#her kimono shaped like bat wings………

[strawbebearts]

D&D Tarot Set masterpost

I made a tarot series based on the PCs and significant NPCs in our dnd campaign. Feel free to ask me about any of them!

Disclaimer: I took a lot of inspiration and direction from the Hero Forge minis my group members made of their characters, especially for weapons and armour I wasn't comfortable designing myself.

[Image ID: The Fool. A jaunty fairy with curly hair, a fancy coat and green/orange butterfly wings hovers in the foreground. He carries two wands emitting various coloured lights. Behind him there is an upturned spectral hand, below him is a grimoire page on devil pacts torn in half, and above him is a branch with several oak leaves and acorns.]

[Image ID: The Magician. A haughty fairy with slicked-back reddish hair, fanciful robes and deep blue wings hovers with a polished staff in his right hand and a swirl of green smoke surrounding his raised left hand. A sword, a cup, a pentacle and a wand hover around him, wreathed in the same green smoke. A cloudy infinity symbol hangs above him and an oak branch in brown line art sits below him.]

[Image ID: The High Priestess. The drow goddess Lolth perches on a glowing half-moon seat. Cobwebs trail across her deep grey skin, her white hair hangs across her shoulders, and she wears a malevolent grin. She is gesturing over a crystal ball balanced on her knees while she holds up an aged scroll with demonic runes in her left hand. Two black pillars inscribed with her spiderweb symbol flank her, trailing more cobwebs.]

[Image ID: The Empress. A gnome woman with a long blonde braid and a confident smile lounges in a blue chair. She wears scale armour and a chainmail shirt over a turquoise tunic and a crimson cloak trails off the left side of the seat. She holds a jeweled longsword aloft in her left hand. A spiked golden crown sits on her head. At the foot of her chair is a pie in a white dish with a feminine symbol formed of pastry on top. In the distance behind her is a forest treeline.]

[Image ID: The Emperor. A purple tiefling sits back comfortably in an imposing wooden throne with one boot up on the other knee. He has small horns curving back from his forehead and long dark hair under a fancy golden crown. He wears a luxurious red robe and his fingers are adorned with rings. He holds a black crystal staff or sceptre loosely in his left hand.]

[Image ID: The Hierophant. A lion-themed khajiit with golden eyes stands between two pillars topped with sunray decorations. He wears silver and black plate armour and a white tabard emblazoned with a yellow sun, with a black and gold spiked flail tucked into a hip sheath. His left hand is placed on his chest and his right is raised in benediction. In the foreground a white cat and a black cat sit at attention. A golden key floats above him.]

[Image ID: The Lovers. Two women are embracing and kissing in the foreground. The first is shorter than the other, a barefooted kitsune with long dark-blonde hair, fluffy fox ears and a single fox tail; she wears a pink kimono with flowers embroidered on it. The second figure is a tiefling with dark blue skin and dark brown hair, horns that curve back from her temples and a slender tail with a heart-shaped tip; she wears a simple peasant blouse and skirt and a flour-dusted apron with a rolling pin tucked in her apron. The branch of a cherry tree extends above them with a small black bat hanging watchfully; pink and white sakura petals fall around the couple.]

[Image ID: The Chariot. A brown ox with white socks and soft brown eyes, wearing a golden laurel circlet, pulls a simple wooden cart. A river flows beside her and stars hang above her. Riding on the back of the cart is a small orange turtle with a dark brown shell laced with fiery designs.]

[Image ID: Strength. A young half-elf man in leather armour with his brown hair tied in a topknot crouches to pet a mimic shaped like a treasure chest. The boy wears simple country clothing and carries a steely blue battleaxe across his back. The mimic slobbers as it enjoys its scritches.]

[Image ID: The Hermit. A tanned elf with a shaved head and a white scalp-lock stands contemplatively on a mountaintop, with other mountains fading into the distance behind him. He wears simple monastic robes and sandals, and has a wooden prosthetic left arm crossed over his right hand. Beside him stands a single brown hen, and a large six-pointed star hangs in the sky nearby.]

