#assuming it was a reference from an artist who loves her like i do

[caandlelit]

heheheheh selina menshon

[cosmogyros]

.

[lesbianchemicalplant]

four assertions:

(1) popular discussions on Body Image and misogyny are fundamentally flawed and myopic for treating a woman's Poor Body Image as first and foremost an internal subjective pathology, to be overcome with self-help and self-esteem and Healthy Thinking, rather than primarily an objective external reality of misogynist punishment

when a woman foregoing makeup or shaving at work is reprimanded for Being Unprofessional; when she is treated even by other women as less competent at her job for her embodiment; when she is fired for being too visibly or audibly a trans woman; the actual problem she faces is not her “Poor Body Image”. she could have the most love for her own appearance in the world, not give a single fuck about stubble or skincare or visibly aging, and none of that self-love would save her job

yet the focus in popular discourses on Body Positivity, surgeries, medical transition, makeup, shaving, etc. is always on body image as an internal feeling, and specifically, a pathologized subjectivity that must be overcome with Good Vibes, Proper Feminist Consciousness toward her own body, Self-Esteem, and Health. again, none of these things would actually spare the transgressing woman from her punishment, though maybe a union could

I've focused on workplace coercion here because employment is such a clear and stark location where the external punishment comes to bear on women, but this reality of misogynist discrimination and mistreatment applies to every other sphere of our lives as well. failing to conform to a misogynist standard of comportment and embodiment results in women being overall treated as less competent and less worthy in social life and friendship, in intellectual and artistic pursuits, by family and friends and lovers and acquaintances and strangers

(2) locating this problem primarily in terms of a pathological body image obscures the reality of misogynist coercion. this is closer to Self-Help than it is to an actual engagement with misogyny

out of the many cloying posts (almost always by TME people) advising women that we can Just Not Wear Makeup Or Shave and there won't really be consequences, that it really doesn't matter, I've seen exactly one such post acknowledge in any form that women can be punished for these things. it was a disclaimer tacked onto the end acknowledging that women can lose our jobs or be subjected to transmisogynist harassment, and that we shouldn't push ourselves into unsafe circumstances. I was genuinely shocked to see it even stated briefly for once

why is downplaying misogynist coercion the norm in these discussions? is downplaying misogyny Feminist? is it Feminist to see women navigating objective misogyny and effectively say “skill issue”?

(3) these discourses are outrageously paternalistic and pathologizing toward trans women specifically, even more so than they overwhelmingly already are for cis women

cis women can at least be pitied or allotted some level of acknowledged victimhood in their silly, misguided, unhealthy subjectivities, whereas trans women are largely chided for actively doing it to ourselves with our perverted and misogynist habits, such as Anime, Porn, and Generally Being Oversexed

these attributions are couched in a racist notion of anime as an especially perverted corrupting influence; a transmisogynist notion of trans women having pathological sexualities; and to be blunt, the transmisogynist canard of trans women as misogynist male pervert space-invaders who start wanting to be women because of little girls in anime and sexual degeneracy

with these unhealthy reference points assumed, trans women are then prescribed images of virtuous cis women as “healthy” “realistic” body image and transition reference points—our cis women relatives, cis women you see on the bus, cis women figures considered to be respectable ideals like Sigourney Weaver (who is very skinny btw), etc.—but notably, not other trans women

(4) to the extent that body image does exist as a squishy internal feeling, secondary to the misogynist external reality discussed in (1), the rhetorical omission of trans women from how trans women form such subjective Body Image betrays a lack of good-faith engagement with our lives and that process

the overwhelming majority of trans women I know were heartened to take the plunge on transitioning by seeing other trans women: other trans women's selfies, other trans women in real life, other trans women's transition timelines, other trans women being horny in our own skins, seeing and getting to know other trans women

meanwhile—as surprising as this may be to some people—most of us had actually seen a cis woman, and dare I say we even knew and interacted with cis women as people in our lives, prior to coming out to ourselves or transitioning. again, there is a disconnect between trans women and virtuous everyday Real Women [read: cis women] lurking in this framing

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer and reader are both BAU agents in a secret relationship and a charity gala has reader tired of hiding.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Trying something different with the first person perspective here! bc of that I did have to use y/n twice so sorry for that lol. This is later seasons but pre-prison Spencer, so he’s a little more sure of himself and in return more dominant without being fully there. I promise I’m working on a few sub!spencer fics right now but I stumbled across this old fic of mine while going through my past works and I was dying to rework it because I wasn’t happy with what it was before lol.

