#bluehairedsocialsite

Send a ♚. Your character falls asleep on mine, I'll reply with what mine does.

☢: Ten headcanons that pertain to your character

Portia is dyslexic.

Portia loves cats, and she has three of her own.

Portia will eat anything hot and yummy.

Portia likes to talk, but not first thing in the morning.

Portia isn’t a morning person.

Portia suffered child abuse.

Portia’s mother was an alcoholic and drug addict.

Portia’s best female friend is Effie Trinket.

Her best male friend is Cinna.

She lives in a small apartment in the poorer part of the Capitol.

✘: Ten different things the character disapproves of

People being mean to/about her cats.

Haymitch’s excessive drinking.

People giving Cinna all of the credit when she helped to make the outfits too.

Racism.

Parents hitting their children.

Drugs.

Her brothers choices in careers.

People enjoying the games.

Bullying.

æ = The character and languages (Known or Want to Learn)

Portia speaks English, and because her pre-dark days relatives were from Puerto Rico (which no longer exists), she taught herself to speak Spanish at a young age, even though country of the language’s origin was destroyed. She often accidentally slips into Spanish when she’s angry.

@ = How the character appears online

Send me a “۞” to see the pros and cons of our muses being in a relationship together

pros:

→ tall buddies→ as long as you don't touch the bike you're okay→ he doesn't dislike Tumblr→ they work together anyway so

cons:

"So, child?" Koh purred, coiling around the fallen princess.  Azula had lost a drastic amount of weight in the two years she’d been interred in the asylum.  Two years of ritual humiliation and routine torture, two years of writing letters to Zuko about her treatment there…  She had no idea that they’d been intercepted by the asylum staff, that Zuko had no idea of the abuses she suffered there.  Given the bad blood between her and her brother running already, she assumed he was complicit in it, if not the one that had ordered it outright.

After two years, she could take it no longer.  She’d begun pleading to the Spirits, for assistance, for death, for anything to get her out of that place.  The one that had answered her was Koh, the trickster and face stealer, but also a very wise old spirit who sometimes dealt in knowledge.  Or, it seemed, in favours.

"I’ll take you somewhere you will not be tracked.  You will not be chased.  You won’t be able to do anything against your brother or his allies from there, but neither will they against you.  This is a fresh start, completely.  I’m not going to offer you useless platitudes about turning over a fresh leaf, but it would be a waste if you didn’t learn from some of your old mistakes.  For the duration of your life, you won’t need to worry about our agreement at all.  I’ll come for you when you die.  You won’t be using your face after that anyway, so I’ll have it then.  Do we have a deal?"

Reflexively, Azula reached up to run her fingers over her eye and cheek, now sunken and hollow, and shadows appearing below the first.  Despite the nervousness she felt dealing with a Spirit that was known to cause havoc, she nodded her head.  She really had meant it.  Anything to get her out of that place. “W-we have a deal.  The terms are fair.”

"Lay down, child," Koh murmured, patting the bed Azula had in her cell in a mockery of parental affection, switching to the face of a moderately pretty woman of Fire Nation descent.

Azula stretched out obediently, closing her eyes for a moment…

Now…

The room was quiet, altogether boring in its stillness. Then, suddenly, thirty, maybe fifty feet of a giant insectoid body and its mass of many, many legs, all at once appeared there, winding around the room and twisting through the furniture, irreverently knocking things over. A face painted with makeup to look like a mask peered down into the blue haired man's eyes. The red lips of the mask-like face pulled into a smile, and the creature held out the body of an unconscious sixteen year old girl, forcing her into the other’s arms. ”Here, I heard you collect neurotic wrecks,” the creature said, then withdrew, skittering up a wall and out of reality.

The girl, on the other hand, was most decidedly there, and she was in poor state, too—clearly malnourished and having been maltreated for some time. Her hair was matted and her eyes were shadowed, and around her wrists were the marks of shackles and restraints that likely hadn’t been removed often for a very long time. The clothes she wore were handmade and fine, but as battered as she was for a long stay in somewhere very unpleasant.  They were clearly tailored to her body, but that had been before she’d lost a drastic amount of weight.