Decided To Finally Watch Prospect, But I Can Only Find It On Tubi With No Subtitles 😔

Heart of the Great Wolf

Masterlist

Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn)

Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Pre Series Content and Extras:

Scattered Memories of the Starks

Shadows of their Hatred

The Quiet Wolf's Reminisce

The Stag and The Young Wolf

The Lost Chapters of Jon Snow

A New Life's Darkened Lust

Interlude of Jealous Desires

The Trials of Resurrection

The Injured and the Perverse

NSFW Alphabet (contains spoilers for part 3 and 4)

Woes of a Modern Day Love (a modern!au)

Fresh Heals of Old Pain (a modern!au part 2)

The Aftermath of Envy (a modern!au part 3)

Stoking the Flames (a modern!au part 4)

Then Came the Explosion (a modern!au part 5)

A Family Conflicted (a modern!au part 6)

A Jealousy of Infighting (a modern!au part 7)

A Small Bundles Flash Forward (a modern!au part 6.5)

A Snowy Wolf Pup (a modern!au holiday drabble)

Part 1:

Wolves of the Lone Stag

Mouth of the Lion's Den

An Intrigue Drenched in Blood

Standing Behind a Betrayal

A War of Tragic Beginning

Part 2:

King and Queen in the North

Shadow of a Fiery Stag

Reunion of New Enemies

Pleasure of Conflicted Desire

The Sanctity of Children

What Lies Beyond The Veil

Part 3:

The Cost of Our Sins

Dragged Through the Violence

Only the Cold

Fire for the King's Blood

Part 4:

Ashes of Various Grey

Plans of Pain and Horror

Afraid of a Ravens Flight

Trust in the Gentle Rasps

Visions in Eyes and Flames

A Bastard or The White Wolf

Part 5:

Home of Bloodsoaked Stone

Blazing Fire of Storming Ice

Ghostly Dreams of Old

Sailing Through the Glow

The Last Dragon

The Winter Rose

Part 6:

The Clash of Three Kings

Shrouded Truth in Sickness

Winged Shadow in the Sky

Light in the Darkest Storms

Peeking the Realms Woes

Blood, Roses and All Lies

Broken Love of the Dead

The Souls Tethered in Death

Wolves of the Past and Back

The Crows and The Sight

Part 7:

A Brewing of New Mystery

Great Wolves of White Mists

Darkness Heavy in a World

Past Becomes the Present

The Thing in the Night

Waving Tides of Turmoil

Greenish White Boodraven

Dark Blood of Blinding Light

And Wait for the Snows

Part 8:

Into the Haunted Forest

Fist of the First Men

Through the Frost Fangs

News From the South

Lies Within the Sunlight

Night of Two Distances

Screams of Cracking Ice

The Final Marching Trek

Fear Overtakes a Night

Wolves Teeth and Claws

Part 9:

Forcing Past Our Safety

One Whirlwind to the Next

Court of the North

Glimpse into the Rains

Scattered Pieces of Truth

Reunions and Realizations

Laws of Gods and Men

A Mockingbirds End

The Cold and the Rats

Blood Filled Danger

Memories of a Dead Past

The Winterfell Sept

Young as Stained Red

Conflicting Boundries and Ties

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 5 (Something's Gotta Give)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N, brief mention of past injury, spanish translation at end (courtesy of @queerponcho, thank you beloved)

wc: 3.4k

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: immovable object? the unstoppable force would like a word.

__________

As far as peace offerings go, it’s not the worst.

At least, that’s what you’ve told yourself as you stand outside your neighbor’s apartment, your fist failing to close the distance and knock. In one hand you hold a plate of pastries you’d bought earlier. Hopefully it’s enough.

Before you can raise your hand again, the door whips open. 

Leah Mendoza, ever the force to be reckoned with, stands with arms akimbo and eyebrow raised. “Quit shuffling your feet and come inside, nena.”

You oblige wordlessly. Crossing the threshold, you immediately feel the warmth of her apartment embrace you. Not that she’s escaped the chill that plagues your building; Leah is an artist, and every flat surface serves as either canvas or easel. Most spaces are covered in surreal portraits and near-magical icons, her handiwork displayed as a gorgeously chaotic gallery. Sunlight streams through gauzy curtains to feed sprawling plants and attempts to warm the richly colored rug beneath your feet.

You leave your shoes at the door and hold out the platter, smiling sheepishly. “Hope you still have a sweet tooth.”

“It's been so long, I'm surprised you remember.” Despite her playfully icy tone, Leah’s expression warms as she peeks at the pan de mallorca you hand over.

“...But I suppose going five blocks out of your way for breakfast makes up for it.” She nudges you with her hip before escorting  you to the kitchen.

“Look what the cat dragged in, Caro,” Leah calls out to the seating area as she pours two mugs of coffee. You see your other friend’s smiling eyes light up at the sight of you.

“Ohhh, it’s been ages!” she squeals as she rushes to your side, tackling you with an enthusiastic hug.

Caroline Ngo, the youngest of your trio, has always brought a much-needed energy to your time together. When she and her parents moved in, you and Leah decided to adopt her into your early morning ritual of coffee and gossip. As her rosy cheeks beam up at you, you’re (a bit selfishly) grateful that she’s delayed her college applications by a year. You’re not ready to part with your other baby bird just yet.

Still, you pry yourself from her grasp. “Something tells me you had an early start on the coffee.”

“Maybe,” she drawls as she saunters away. Leah passes you a steaming mug, prepared just the way you like it.

The three of you sit, sipping and smiling as the room grows brighter with the sunrise. Leah regales you with the results of her latest art show; Caroline badgers you for updates about Mauricio, dimpled cheeks flushed as she speaks. For a few moments, everything feels like it used to.

Leah finishes her pastry and turns to you. “So, ‘Ms. Songbird’. How are you?”