[Image ID: The Wheel of Fortune. Two glowing yellow figures, featureless except for elven ears and faint suggestions of masculine and feminine torsos, pirouette around a round wooden door carved with the words 'I wish to enter The God and the God'. Behind the door is line art of a huge oak tree. Paper scrolls in each corner of the image show stylized representations of a gust of air, a drop of water, a new leaf, and a flame.]

[Image ID: Justice. An unsmiling half-orc man sits in a high-backed wooden chair. He wears simple country clothes and symbols of the sun. In his left hand he holds a set of golden scales, and his right holds aloft a golden morningstar. Two plain white pillars support a translucent yellow banner. Above him, the ethereal suggestion of a white dove flies.]

[Image ID: The Hanged Man. A dark-skinned eladrin man hangs upside down from a bare branch by one foot. His foot is secured by a length of purple silk. He seems relaxed with his arms behind his head. His light-blue hair hangs downward from a loose tie. He wears deep blue robes with a bronze seashell motif and has a huge silvery sword across his back. His left arm ends in a mess of purplish flesh at the shoulder, and only the bones continue below that.]

[Image ID: Death. A very dark-skinned woman in black plate armour rides on a white horse. A golden crown (matching the one worn by the Empress) sits on her long black hair, and a skull mask slips from her face. There is a silver greatsword on her back and a white rose enameled on her breastplate. In the foreground two elven peasants sit in attitudes of prayer, and in the foreground a silhouetted werewolf howls at the moon. There is a flute in the bottom left corner and a masque and dagger in the top right.]

[Image ID: Temperance. A drow woman with long auburn hair takes a step forward in the foreground, her eyes closed serenely. She wears long boots, a bustier and a blue shoulder cape, and the left side of her face and neck are marked by a glowing violet spellscar. Her arms are spread; her left hand holds a blue orb, while her open right hand is surrounded by a violet nimbus. A pair of silver chalices floats above her head, haloed by the same violet nimbus, and a stream of water pours from one to the other. Behind her, a cave opening descends down into darkness.]

[Image ID: The Devil. An uncomfortably muscular white man snarls, his lank hair falling over his shoulder. The right side of his body is taken over by demonic marks: his right eye is a fiery orange and surrounded by dark veins, there is a fang on the right side of his mouth, and a black and red horn has grown from his skull; the black stone axe he holds in his right hand has fused with his arm, a number of pulsating veins running from his flesh into the shaft of the axe. He holds a flaming torch in his human left hand. Behind him is a pentacle drawn in blood.]

[Image ID: The Tower. A reptilian monster based on the Tarrasque roars in the centre of the image, its back covered with orange bone spikes and its mouth full of terrible fangs. In the background a flash of white lightning forks from the sky. In the foreground a featureless man and woman lie in pools of blood.]

[Image ID: The Star. A young woman with a plain face, olive skin and a brown braid sits by a small pool, leaning on one hand. She wears modest robes that cover most of her skin except her face. Fiery energy surrounds her raised left hand; a hovering ceramic jug pours water into the pool, surrounded by the same fiery energy. Seven glowing stars hang in the sky around a larger, brighter star.]

[Image ID: The Moon. A violet-skinned mind flayer with glowing hooded eyes and a face full of tentacles contemplates a glowing moon suspended between its clawed hands. A pool of some dark substance ripples below it, with the shadowy outlines of six fleeing figures reflected in the middle. In the background is a gilded cage containing a collared white dove (similar to the one in the Justice card).]

[Image ID: The Sun. A young woman with powerful avian legs and a sky-blue crest of feathers on her scalp sits cross-legged in the sun. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back and her left hand raised to the sun in the top-left corner. Her golden skin has a metallic sheen. She wears a short white robe over a light sleeveless coat with transparent crystal bracers. In the background three sunflowers wave, and where the fourth should be there is instead a golden staff topped by a sunburst with a glass prism at its centre.]

