word. As soon as we met, he boasted that he had just turned 40 this year and wasn’t shy at admitting that he had been previously married and had two kids. These are important facts, by the by, as Hong Kong would repeat it numerous times throughout the night without much prompting.

The next person I met was from Jordan. Older than Hong Kong by a year, he too had previously been married but only had one child (a fact that Hong Kong was eager to say he beat Jordan in).

Fun fact, both Hong Kong and Jordan were civil engineers. Hong Kong was busy digging out tunnels for the West Connex while Jordan was responsible for constructing stadiums all across the world. These were facts that enticed the third man I met that day: Data. 

And yes, I would have preferred referring to each other by ethnic background but Data never did mention it. He did, however, work in IT and it had taken some coaxing to get him to sit closer for a proper conversation. It was apparently Data’s first event of this kind with the dating agency. While it was technically my second (having previously attended a speed dating event prior to COVID), this had been my first real outing to try and mingle with people outside of my usual circle. So, I suppose in many ways, it was also my first.

We were later joined by a financial planner, lawyer, board game designer, two more individuals that dabbled in IT and a university student. Suddenly, there were three more women at the table, although we were still outnumbered by the men.

Ever so cautiously, we began to talk. Introductions were made when we told everyone our names, our profession, hobbies and a hidden talent/ something interesting that had happened recently. Of course, with the other tables also seating so many others, it was hard to hear everyone - especially when they were on the far end of the table opposite of where I sat. Occasionally, we were interrupted mid-introduction as the waiters came to take our drink and food orders.

Overall, I’d have to say that our conversations were quite tame. The only time it ever got remotely risque was when Hong Kong was regaling us with how the moments of his children’s birth had been the most joyous moment in his life although it had also been laborous day of worrying for his ex-partner. Oh, and that he would tell his ten-year-old daughter that she ought to have a natural birth. Something he repeated multiple times as if he knew exactly what it was to have a natural birth. Hong Kong, of course, was a man. That he had never carried a child to term or felt the most agonising pain that came with childbirth was something he glossed over. Natural birth was the way to go! He would have it no other way for every woman.

I, a woman, was quick to challenge his very set views. And while I wasn’t quite arguing that every woman should go Caesarian, I wanted to make clear that the miracle of birth was not something so easy as Hong Kong thought it was. Even the other women agreed that it should be personal choice or dependent upon the circumstances.

Hong Kong, it should be said, was very much a character. While I cannot say for certain how much was truth or slight exaggeration, he was also eager to tell us all that he had studied law and geology (or earth science as he described it). It was for this very reason, and because of how he was raised, that he was against food waste (which is admirable) and that, you know, he was the father of two children.

He ate most of my salad and a chip that fell onto the relatively messy table.

So, while I would have liked to learn more about Jordan or the other people at the table, most of my interactions were limited by the gregarious nature of Hong Kong.

I will, admit, however, that I did have an interesting conversation that was, unfortunately, cut short with the man that dabbled in game design. From his own admission, it seemed that he was also an introvert. One whose social battery ran out more quickly with strangers than it did with his friends. And while there have been many a discussion into this interesting phenomena for introverts, I tried to explain it from my own experience of hiding away aspects that I feel would never fit quite well in a particular context.

For example, when talking to many of my work colleagues, I won’t really talk about video games as none of them really dabble in the hobby. I mean, it might be nice to go off on a tangent about the ones I like or the ones I’ve been currently playing but I know that they aren’t interested. True, they know I play them but it’s easier for us to talk about things that we have in common like TV shows or bemoan the fact that we’re all corporate drones.

Similarly, among my friendship circle, I don’t have many that share my enthusiasm for books or musicals. Sure, they might come to watch Wicked because it tickles their fancy, but I’ve had to find other people to go see Moulin Rouge or Six or The Rocky Horror Show. Even when it comes to books, I struggle to find those that have also read a majority of the Brandon Sanderson books or are willing to give the Rook and the Rose series a try (honestly, everyone, please read it).

Maybe I could find a Discord group to chat with others but my fandom rarely runs so deep that I feel compelled to chat about one thing for the rest of time.

Hence, I suppose, my very broad knowledge of pop-culture. But if you told me that Spider-Man travelled to another dimension with Mary Jane, I’d stare at you agog.

There are plenty of things that I know of only tangentially. And that’s fine too. Gate-keeping, an experience I experienced back in high school when Starcraft II came out, only limits the exposure of a good thing to others. This is especially prevalent when it comes to certain games that are praised for their difficulty, but can be found elsewhere too.

Regardless, these ‘facets’ of myself that I use in my daily interactions with other people are tiring. That I have to muster up enthusiasm for a person/ people that I don’t know when I’d rather pull out a book or stay at home and play through video games can be draining. In comparison, if you are among friends that share similar interests, it is easier to match your energy with theirs, especially if they’re more laidback about it all and don’t expect a prim perfect version of yourself.

Suffice it to say, I went out to meet people. I chatted to a few interesting characters, some I wouldn’t mind chatting to again. And I arrived back home late enough to have missed King Charles’s coronation but was early enough to catch Camilla get crowned as Queen. And there we have it! The Singles Mixer when no-one individual was that excited to interact with me except eat my food.

But maybe I came off as too strong.

It doesn’t matter.

What does matter was putting myself out there and being open to new experiences. And that is always worth it.

I think.

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