You shrug, dismissive. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

“No, I don’t know. You haven't been around for us to see your ‘usual’.” Leah's voice is measured, but she’s clearly frustrated. “Can you tell me the last time we've heard more than a ‘good morning’ from you? Or were together for longer than an elevator ride to our floor?”

You chuckle nervously. “Goodness, maybe… August? September?”

“June.” She sips her coffee before setting it down. “Are things really so busy at work that you can't spare a moment for us anymore?”

If only you knew.

“I'm sorry, ladies. Truly. But things have been picking up at the lounge, I've even had to get outside help–”

“Ah yes, the altar boy lawyer.” Leah shakes her head. “I thought you were done with him.”

“‘Done with him?’ Leah, he's my friend.”

“Oh, I recall. So good a friend that he lets you ice his bruises and clean his cuts.” She crosses her arms. “So good, he's even bringing new friends with the same scrapes to your door.”

“The other night was an emergency–”

“How long are you going to run around with that kind of crowd?” Her voice bites. “Believe me, I know my share of the nightlife. But every time you bring home some broken man, a load of trouble seems to follow.”

This is not where you saw the morning going. “I thought we were spending time together, not berating the company I keep.”

“Please don't be upset,” Caroline pleads, taking your hand from her seat on the floor. “We miss you. You haven’t been home in weeks,” she laments. “At least, not for more than a couple of hours.”

You shift in your seat but give her hand a light squeeze. “I've missed you, too.”

“Then do something about it.” Leah gets up, crossing the room to distract herself with more coffee but then doubles back to look you in the eyes.

“You know my gut is never wrong, nena. And I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't speak my mind.”

You brace yourself as she continues. “You can spend your nights hiding behind your Songbird persona and running the lounge, but don't be surprised if the cage you're building around yourself is locked from the inside.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen, leaving you and Caroline in silence.

Slowly, Caroline slides into Leah’s empty seat, her hand still on yours.

“... I always liked your stage name.”

You don’t say anything, instead letting your eyes trail through the patterns on the rug.

She scoots closer. “Leah’s just looking out for you. Like always.”

“I know, Caro.”

You feel her head rest on your shoulder. Tough love has always been Leah’s strong suit; as hard as you are on your boys, it’s bush league compared to your friend.

Caroline’s next words are low, whispered just loud enough for you to hear. “I know that man you were helping.”

You look down at her, dumbfounded. “Really? You know Jake?”

She sits up, eyes wide again. “Well, not technically. I never learned his name. But when he was leaving your apartment, I recognized his face.” Her small smile grows as she speaks. “There were days I’d stay out late after school, and I’d catch a ride from him sometimes. He’s really kind, not like some of the other cab drivers.”

Concern suddenly sweeps across her face. “Is he going to be alright?”

You think back to the morning he left your apartment: his bruises, your stitches, the blood that still stained his coat…

His hand on your hand, your face…

You don’t feel your fingers grazing the apple of your cheek until you hear Caroline giggle. Your hand drops to your lap as your face warms. “He’ll be fine. If he wised up and saw a real doctor, that is.” You shrug, reaching for your coffee.

“You care about him,” she teases.

“Oh, come off it,” you huff, nudging her leg with yours.

“And he obviously cares about you!” She squeals, lowering her voice when Leah turns her head toward the noise. “I saw him leave your apartment, but he stood there for ages, staring at your door.” Her grip on your hand grows unbearably tight. “What happened that night?”

You’ve been asking yourself the same question from the moment he left you standing in a bloodstained gown, your apartment colder without him. Since then, there hasn’t been a moment where you’ve been free from the memory of his face.

“I did him a favor. And… he may have done one for me, too.”

__________

Jake Lockley is man enough to admit when he’s been beaten.

In this case, he's absolutely won over. Head-over-heels, and at your mercy.

Maybe years from now, society adopts stricter rules for how soon you should call on a lady. Even today, some would advise against showing your hand too early. Some men wouldn’t want to seem too eager, too desperate.

But Jake Lockley is not a liar.

If “desperate” is the word for the incessant drumming in his chest each time you come to mind; if it’s what has him cutting corners and driving recklessly, ushering customers along at double the pace so his thoughts can return to you; if it’s why his palms sweat and nerves ache at the memory of your face that night, that morning… then Jake Lockley is desperate.

It’s hardly been a day and a half since he left your apartment, cold and injured. The suit stitched him back together in seconds; the only ache that remained was at the thought of you. You, who scooped him off the pavement and took pity on him. Who stained your hands with his blood to make it stop. You, who set his skin on fire with the smallest touch and had him convinced he would burn with or without it.

Screw the three day rule. He has to see you.

Hot under the collar, Jake now sits at the bar– your bar, long before normal business hours. Next to him is Matt, whose face hasn’t untwisted from the wry grin he’s had from the moment they met up.

“It’s like a jackhammer,” he chuckles into his glass, dodging Jake’s backhand swing.

“Can it, Murdock.” Jake’s hand returns to his own drink. Downing the rest, he raises his glass to the bartender. “Top me off, Mr. Manalo.”

Teddy obliges with shaking hands. He scoops up the bills Jake slides his way before dashing off. The two men had asked for privacy, and he’s determined to stay in their good graces.

Jake knocks back the new drink, swiping the excess from his lip as Matt’s laughter grows louder.

“You really need to calm down.”

“That’s what this was for,” Jake retorts, shaking his glass so the ice clinks against the edge. It’s doing him little good, though; from the moment he snuck in here that stormy night, he knew The Paper Moon as an extension of you. Even with the house lights up and nobody onstage, the lounge makes his heart race as quickly as if you were right beside him.

Matt claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, you’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah,” Jake snorts. Matt’s quiet for a suspicious amount of time. “What’s on your mind, Murdock?”

“What’s on yours?” Telltale concern creeps into his voice. “How are things up there lately?”

Jake smirks, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Oh, you know. Loud… and quiet, in all the wrong ways.”

“Seems quieter than before.”