[Image ID: Judgement. A bald-headed genasi woman with rich brown skin marked with golden energy lines stands with her left hip tilted and her right hand raised questioningly. She wears fine clothing of red and turquoise silks finished with gold thread, and a bandolier of potions hangs from her belts. She has a black staff with a serpent's head slung over a shoulder. In the background a mountain split into two halves down the middle looms. In the foreground are two tombstones: one reads 'Sinner' while the other reads 'Loser'.]

[Image ID: The World. In the centre of the image a man in a black religious robe cowers, gazing fearfully at an unseen danger. His bald head is split by an angry red scar that runs from crown to chin, and a symbol of Demogorgon hangs from his belt. Twisting green tentacles form a rough circle around him. The word 'HA' is repeated in red several times across the background. The four corners are occupied by a demon each, one flying among clouds, one swimming with a fish tail, one perched on a rock, and one breathing fire.]

[insomniac-jay]

Remastering My Goodbye Despair Girls Redesigns

Chiaki Nanami

Chubby Chiaki with an ahoge, braces, acne, and glasses? Yes please.

She wears a Princess Peach tank top, Pikachu headband, Pacman hoodie with several pins about gaming and a transfem flag on it, lilac shorts with MLP, rainbows, and flowers on it, kitty socks, and pastel Crocs. They wear a Pokeball backpack.

Sonia Nevermind

I wanted her to look casual because of this. I imagine she’d dress like an alt girl bc she saw them on Tiktok and thought that the girls her age were into that kind of style so she cut her hair and dyed it a rainbow to seem easier on the eyes. I also imagine she’d be into the pastel goth and lolta. 

She wears a black turtleneck, sleeveless purple lolita dress with coffins and bats and crosses, a few chains on one side, and black platform boots with red bat wings on it. She carries a skull shaped purse around.

Akane Owari

I decided to give her dyed pink hair and put it up in two curly puffs.

She wears a red headband, half white half red leotard, red gym shorts, and black sneakers with red accents. She also has fangs bc I say so and she has bandages around her hands and wrists.

Mikan Tsumiki

I took inspiration from the yami kawaii style which seeks to end the stigma around mental health in Japan and raise awareness.

Fae wears faer hair buns and a pair of round glasses. Fae wears a pastel checkered sweatshirt, a Menhera shirt over it, the light blue skirt from canon, and white tights with cuts and bruises. Fae has red under faer eyes. Fae also wears a cute nurse hat.

Ibuki Mioda

I decided to combine both scene and cyber goth and nyas beta design with the gas mask so bear with me.

Nya wears a black fishnet shirt, a shirt of nyas favorite band from nyas middle school years, a chunky belt, frilly rainbow skirt, rainbow fishnets, rainbow leg warmers, and holographic demonias. Nya also wears a pair of glittery bat wings on her back and neon striped arm warmers with lots of kandi. She also wears chains on her belt with charms.

Hiyoko Saionji

I decided to give her a Hikizuri kimono since they were worn by wealthy women of a high rank in ancient Japan and by traditional dancers in modern times, which fits Hiyoko perfectly.

She wears an orange Hikizuri kimono with floral patterns, long obi sash, and the headpiece from her despair design. She also wears socks with sandals and wears her hair in an updo.

Mahiru Koizumi

I wanted to give her that cottagecore but butch look so I did.

She wears a white dress shirt with a pocket over her chest, baby pink pants with floral patterns, yellow suspenders with gummy bear designs (her gf gave them to her) and a trans and lesbian pin, dark greenish brown cropped jacket, and a sunhat with a pink ribbon to top it all off.

Honestly I’d like to hold hands with Mahiru in a field with this redesign

Peko Pekoyama

She deserves to look like the badass warrior lady we deserved. This is inspired by an instagram user’s Peko redesign.

She wears a white undershirt, black hakama jacket with the symbol of the Kuzuryu clan, black belt with silver lining, black shorts, and knee high combat boots. She also has a red band on her arm which is a reference to a certain someone. She also cut her hair to be faster.