“Yeah?” Jake cocks an eyebrow. His mind doesn’t feel quieter, not the way it should. Khonshu’s been on his ass more often, doubling down when his thoughts dare to drift to anything besides the mission at hand. The god throwing a tantrum has become one of the few guarantees that remain.

“I mean it,” Matt reassures him. “It’s like night and day from when you returned stateside.” 

Jake stirs the ice in his glass, tempted to hop the counter and refill it himself. It takes everything in him to repress the memory of “before,” to not think of the bloody business in El-Alamein. To forget when the occupancy of his mind dropped from three to two.

“Must be the good old American soil.” His sneer drops as he considers his next words. “... or the fool of a pro bono lawyer I managed to snag.”

“Maybe,” Matt says. “Or it could be the little bird that's caught your ear.”

Before Jake can respond, a pair of footsteps cross onto the stage behind them.

He turns to see you and Mauricio, backs to the house, talking in rushed succession as you survey the stage. You’re in a blouse and trousers, your movements easy and unrehearsed despite the growing exasperation in your voice. 

“Maurie, I don't care how Leo feels the lights bounces off his new mustache wax, unless he can't follow my cues he's staying stage left. And–”

“No days off for you, are there?”

When you turn you see Jake, hat in hand and standing a few steps from the bar, as if he’d walked toward you but stopped halfway up the aisle. You can’t place the look on his face, but you're nevertheless pinned under the gaze of his now-healed eyes shining up at you.

“JAKE!” Mauricio startles you when he shouts, leaping off the stage to clasp hands with the older man.

“Hermano,” Jake chuckles, pulling him into a quick hug before letting go. “¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” 

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" Mauricio leans in, examining the pale line running through Jake’s eyebrow with awe.     

“Ah, just a scratch.” Jake shrugs as he brushes past him to approach the stage and offers his hand as you step down. You accept, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your grasp.

“Leave the man alone, Maurie,” you chide, nodding your thanks and holding back a laugh. As much as Caroline fawns over you, Mauricio seems to do the same to Jake whenever their paths cross. It helps that he plays along.

As the three of you walk back to the bar, you notice Matt dial in to something and smile– far from his normal reaction. 

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you more than another drink, I have an appointment with Matthew this afternoon.” You cross over to your friend, whose smile only grows as you draw closer. But you brush it off, still focused on Jake.

“Actually,” he starts, his hand sliding into his pocket, “I was hoping to cut in on your consult time for a moment. That alright with you, doll?”

Matt clears his throat. “Mauricio, can you take me backstage? I should start unpacking this file.”

The drummer perks up. “Sure! But the band’s getting ready to play some poker… you feel like teaming up again? We can split the pot like usual.”

“Even better,” Matt grins. “Lead on.”

He gathers his portfolio and walking stick to follow. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you could see a moment of panic flicker across Jake’s face.

It’s replaced in a flash with his usual smirk. “Sure you want to risk your pocket change, Matty?”

“If all my clients paid like you do, I'd be out of a job.” He collects himself and follows Mauricio’s footsteps, turning to Jake and mouthing “jackhammer” with a hand to his chest when he’s behind you.

Their footfalls fade and it’s just the two of you at the bar. You take a seat, drumming your fingers on the surface to soothe your nerves. Jake sits beside you.

“You look better.” You notice the scar Maurie was talking about: his former head wound is free of your haphazard stitches, instead healed into a light dash through his dark brow. “But I told you that would scar.”

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers past the spot. “I kinda like it. Gives me an edge,” he chuckles. Maybe Khonshu hadn’t healed his face the way he normally would as some sort of lesson. Joke’s on him.

“How did… I mean, you look really good, how did you recover so quickly?” Now that you’re closer, you realize there’s no sign he was hurt just two days ago. If not for his scar, you could pass that night off as some sort of dream.

“You told me to see a doctor, didn’t you? Looks like I’ve got the best one around.” 

You eye him, not sure what to think. “... yeah, alright.”

Your fingers drum the bar again. Maybe that night knocked all of Jake’s suave confidence from his head: when he’s not speaking (something you’re still not used to), he looks like a child about to lose his lunch. For all his urgency a few minutes ago, he’s taking his sweet time getting to the point.

Finally he sits up straight and takes something out of his pocket. “Here. For you, morena.”

A small black box slides toward you, stopping at your restless fingers. You raise an eyebrow quizzically, a familiar warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“A present? Didn’t take you for the ‘holly-jolly’ type.” You pick up the box, feeling its velvet casing and fighting back a smile.

“Nah, not really a Christmas guy myself. But I figured you could use a pick-me-up.” Jake crosses one arm along the bar, propping his chin in his other hand as he watches you open the box.

Inside, you see a delicate gold chain with a charm fastened to its middle: a small bird with its wings spread, intricate designs etched into its surface.

“Oh my…” You look back at Jake, who seems to have been holding his breath as you examine your gift. 

Your slowly unfolding smile is all the reward he could ask for, breathless laughter pushed from his chest with relief. “For the songbird,” he casually declares, relief mixing with pride at your reaction.

You take the necklace out and hold it to the light. “It’s beautiful,” you sigh. You undo the clasp and try to put it on yourself, but your fingers can’t seem to make it fasten.

“Allow me,” he says quickly, standing to move behind you and assist.

You feel his hands take over and drop your own in your lap. His knuckles brush the back of your neck and it takes everything in you not to shiver. The smell of smoke and spice dances on your senses, pulled away all too soon when he moves to stand in front of you.

“There,” he breathes, eyes going from the pendant draped below your collar to your eyes. “Looks perfect.”

Your fingers grasp the cool metal as you nod. “Looks perfect.” 

Silence falls again. You’ve come to hate the sound of nothing when you’re with him.

Jake’s the first to break it. He sits back down, his next words like a punch to the gut. “You know, now that I’m not driving Wesley around… I won’t have to take up space at your back table anymore.”

“Oh. No, I suppose not.” You toy with the charm around your neck. “So is this… goodbye?”

“That depends,” he says cautiously.  He turns to you, eyes swimming with the same unfamiliar mix of emotions from before. “Do you want it to be?”

Your fingers leave your neck as you meet his gaze. “Don't say you're going all soft on me, cabbie.”

“What if I was?” He leans forward, and for the first time you don't back away.

“Cards on the table: I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

That makes two of us. You bite your tongue to let him continue.

“Morena… would you ever want to get out of here? Just you and me, call it a truce or a… a date.” A smile plays on his lips before his brow creases. “I won't badger you after today, just… one way or another, put me out of my misery.”

The wings of the charm feel heavier with the weight of his confession. Hand to your heart, you feel the bird again, this time with Leah's warning running through your mind.

“I suppose a truce wouldn't hurt.”

When he smiles, wider than ever, you see the charming gap in his teeth. And you smile, too.  You both laugh, the heated stress in your nerves turning to effervescent relief.

You could spend an hour like this. But when you hear shouts of frustration and a bilingual litany of choice words echo from backstage, you know you have to go put out a different fire.

“I should make sure Matthew isn't in trouble,” you sigh, standing to straighten yourself.

“If I know Matt, he's the one causing the trouble.” Jake stands with you, desperate for this moment not to end but anxious for your next answer. “So when can we–”

“Sunday night,” you cut him off, starting to back away toward the stage. “I'll figure out how to slip away, but meet me under the sign at 9.”

You move to rush toward the stage at another outburst, but Jake's hand catches yours yet again.

“You can't keep doing that,” you groan, yet with a smile still on your lips as he tugs you back toward him.

“You're the boss,” he hums, pressing his lips to the back of your hand– the gesture all too routine, but you're ready to admit you've missed it.

He releases your hand and dons his cap, tipping it to you. You laugh again, a rich and easy sound he'd never tire of hearing. You bow slightly and dash backstage, with Jake's voice calling to you as you leave.

“See you Sunday, Songbird."

__________

“¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” - Not getting yourself into any problems, eh?

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" - Seems like you’re the one causing troubles, hey cabbie? Where did that scar come from?

note: in-universe Jake is Guatemalan and Mauricio is Cuban; as a non-spanish speaker, please let me know how i can improve in the future!

A/N: i've missed these two!! this chapter was a doozy but i'm so happy to have gotten back on track. i won't say PPP is on hiatus (we never had a promised release schedule) but after i take a wee break from writing, i'm set on finishing my Moon Knight Bingo prompts before 4/30 + starting on my OI fanzine entries (!!! exciting times). but if inspiration strikes before i finish, i certainly won't complain.

ty for reading!!

tag list: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mercurysjoy, @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

Words for Skin Tone | How to Describe Skin Color

We discussed the issues describing People of Color by means of food in Part I of this guide, which brought rise to even more questions, mostly along the lines of “So, if food’s not an option, what can I use?” Well, I was just getting to that!

This final portion focuses on describing skin tone, with photo and passage examples provided throughout. I hope to cover everything from the use of straight-forward description to the more creatively-inclined, keeping in mind the questions we’ve received on this topic.

Standard Description

Basic Colors

Pictured above: Black, Brown, Beige, White, Pink.

“She had brown skin.”

This is a perfectly fine description that, while not providing the most detail, works well and will never become cliché.

Describing characters’ skin as simply brown or beige works on its own, though it’s not particularly telling just from the range in brown alone.

Complex Colors

These are more rarely used words that actually “mean” their color. Some of these have multiple meanings, so you’ll want to look into those to determine what other associations a word might have.

Pictured above: Umber, Sepia, Ochre, Russet, Terra-cotta, Gold, Tawny, Taupe, Khaki, Fawn.

Complex colors work well alone, though often pair well with a basic color in regards to narrowing down shade/tone.

For example: Golden brown, russet brown, tawny beige…

As some of these are on the “rare” side, sliding in a definition of the word within the sentence itself may help readers who are unfamiliar with the term visualize the color without seeking a dictionary.

“He was tall and slim, his skin a russet, reddish-brown.”

Comparisons to familiar colors or visuals are also helpful:

“His skin was an ochre color, much like the mellow-brown light that bathed the forest.”

Modifiers

Modifiers, often adjectives, make partial changes to a word.The following words are descriptors in reference to skin tone.

Dark - Deep - Rich - Cool

Warm - Medium - Tan

Fair - Light - Pale

Rich Black, Dark brown, Warm beige, Pale pink…

If you’re looking to get more specific than “brown,” modifiers narrow down shade further.

Keep in mind that these modifiers are not exactly colors.

As an already brown-skinned person, I get tan from a lot of sun and resultingly become a darker, deeper brown. I turn a pale, more yellow-brown in the winter.

While best used in combination with a color, I suppose words like “tan” “fair” and “light” do work alone; just note that tan is less likely to be taken for “naturally tan” and much more likely a tanned White person.

Calling someone “dark” as description on its own is offensive to some and also ambiguous. (See: Describing Skin as Dark)

Undertones

Undertones are the colors beneath the skin, seeing as skin isn’t just one even color but has more subdued tones within the dominating palette.

pictured above: warm / earth undertones: yellow, golden, copper, olive, bronze, orange, orange-red, coral | cool / jewel undertones: pink, red, blue, blue-red, rose, magenta, sapphire, silver. 

Mentioning the undertones within a character’s skin is an even more precise way to denote skin tone.

As shown, there’s a difference between say, brown skin with warm orange-red undertones (Kelly Rowland) and brown skin with cool, jewel undertones (Rutina Wesley).

“A dazzling smile revealed the bronze glow at her cheeks.”

“He always looked as if he’d ran a mile, a constant tinge of pink under his tawny skin.”

Standard Description Passage

“Farah’s skin, always fawn, had burned and freckled under the summer’s sun. Even at the cusp of autumn, an uneven tan clung to her skin like burrs. So unlike the smooth, red-brown ochre of her mother, which the sun had richened to a blessing.”