Reblogs > Likes

[jumbogong3-blog]

Picking buying Hairdo to Be Able To Prom Dresses 2011

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[weretigerkun]

Here’s a late post for Fic Writers’ Week Day Four: The Devil’s in the Details

I had already planned to annotate a history of me and you (Dazatsu Period AU) anyway, so here it is!

Selected lines are quoted and arranged according to their chronological appearance in the story. I suggest you read the Author’s Notes on the AO3 fic page itself, as I didn’t repeat some links anymore.

What’s under the read more? References to canon and future side-stories, a timeline of Period AU Atsushi’s life, info about the real Nakajima’s and Dazai’s lives, as well as historical background to explain several details in the fic. Okay? Read on~!

  The boy reads it carefully, attention fully captured by the words in front of him. A new character is introduced—it’s a young man whose kindness the protagonist tries to return for the first time.

A scene inspired by their first meeting in canon

Spring blooms, breeds flowers As I breed ink on these hands, Remember the shape Of your brightest smile, Your warmth in my cold embrace, Sunrise in your eyes Beautiful boy beside me For spring, summer, fall, winter— Let me taste your name.

One poem made out of three haikus (5-7-5). Except the third to the last line, because it wouldn’t fit in just five syllables. So have an outtake:

Beautiful bishie, you are my squishy.

Oh look, 5-5! lolol

“Oh no, that one’s private—for the eyes of mon amour only.”

The real Dazai Osamu enrolled in the French Literature department of the University of Tokyo but never attended any lectures. Several well-known contemporary Japanese writers also took up French Literature in their college years. I wonder why.

Instead, the man gives an awkward cough, eyes flitting away briefly. Atsushi yanks the collar of his yukata upwards, tightens it around him.

Dazai is shameless.

Once again, today I wake under frozen sky Trapped by memory But my lips warm with your name, Your body rising like the sun Like winter has passed

This time, I attempted a tanka (5-7-5-7-7) , albeit a modern and modified one.

He’s used to Western clothes, but this white suit feels too foreign, too expensive

Atsushi never buys his own clothes, so Dazai spoils him. To be expounded on in a future side-story.

“Ah, yes, I did hear rumors.”

“He’s doing very well under me.”

“Indeed he is.”

I can’t help slipping in fancy innuendo. This is how I roll, okay.

Also, about “He’s doing very well under me” (NSFW link)…

Kunikida grumbles, but a woman with short hair taps at his arm

It’s Yosano-sensei! She’ll appear in a future side-story.

…a new ballad oozing out of the nearby gramophone.

I wish I could link to an actual song from the 1930s here AHAHA (I really love big band jazz and swing tbh) but instead, I ended up listening to a bunch of 1930s Japanese music. They’re all… really interesting, to be honest.

The short-haired woman that had been with Kunikida laughs into her palm, listening in to the hushed words of the grinning man next to her.

Yosano laughing with Ranpo. He’ll appear in a future side-story too, along with Fukuzawa-shachou and the rest of the ADA. They all work together in the same publishing company, with Fukuzawa as the president and Kunikida as an editor. Tanizaki eventually interns here too after graduation (he’s Atsushi’s classmate).

He’s about to suggest getting a bite to eat when he turns and sees a gawking face in the corner—some middle-aged man in a Western vest, his hair slicked back. Atsushi swallows, hoping to shuffle away…

But then Oda Sakunosuke arrives next to him. He places a heavy hand on the other man’s arm, giving him a blank stare. The stranger looks at him, blinking, taking in murmured words as he’s led away. Oda’s grip is strong, quiet but firm, and so they make their way out of the room, almost as if nothing’s happened.

Oda Sakunosuke protecting his friends and his writer from seedy journalists. <3 Nobody’s writing anything hateful about these two lovers, not under his watch. (As proof: see “the very first article that mentions him publicly”)

One famous photograph of the young Nakajima depicts him in his home […]

Only he and Oda Sakunosuke were privy to some joke.