-From my story “Where Summer Ends” featured in Strange Little Girls

Here the state of skin also gives insight on character.

Note my use of “fawn” in regards to multiple meaning and association. While fawn is a color, it’s also a small, timid deer, which describes this very traumatized character of mine perfectly.

Though I use standard descriptions of skin tone more in my writing, at the same time I’m no stranger to creative descriptions, and do enjoy the occasional artsy detail of a character.

Creative Description

Whether compared to night-cast rivers or day’s first light…I actually enjoy seeing Characters of Colors dressed in artful detail.

I’ve read loads of descriptions in my day of white characters and their “smooth rose-tinged ivory skin”, while the PoC, if there, are reduced to something from a candy bowl or a Starbucks drink, so to actually read of PoC described in lavish detail can be somewhat of a treat.

Still, be mindful when you get creative with your character descriptions. Too many frills can become purple-prose-like, so do what feels right for your writing when and where. Not every character or scene warrants a creative description, either. Especially if they’re not even a secondary character.

Using a combination of color descriptions from standard to creative is probably a better method than straight creative. But again, do what’s good for your tale.

Natural Settings - Sky

Pictured above: Harvest Moon -Twilight, Fall/Autumn Leaves, Clay, Desert/Sahara, Sunlight - Sunrise - Sunset - Afterglow - Dawn- Day- Daybreak, Field - Prairie - Wheat, Mountain/Cliff, Beach/Sand/Straw/Hay.

Now before you run off to compare your heroine’s skin to the harvest moon or a cliff side, think about the associations to your words.

When I think cliff, I think of jagged, perilous, rough. I hear sand and picture grainy, yet smooth. Calm. mellow.

So consider your character and what you see fit to compare them to.

Also consider whose perspective you’re describing them from. Someone describing a person they revere or admire may have a more pleasant, loftier description than someone who can’t stand the person.

“Her face was like the fire-gold glow of dawn, lifting my gaze, drawing me in.”

“She had a sandy complexion, smooth and tawny.”

Even creative descriptions tend to draw help from your standard words.

Flowers

Pictured above: Calla lilies, Western Coneflower, Hazel Fay, Hibiscus, Freesia, Rose

It was a bit difficult to find flowers to my liking that didn’t have a 20 character name or wasn’t called something like “chocolate silk” so these are the finalists. 

You’ll definitely want to avoid purple-prose here.

Also be aware of flowers that most might’ve never heard of. Roses are easy, as most know the look and coloring(s) of this plant. But Western coneflowers? Calla lilies? Maybe not so much.

“He entered the cottage in a huff, cheeks a blushing brown like the flowers Nana planted right under my window. Hazel Fay she called them, was it?”

Assorted Plants & Nature

Pictured above: Cattails, Seashell, Driftwood, Pinecone, Acorn, Amber

These ones are kinda odd. Perhaps because I’ve never seen these in comparison to skin tone, With the exception of amber.

At least they’re common enough that most may have an idea what you’re talking about at the mention of “pinecone.“ 

I suggest reading out your sentences aloud to get a better feel of how it’ll sounds.

“Auburn hair swept past pointed ears, set around a face like an acorn both in shape and shade.”

I pictured some tree-dwelling being or person from a fantasy world in this example, which makes the comparison more appropriate.

I don’t suggest using a comparison just “cuz you can” but actually being thoughtful about what you’re comparing your character to and how it applies to your character and/or setting.

Wood

Pictured above: Mahogany, Walnut, Chestnut, Golden Oak, Ash

Wood can be an iffy description for skin tone. Not only due to several of them having “foody” terminology within their names, but again, associations.

Some people would prefer not to compare/be compared to wood at all, so get opinions, try it aloud, and make sure it’s appropriate to the character if you do use it.

“The old warlock’s skin was a deep shade of mahogany, his stare serious and firm as it held mine.”

Metals

Pictured above: Platinum, Copper, Brass, Gold, Bronze

Copper skin, brass-colored skin, golden skin…

I’ve even heard variations of these used before by comparison to an object of the same properties/coloring, such as penny for copper.

These also work well with modifiers.

“The dress of fine white silks popped against the deep bronze of her skin.”

Gemstones - Minerals

Pictured above: Onyx, Obsidian, Sard, Topaz, Carnelian, Smoky Quartz, Rutile, Pyrite, Citrine, Gypsum

These are trickier to use. As with some complex colors, the writer will have to get us to understand what most of these look like.

If you use these, or any more rare description, consider if it actually “fits” the book or scene.

Even if you’re able to get us to picture what “rutile” looks like, why are you using this description as opposed to something else? Have that answer for yourself.

“His skin reminded her of the topaz ring her father wore at his finger, a gleaming stone of brown, mellow facades.” 

Physical Description

Physical character description can be more than skin tone.

Show us hair, eyes, noses, mouth, hands…body posture, body shape, skin texture… though not necessarily all of those nor at once.

Describing features also helps indicate race, especially if your character has some traits common within the race they are, such as afro hair to a Black character.

How comprehensive you decide to get is up to you. I wouldn’t overdo it and get specific to every mole and birthmark. Noting defining characteristics is good, though, like slightly spaced front teeth, curls that stay flopping in their face, hands freckled with sunspots…

General Tips

Indicate Race Early: I suggest indicators of race be made at the earliest convenience within the writing, with more hints threaded throughout here and there.

Get Creative On Your Own: Obviously, I couldn’t cover every proper color or comparison in which has been “approved” to use for your characters’ skin color, so it’s up to you to use discretion when seeking other ways and shades to describe skin tone.

Skin Color May Not Be Enough: Describing skin tone isn’t always enough to indicate someone’s ethnicity. As timeless cases with readers equating brown to “dark white” or something, more indicators of race may be needed.

Describe White characters and PoC Alike: You should describe the race and/or skin tone of your white characters just as you do your Characters of Color. If you don’t, you risk implying that White is the default human being and PoC are the “Other”).

PSA: Don’t use “Colored.” Based on some asks we’ve received using this word, I’d like to say that unless you or your character is a racist grandmama from the 1960s, do not call People of Color “colored” please. 

Not Sure Where to Start? You really can’t go wrong using basic colors for your skin descriptions. It’s actually what many people prefer and works best for most writing. Personally, I tend to describe my characters using a combo of basic colors + modifiers, with mentions of undertones at times. I do like to veer into more creative descriptions on occasion.

Want some alternatives to “skin” or “skin color”? Try: Appearance, blend, blush, cast, coloring, complexion, flush, glow, hue, overtone, palette, pigmentation, rinse, shade, sheen, spectrum, tinge, tint, tone, undertone, value, wash.

Skin Tone Resources

List of Color Names

The Color Thesaurus

Skin Undertone & Color Matching

Tips and Words on Describing Skin

Photos: Undertones Described (Modifiers included)

Online Thesaurus (try colors, such as “red” & “brown”)

Don’t Call me Pastries: Creative Skin Tones w/ pics I 

Writing & Description Guides

WWC Featured Description Posts

WWC Guide: Words to Describe Hair

Writing with Color: Description & Skin Color Tags

7 Offensive Mistakes Well-intentioned Writers Make

I tried to be as comprehensive as possible with this guide, but if you have a question regarding describing skin color that hasn’t been answered within part I or II of this guide, or have more questions after reading this post, feel free to ask!

~ Mod Colette

to misquote kendrick "he deserves it all"

Let him have respect.

Let him have care and love, consistency and companionship.

Let him have it all.

blink and miss it but someone pointed out bucky’s shamelessly checking sam’s ass out here

Dr Abbot keeping in shape 💪💪

Just wanted to draw Abbot in some casual/sporty outfit

Din Djarin x f!reader, Western AU

Rating: Explicit (COMPLETED)

Summary: Set in a brothel in the late 1800’s in the Wild West, you’ve only been working there for a month when Din Djarin shows up. A bounty hunter who makes stops into town between jobs, he is known at the inn for his generous appetite and demanding preferences. Asking for you one night, he is pleased to learn you are well suited for him: your sweet nature soothing to his gruff temperament and surprising him with your ability to handle his rougher tastes. Demanding that you be made available to him every time he is in town, neither one of you is ready for where this request leads.

Chapters:

The Beginning

The Kid

The Surprise

Drabble: The Union Suit

The Hill

Drabble: The Henhouse

The Lesson

Drabble: The Rope

The Rope, Part II

The Night Trip

Interlude: US Marshal Marcus Pike

The Camping Trip

The Confession

Drabble: The Worship Service

Interlude: Oil Baron Maxwell Lord

Interlude: Ranch Owner Jack Daniels

The Demand

Interlude: Pioneer Francisco Morales

The Kerchief

The Mark

Drabble: The Exploration

Drabble: The Letter

The Ask

The Hour

The Crest

The End

One Shots:

The Hayloft

The Night

The Bath

Bound

The Morning

TMTC Art

Western Din Djarin

The Union Suit

TMTC Din

TMTC Din, II

TMTC Din, III

TMTC Din, IV

TMTC Din, V

Din and The Kid

Din and The Kid, II

Take Me To Church story gifset

Moodboard

Moodboard II

Moodboard III

Moodboard IV

Din and Girl

Din in the bath

Love Letter to TMTC

Gracie

Gracie II

Gracie III

The Ending

TMTC Comic

TMTC Drabbles

Drabble Masterlist

Tags:

#tmtc inspo

#tmtc ask

#tmtc art

#tmtc drabble

I could use some 💪 luck

Thirst

Marcus Acacius X lady reader (no descriptions, you're a virgin though)

Summary: Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it... but you also had to do something for him.

Chapter 1 of 10: Warming Up Next Chapter

Rating: EXPLICIT -- Shameless smut with a little plot

a/n: NO SPOILERS to the new movie. This is cross-posted from my AO3 account

WARNINGS: dubious consent, ownership, loss of virginity, mutual mast., exhibitionism, voyeurism. Mentions of being a whore.

You had lived in a brothel before this. Had to share a bed with a woman you did not like. You didn’t even get to have sex in that brothel because you were a virgin and no one could afford it. Just your hands and mouth. Your company if they couldn’t afford your pleasure. The General could afford you though and the second you told him you were a virgin you left the brothel with him.

General Marcus Acacius still hasn’t had sex with you. He just wants you to look at him. You roll your eyes at the thought. Just watch. He didn’t even let you touch. It had been two long months and you had seen him only a dozen times. More in the beginning and now less and less. Strange. Paid all this money and won't even touch you or let you touch him. 

“Your day?” His voice is deep and smooth and it’s almost like it ruminates in your chest for a moment after he is done speaking. You try to hide your giddy excitement as he comes from the doorway that leads to the balcony you’ve been sitting on.

“Fine.” It’s short and curt and you act like you are tired of being alone with only your handmaids to talk to. He sighs from behind you. This is what happens every time and you’re over it. “Would you like to just get it over with?” You stand from your seat and he’s wearing a white and gold tunic. You’ve never seen him in it before and his bronzed thighs contrast against it so well. You do not let his beautiful skin distract you as you slip past him into the room. You unclasp the shoulder straps of your dress and let it fall to your waist. You buzz with excitement. 

You’re exposed from the waist up when you turn to look back at him. His strong hand is already wrapped around himself underneath the tunic. He walks to you, his fist never leaves or stops stroking himself as he makes his way to his chair. It’s already got the small glass bottle of oil sitting on the table beside it. Waiting. You use it sometimes to rub into his muscular shoulders after he has a long day.