Wow, okay, I was supposed to write another scene to this BUT I LOST MY NOTES!! :((

By the 1930s, cameras were already smaller, lighter, easier to use, and cheaper. They had become available to the masses and were starting to gain some familiar features: an instant shutter, a timed shutter, as well as the start of color photography. Even folding cameras existed, which could fit into your pocket. I imagine Oda or Ango had one, and so they’d take lots of cute photos of Dazai and Atsushi (and their other friends) whenever they’d come around.

There’s a companion photo to the one published in the book. It was taken a few minutes before Atsushi’s portrait. It depicts Dazai and Atsushi seated side by side, with Dazai’s head on Atsushi’s shoulder, and the boy looking down at him with a bright smile. Very cute. Very sappy. Oda still has this photograph in his personal collection.

After hearing the click, Dazai had laughed and pulled away. “You should take one of Atsushi-kun instead, Odasaku,” he’d said. “He’s much more handsome.”

Atsushi batted him away, but Dazai only replied with something so charming and funny that Atsushi, caught off-guard, let out a wild laugh.

He tugs at Dazai’s sleeve, rubbing the fabric absentmindedly. Smooth and silky, dark against his skin. The edge of a crane’s wing embroidered on the side. “But at least… you like the present I picked out for you?”

Dazai’s kimono based on the Kyoto collaboration art. (1, 2)

I find this incredibly interesting, as the crane is a symbol of happiness and long life. I doubt Dazai would choose it himself (or if he did, imagine the irony), so I headcanon that Atsushi picked it out for him. That boy is so pure and loving <3

The sun rises.

But this time, there is no warmth or light. The sun rises on another day without Atsushi-kun by his side.

 No need to waste paper after all.

War effort.

Dazai pulls out a small, clean piece of paper from underneath a messy stack. In the process, he nudges the newspaper unfurled across the table, its headline notifying young men of required conscription.

Young men being drafted for the war effort wouldn’t be sudden news in 1941-1942, as Japan’s Conscription Law was already established in the Meiji Era 1873. This allowed men aged 20 to 40 to bear arms (any man, no longer just samurai) and required them to serve three years of active service, and then four years in reserve. Firstborn sons, students, teachers and widowed men with children were allowed to be exempted, aside from those who were physically unfit. Upper class citizens could probably pay their way out of conscription as well.

The real Dazai Osamu was excused due to his tuberculosis. I imagine this Period AU Dazai could pay his way out of Atsushi’s conscription as well, but Atsushi wouldn’t think it was right.

The real Nakajima Atsushi died in 1942 due to pneumonia. He was 33. I wanted Period AU Atsushi to die before he hit thirty (sorry, Atsushi-kun. I love you, I promise), so, um, here’s a potentially weird timeline of his life. Please keep your suspension of disbelief for a while!

1913: Period AU Nakajima Atsushi’s birth

1918: his first memory, being in the orphanage

1929-1931: his high school years. He discovers Tsushima’s works during this time (maybe a little earlier, maybe in his last year of junior high) and those works impact him greatly.

1932: Atsushi’s first year of university. Probably meets Dazai around this time, late in the year.

1936: Graduates university. Publishes his first short story.

1936-1940: His short literary career before having to fight on the front.

I was going to kill Ooba off in the latest chapter, but I know that as soon as you return you'd yell at me for it.

Ooba is the protagonist in Dazai’s novel No Longer Human.

He had stood here once. In the same city and under the same sky. I pull my coat closer around myself and begin walking, hoping to get home before the roads pile up with snow.

The narrator means Tsushima, and she’s not wrong, but in the tradition of bookends, he would refer to Atsushi.

.

(Making this post was really fun! I’ll probably make one for every major Period AU side-story too)

[poonyo]

Watch That Fire Burn

Sequal to Don't Drown My Fire (Let It Strive) for @supremeuppityone who asked. 

Summary: Four times Caroline ran into Klaus through the centuries and the one she went to him.

1516,

Caroline learns early in her immortal life that her feet do not like to be shackled in one place for long. The only exception to that was Italy, but papa had been there and so it had been out of the question that she missed a single moment with him while his heart had still been beating.

Humans only lived for a short time, after all.

The sky and wind still called her though, it always had and always would.

Her father draws his last breath when she is only twenty five. It is not easy to ignore the tears streaking her face.

She sends the servants on their ways and closes the door to her home. She will come here again, just not soon. She does not think her heart could bear it, to look at the hallways where she had ran in, with ribbons laced around strands of her hair, and not feel like a knife was twisting and twisting deeper into her bones.

In Venice, Caroline sees the port full of passengers, wonders whether to let her wings lead her or see where the sea wants her to go.

The latter wins and she lands in Japan where the Noh Theater strives and she watches the performances about legends and old times.

Tan dons her body. She loves her kimono more than anything, floral prints decorating the fabric. Her mouth salivates each time she smells the local dishes cooked in the air.

Running into Klaus is a surprise, one where she is not exactly sure if she should be pleased or weary about. The memory of his eyes as he traced over her wings is fresh in her mind.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart,” he says, lips quirking at the edges where a set of dimples appear. She thinks of something sharp to say.

The words die on the tip of her tongue when she realises that they were no longer in her home and she can't demand things of him like she used to.

How unfortunate.

Caroline doesn't reply as quickly as she would have liked. Klaus was dangerous, that she didn't forget.

“Yes, it's quite the shock,” she says briskly.

His kimono is deceptively simple. She likes how its calm blue colour matches his eyes.

She blinks at her line of thought, whispers to her dragon, its nails sharp and ready to dig in a firm no. The music that is beginning to play in the distance tell her that the play she's here to see is starting soon.

It is the one about the Daimyo Samurai, her favourite. She refuses to miss it Klaus or no Klaus.

He sees it with her and parts away towards the finale. And that the end of it.

Or she so believes.

1624,

She adores this game she plays with herself; trying to guess which new place she's going to visit next. By the end of her first century she has visited Persia, Egypt, Greece and parts of China. Her tongue speaks every new word she knows. It's almost as freeing as soaring above Mount Tai during the night.

India, though, with its rich spices and colors draws her eyes immediately. She loves Asia. She loves everywhere she goes.

Her feet twirls around in the garden she has behind her home, and suddenly she wants to laugh with joy.

Papa would have loved it here, she thinks. The pain of the dagger that always carved its way through her at the memory of her father has lessened over the years, but that does not mean its sting is welcome.

In the morning, she walks to the market. A haughty blonde somehow ends up liking the very piece of silk that she's been eyeing for a few days. There's something decidedly un-native about her accent and familiar, too, but she can't exactly pinpoint what and has she mentioned that this particular shade of red is just perfect for a sari that she has in mind now please get your hands off it.

The blonde looks like she's ready to bite her head off, Caroline notes with amusement and she smells of raspberries, wood and that metal tang of bl-

“Rebekah, love, I thought we agreed to not make a fuss.”

How did she not noticed him.

“She,” Rebekah said with an accusatory glance towards her, “is the one who is brewing trouble not I.”

Klaus’s eyes shift over her as if he hasn't probably knew that she has been here and smiles, small and oh so charming.

No, she reminds the talons clawing at her mind.

“Pleasure to see you again, sweetheart.”

“I can't say the same.” Damn dangerous. “Should I be suspicious of our so called chance meetings.”

“Hardly,” Klaus smoothly says. “I promise it's just coincidence.”

She doesn't completely believe him but he doesn't need to know that.

There are days when the wind is not so chirpy, her wanderlust not so high and Caroline is left with this loneliness. She misses papa. She misses Italy, the beach and the flower crowns she weaved from the the roses and poppies she found on the hill not so far from the house.

The snarling, soaring creature that lurks beneath her skin on the other hand, is very satisfied with the sea that goes for miles, the way that she doesn't have to be so careful all the time, hiding behind clouds and flying out of sights.

It's the most beautiful thing she has ever seen in her life; the sunset framed by the edge of the water.