Mostly it’s poured into his palm like he’s doing right now. When he leans back in his chair, his throbbing erection is already pushing the lower half of his tunic up, exposing himself to you. He is thick, already red with excitement and almost intimidatingly big. He could fit both fists on it. You watched him do it once with your bottom lip bitten between your teeth. He coats his cock in the oil, massaging it into his already smooth skin. You know he is smooth. You can see how smooth he is from here. Bronzed and smooth and strong. It’s evident as you watch him spread his legs wider so you can see his balls. One hand cups them gently, massaging them. 

“Shit.” Marcus hisses as he squeezes his cock at the base gently as he starts to stroke. You watch, your gaze dancing between his eyes and mouth, down to his hand thrusting up and down on himself. He twists his hand around the shaft while he does it. It makes somewhere deep inside you ache. You long to go over and climb into his lap. Sink yourself down into his lap until you are flush with him. 

“Does it feel good?” You ask mindlessly, watching as the tip of him begins drooling precum from his seam. You lick your bottom lip because you want to know what he tastes like. You want to show him what you can do. 

“Yes.” He moans softly and when you look back up to his face he’s staring at you. You reach up and pinch one of your nipples between your thumb and forefinger and twist it gently. Then you tug. You let out a breathless moan and he drops his eyes to your hand. He bucks his hips forward and sighs. “Gorgeous.” He breathes it to you as he strokes his cock slowly. You’ve never really spoken to each other during so you keep going, to see what happens. 

“Do you want to see my cunt?” You whisper and bat your eyelashes up in him with false innocence. His breath catches in his throat when you say it. It makes you smirk. He nods silently as his eyes fall to your middle. You pull the lower half of your dress up and pool it at your waist and now you have a bunch of fabric all pulled up around your middle. Marcus’ eyes dart between your pussy and your tits that you're still teasing and pulling at with your fingers. 

His staggered breath is rising and falling in his chest and his fist is moving with more speed. 

“Fuck.” Marcus groans quietly. The head of his cock is almost purple and his precum is now leaking down the tip of him. You lick your lips again because he does look very handsome there, stroking himself. Little beads of sweat forming on his brow as he starts to pant softly.  You run your hand down the length of your body for him, you never do this. Usually you just stand there because the first time you tried to touch him and he said no. Gave you no further instruction so you stood here after that. That white tunic and this soft bronze skin over those thighs… you dunno. Very handsome. It’s making you drenched 

“You could come touch me right here.” You purr to him quietly.

The muscles in his thighs flex when you slip two fingers into your folds. You don’t even rub, you just show him that you can in fact be touched and will not combust into flames. Marcus could do more than just look at you while he touches himself. You do let your mouth part and your jaw drop down slightly in feign pleasure– letting him know what you look like when you feel good. Marcus’ eyes flash between your face and the fingers pushed into your velvet. 

“Gods.” He sighs as his calloused and battle-scarred hand moves up and down on himself quickly. 

“Imagine yourself buried inside me. For the first time.” You coo to him as your fingers start to encircle your bundle of nerves that sit nestled at the top of your slit. “The first man to ever me inside me… the first man to ever fill me with his—”

“Fuuck. My G-Gods.” Marcus moans loudly as he brings himself to climax. He finishes all over the front of his nice, white and gold tunic. Splatters it with white ropes of his sticky seed. Several thick ropes of it. 

Your hand drops from between your legs and you snap your dress back up over your shoulders. You sit back in your chair on the balcony and sip your wine like you are bored. Marcus can leave now. He doesn’t do anything else for you other than this thrilling encounter every couple days. Thrilling while it happens but then he leaves. 

He clears his throat from the doorway. You ignore him. Does he think you are one of his soldiers? No. You are a woman and women deserve more than just being stared at. You should be ravaged and you haven’t been so you’re frustrated. Only able to give yourself pleasure after he leaves. To ease the monotony of it all you’ve started pleasuring yourself out here on the balcony where anyone could see if they just looked up. 

You do not tell him this. 

Marcus clears his throat again.

“What?” You have obvious annoyance in your tone. “If you’d like to speak to me you can come out here. I am done doing things for you today. Including getting off this chair again.” You snap angrily. 

Marcus approaches from behind you and now he’s sitting beside you on a chair that looks exactly the same as the one you are in. He is in a different tunic now. A plain brown one and now he looks terrible and horrible to you again. Barely attractive. Maybe he’s still a little handsome. 

“Did you enjoy yourself this time?” Marcus sounds curious. 

“Sure.” You mutter. You don’t catch his eyes that are obviously staring at you. 

“I thought you were warming up this evening. Then you do this?” He sounds slightly disappointed. You roll your eyes and huff softly. 

“You keep me up here. Only let me go out early in the mornings when not one or very few people are out—” You like this but you won’t let him know that. “You don’t come see me everyday like you said you would. You do not touch me. Just want to watch, which is so weird! I thought you took me from that brothel so that you could deflower me. Do the thing that everyone loves to do so much. No, you just want to tease me with your beautiful cock every four to seven days.” You cross your arms over your chest and huff one more time for good measure. 

Marcus chuckles at you, still staring. You can see him boring holes into the side of your head out of the corner of your eye. He is smiling but still staring. 

“Why is that funny?” You snap, finally turning to look at him now. Marcus Acacius is quite handsome with his messy mop of dark, loose curls. Thick dark eyebrows and facial hair to match. Only on his cheeks is it lighter, graying. Strong features. The weight he held, he carried it nicely. Filled his cheeks out softly and thigh muscles for days. Strong arms and shoulders. 

“I paid because you are beautiful. I’ll deflower you. Soon. When you’re ready.” His voice is quite nice too. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours gently. He’s never kissed you before. It’s so nice and he smells like the scented oil he spread around his cock earlier. Before you can really react to the kiss he pulls away slightly and hovers above you. “I’ll deflower you when you really like me. Not just because I paid.” Then he pecks your lips again. You're in awe! What does that mean!? You stand and try to follow him. He is too fast. He slips out of the door and locks it behind him. 

You hmph and stomp your foot angrily. 

Like him? How could you ever— Oh.  

There is the nicest most beautiful bouquet of flowers on the table that had not been there before you did your little tease for him. They are gorgeous. All different shades of white and pink and reds. It’s the biggest bouquet of flowers you have ever seen. Alongside it– a fresh unopened jug of wine. And a note. 

Save the wine for us.

Us? Does he expect you to leave this jug of delicious wine unopened until you see him again? In four to seven days? You love wine. It’s the only thing that brings you joy. Seeing his cock has been pretty joyful lately. Makes you smile when he comes. You normally hate when men come. 

 Ugh. Doesn’t fuck you. Gives you wine but tells you not to drink it. You drop the note on the table and turn… on the bed is a new dress. A nice one. White and gold like his tunic before he mucked it with his release. You smirk at the memory from less than ten minutes ago. 

What is he up to? He is not an unkind man, very polite and respectful. One of the reasons you haven’t tried to escape. He is very sweet to you. Looking at you very fondly. You’re just a brat because you thought you’d no longer be a virgin at this point. You sigh heavily and sit on the soft bed next to the dress and run your fingers along the gold embellishments. 

You want to get fucked wearing this tunic. 

Hours go by. It is late into the evening. You might be wearing your new dress, sitting on the balcony drinking the jug of wine you already had. Not the new one. You might have tried to open the new one but you could not remove the Gods forsaken cork. Your head is buzzing in the best way. The streets are alive with people and in your slightly intoxicated state you imagine yourself down there with them. You are glad you’re not down there. You grew up in the countryside, the large city of Rome scares you. 

You lie to Marcus Acacius and say you are locked away and would like to go down there. No. You do not wish for that. You feel safe up here on your balcony with your books and wine and food. New dresses now too, apparently. 

“Do you like your gifts?” Marcus’ voice drifts through the air. He sounds happy to be here. Like he might have a smile on his face.

“I did. Thank you.” You are not short or cold. You turn your head and smile at him over your shoulder. He is already smiling softly back at you– his gaze floats down your face and neck and across your new dress. He then leans against the door frame. “Admittedly I wasn’t going to wait for you to drink the wine… I just could not get it open.” You smirk now and look up at him through your lashes. 

“I tightened it.” Marcus smirks back at you. He pushes himself off the door frame, turns and grabs the jug of wine. When he sits down, he slides his chair closer to yours and pops the cork right out of the jug. You tried several times over the hours after he left. You roll your eyes as he pours you a fresh goblet and then he pours one for himself. 

The General never shares wine with you on the balcony. 

“How do you ever expect me to grow to like you when you are never around? You’ve never even done this with me before.” Your eyes scan his handsome face curiously. His tongue flicks out across his bottom lip quickly before he speaks. 

“I wanted someone untouched.” He shrugs. Not an uncommon wish for men. “You seemed eager to want to come with me.” He leans back in his chair and sets his elbows on the armrests. “Then you don’t speak. You do not participate when I want you to watch. Just drop your dress and let me look.” Marcus relaxes, every part of him does and it happens visibly in front of you. 

“You paid. What does that matter?” You squint your eyes at him with suspicion growing heavy in your buzzing brain. Marcus laughs heartily and smiles down at the goblet of wine in his hand. 

“I never wanted to touch you unless you wanted me to. Not just because you were a purchase.” His eyes flick up to yours as he waits for your response.

“Money for sex is so common. There are houses and buildings solely for that purpose! That is where we met!” You are confused, had a little too much wine and are kind of horny. “I came with you willingly.” You're blinking at Marcus. He is smirking at you like you are bringing him some kind of entertainment. “Why are you so hesitant?” 

“Do you not care that it may hurt? Or that is considered special to some?” He sounds curious now as to why you would just give it away so freely. 

“I do not care about pain. I hear that it feels very good after some slight discomfort.” You look at him down your nose and huff. “Treating me like I am fragile and will break.” Another huff and you look away from him. You make Marcus laugh again. 

“So eager to get fucked. You’ve really never been with a man or woman?” Now he sounds like he doesn’t believe you. 

“No. I have not, but that shouldn’t change anything.” You snap at him. General Marcus Acacius smiles at you when you snap at him. 

“Would you bed men and women with me once I deflower you?” He tilts his head to the side. “I like to take multiple people to bed sometimes.” He seems curious to know your answer, he leans forwards in his chair. 

“I have heard of orgies, yes. I don’t see why not—” He cuts you off.

“Not an orgy.” He says it firmly “I’d share you with another man. Watch as he fucks you. Us men, would fuck you together. You’ll watch me fuck him. We could share him. Let him enter you while I enter him. Would you like that? Or do you want to lick cunt while I fuck you?” He speaks so casually. So calmly like you’re not vibrating in your chair. “Watch me fuck her, while she licks your beautiful slit?” He leans back in his chair as if he is going to give you a moment to think about it. What is he asking of you? To be his paid and cared for personal whore? 

“I would.” You lean back in your chair and cross one leg over the other while you look at him. “I’d do more, too.” You don’t even really know what you are talking about. He brings up the most extremes and the most you have done is suck a couple of cocks at the same time. Big deal. 

“Like?” Marcus’ eyebrows dance up once and then fall back down quickly. Okay dammit, you don’t know. 

“You could tie me up.” You mimic his little eyebrow dance he did and shrug one shoulder at him. Like you're so seasoned in that. You just saw it happen to someone else once! The General likes this though.

“I have my own restraints. And a whip if you want to be bad.” He smiles and sips from his wine goblet. You might be a little over your head but you do not care because you want this man to take your stupid flower so bad. Whether he paid for it or not. He can have it. “What?” His eyes are so dark. So intense as he asks you this.

“What?” You snap at him. “What do you mean, what?” You snap again. He snickers under his breath and drops his gaze to his lap. 

“You were staring at me, little Dove.”

Next Chapter