Amongst the quiet beauty of the mountain, the golden dragon sleeps.

1856,

Rumours of New Orleans circle around the supernatural world and she's intrigued. One of her witch friends tell her of her plans to live there, mentioning how other covens has already established themselves among the city.

Enzo seems quite eager to go explore and she can't exactly blame him. Their contact with other vampires and the likes had minimised during the past twenty years.

The magic that permeates the air mingles with her aura, and she breathes in the fragrance  of burning sage and cinnamon from the herbs shop on the left side of the sidewalk across the streets.

“Did you get what you need?” her friend asks, trying to startle her from behind but she barely bats an eye.

(Really he should know better by now.)

She huffs at his antics with a short laugh. “Most of them.”

Procuring something from his inner pocket of his jacket, Enzo pulls out a middle sized envelope  with elegant ink written words.

“What's this?”

“We just got invited to a ball.”

Her eyebrows lift up with a silent question, taking the envelope from his hand - and did her eyes trick her or was the ink treated with gold water.

“Who are our hosts?”

Enzo shrugs, “ I am not exactly sure. People who call themselves the originals, heard they were some sort of royalty around here.”

They will probably turn out to be extremely old vampires who have a knack for theatrics, Caroline imagines, thinks of he who shall not be named and decides from her experience, that yes vampires were very much dramatic.

She is not to be disappointed in that regard, at least.

The main staircase is like a grand stage that beholds them, Klaus and Rebekah and other two males that she's never seen before.

It's not long before he approaches, still the very same.

“Out of all the people i expected to see today, you were not one of them.”

The sweet aftertaste of the chocolate is on her tongue. “I moved in New Orleans a few days back.”

The two other males and she are eventually introduced. She sees the way the younger looks like a canon that wants to be set loose and fire, her nostrils drown in the aroma of blood that surrounds him. The older one is polite with easiness that can enamor. She is not fooled for a second, the quiet are always the ones to be feared.

And Rebekah is a delight, of course.

She gives her one hard-measured look that makes her fear for her neck and says, “oh, it's you.”

Klaus, is unperturbed by his siblings foolhardiness and neither is she. Her skin is not easily mangled, both figuratively and literally. He offers her his arm, with promises of showing around the city he and his family built.

Walking in the dress she's wearing would be uncomfortable if not plain unconventional, she points out.

Klaus does not give up, and instead of giving her a set of practical clothes of Rebekah (who in between dances and teasing her brother had found time to strike some barbs at her) or worse as she has dreaded he'd do, just postpones it to early morning.

At six o’clock.

She shakes her head and says, “ten.” When dragging her body from the warmth of the bed would not be such a chore.

By some sort of miracle, Klaus manages to persuade her to stay longer in New Orleans than she originally intended to.

Three months roll in and she's made herself a regular at the restaurant in the main square, a witch from the herb shop she frequents strikes up a friendship with her and at the end of every week Klaus takes her to try a new meal.

“I'll see you in a few decades,” she whispers when she begins to hunger for new places. Because that's her life now, grasping at the world with her fingertips, learning the mechanics of who she is and stumbling upon vampires every few years or so.

1923,

Apparently, she had really meant it.

Chicago brims with glamour and mobsters and trading guns among people is almost as common as inviting friends over for lunch.

Her heels click against the wooden polished floor of Gloria’s and she looks for Enzo, ends up finding him singing quietly from his table alongside the singer on stage.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He hums a confirmation without breaking eye contact with the band.

The music soon comes to a stop and the crowd clap and clap and the singer twirls, baking in the cheers, sewn beads floating around her as she does.

“I think this decade is shaping up to be a fantastic one.”

Her shoulder playfully hits his. "Of course you would think that.”

Enzo’s gaze sweeps behind her to where Gloria keeps sparing her untrusting glances. “I can't believe this one doesn't like you. All witches do.”

“Yes, it's a shame, isn't it?” she sighs in mock disappointment. All the old witches who amassed their powers take one peek at her and decide they don't like her at all.

At least they had adequate survival instincts. 

“Alright, gorgeous. I am off to have some fun. See you in the morning.”

She sits contentedly, watching as another round of dancing commenced and high heels clicked, clicked, clicked.

Caroline fingers her coat, debates whether to leave and enjoy a good night in her bed.

Klaus and Rebekah sitting on a table on the corner catch her attention. (She is no longer surprised at seeing them, though the young vampire accompanying them at the table whose eyes are vacant and teeth gleam leaves her unsure.)

Quietly, she approaches them and keeps still. Klaus doesn't even give the hint of having sensed her, seemingly taken with the little show.

“Now, slit your wife's hand and drink her blood,” the vampire commands the man who is sitting down across him, gives the knife and all but croons encouragement.

But before the knife can even so much as touch any skin, the silver blade find it way in the vampire's chest cavity, blood blossoming on his shirt.

“Seriously?” she snarls in contempt and regard both originals (still a ridiculous title might she add) with scorn.

“What-,” the vampire, ripper she notes now she's close enough that the stench of blood reeking from him suffocates her. 

“Reverse what you did," she orders, vaguely aware of the claws threatening to embedd themselves in the ripper's neck.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Someone you wouldn't want to mess with, boy.”

The woman and her husband, (man and his wife, does it matter), go on their way with all their blood, skin and organs intact. The ripper growls at her lowly and she gives him a cold smile in return.

Fortunately for him, Rebekah demands they go out and he, too, is left untouched.

“Since when do you martyr for the humans?” Klaud breaks the silence between them as they walk alongside Chicago River, hand tucked in the crook of his arm.

“Since what your friend was doing was absolutely revolting.”

She doesn't condemn a good meal, she is rather fond of her hunting trips herself but that game of Rebekah’s who-knows-what was disgusting, point blank.

“And how are you doing here now that you are no longer in your kingdom?” Caroline speaks, diverting the conversation. “I bet it must be really difficult having the people not bowing to you at every turn.”

Klaus chuckles. “A good man knows how to make people kneel no matter where he is, love.”

“Hmm, love, sweetheart. Is it a British thing?”

“What?”

She shakes her head and laughs at his confusion. “Something I heard on the radio.”

2100,

It's the dead of the night. People sleep, the wind howls and she walks quietly through the street. Her hands find refuge in her pockets, safe to sweat as they want.

The manor on the far end stands out miles away. Like a haunted house amidst the modern buildings.

Her steps are slow, controlled. She knocks once on the door and waits.

He opens without hesitation, there's a wrinkle between his brows and she wonders how she looks, the only other soul awake now.

“It occurred to me we never saw any countries together,” she begins. “I thought we should rectify that.”

“At.” Klaus looks at his watch. “Two o’clock in the morning.”

She resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him, merely crosses her arms.

“No time like the present.”

The way Klaus flits his eyes over her is adoring and hungry and she smiles, small but genuine.

Her spontaneous decisions were not always terrible.

Peru is checked off her list and then Brazil and Mexico and she stops keeping track on paper after Norway.

Caroline used to cut her plane ticket after flights but these two, with the ‘Peru’ boldly printed on the front, are safekept with her kimono, sari, the flute she learned to play. Treasured in a big box that stores her firsts.

Pleeease tell me what you think. I'll love you forever. 

[popkas]

Lilithmon

A lustful Digimon in the shape of a woman. It lures its enemies with its mysterious beauty and leads them to their demise. 

Having the term ‘lustful Digimon’ applied to any official media is edging into some weird ass territory.  Anyways, this isn’t too bad a design as far as boobladies go.  She’s supposed to look like a traditional Japanese courtesan, who generally look like they’re wearing so many dangles and sleeves that they can barely move.  Combining THAT with the western concept of a sexy demon lady is kinda weird, because with her dress split open to show her fancy leggings she looks like none of her clothes should be staying on her body at all.  She almost looks like a regular person in a body stocking, standing in front of an elaborate haystack made of kimono fabric, pirate treasure, and bats’ wings.