TW: jealousy, angst, kissing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, afab reader, use of “girl” in reference to reader.

Rating: R, 18+ only please!

——

We’d already been here for three hours and I was growing weary watching Spencer make awkward conversation with every person at this charity gala. There were hundreds of people neither of us knew in this room, but bureaucratic duty required the both of us to make small talk with everyone no matter the department. Heaven knows Spencer didn’t have any intention beyond professional with these people, and I certainly didn’t either as it came with the territory of being BAU agents, but somehow I couldn’t help but find the jealous side of me rearing its ugly head with every attractive colleague that looked his way.

I’d kept my distance, allowing him the space he needed to not seem too attached. I knew how important it was that everyone assumed we were both single, interpersonal relationships between agents aren’t exactly looked highly upon here. Still, watching him talk the ear off of another woman had that familiar blossom of insecurity blooming in my chest. No matter how clueless he was, I knew just how many women and men in our professional vicinity would risk a lot to be with Spencer, and they figured that maybe given the right set of circumstances, perhaps they’d have the opportunity. He never gave them that privilege of course, even though we weren’t public with our relationship, we knew what we were, and he never betrayed that trust.

Still, as he was approached by a particularly tall, gorgeous redhead I found myself growing more and more jealous. He said something and she laughed a little too hard, laying her right hand on his bicep and tossing her hair over her shoulder with the other, and the green eyed monster returned, fiercer than ever. A tear slipped down my cheek as I watched, but I quickly wiped it away, fighting to keep my composure.

When he finally broke away from her, I made my way through the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, whispering his name to catch his attention. He turned to me, features softening as he registered my features.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, concern lacing his tone.

“I’m not feeling well, I’m going to head home.” I told him, forcing a reassuring smile so as not to worry him.

“Would you like me to come with?” He whispered, brushing his hand against my arm, just as the redhead had done to him. Such a simple, loving gesture, and the thought of someone who was not me doing it to him made my blood boil. I shook my head, giving him one last look of reassurance before gathering the top of the skirt of my overly detailed gown in my hands and making my way out of the ballroom and ordering an uber.

When I got back to his apartment, I kicked my heels off haphazardly the second the door locked behind me before stumbling to his bedroom. I don’t know why I’d come back to his apartment, I should’ve gone to mine, but I didn’t want to. I was sick of the hiding, the secrecy. I wanted him. I wanted to live with him. I wanted to be with him.

I reached around to the zipper on the back of my dress, roughly pulling it down halfway before it got caught, the expensive fabric bunching under the hardware. I pulled as hard as I could, desperate to get out of the increasingly suffocating garment, but my attempts seemed in vain as the zipper stayed put.

All the emotions I’d been holding in throughout the night boiled to the surface, showing themselves in the form of hot, frustrated tears. I collapsed face first onto the bed, letting the plush bedding consume me as I folded my arms beneath my cheek, feeling the wetness gather against my skin. I let it all out, quiet sobs wracking my body as I groveled in my jealousy, the physical pain of the restrictive fabric only doubling my emotions.

I didn’t know how long I’d been laying there, but his hand on my shoulder broke me out of the jealousy fueled haze I’d been locked in.

“Y/n? Why didn’t you go home? What’s wrong?” His voice sounded fuzzy as I quickly stood to face him, wiping away my tears.

“I don’t want to go back there Spencer, I want here to be home. I’m not home if I’m not with you. I’m so sick of hiding. I want to be yours.” I blurted, too overwhelmed to think about what I was confessing.

“You are mine.” He whispered.

“I don’t believe you.” I responded.

“There’s no one else y/n, you know that.” He continued, but it did little to calm me.

“All those women at the gala, touching you, flirting with you. I don’t want to have to sit back and watch it anymore. I die a little every time I see it.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t-“

“I know! You don’t enjoy any of it, I get that, but they do! They want you, Spencer, and I can’t bare the thought of losing you to one of them.” I confessed, tears welling in my eyes again.

“That won’t happen.” He said, a kind of sureness in his tone.

“How do I know that?” I asked.

“Because you’re the only one I want. You’re the only one that understands me for who I really am. I don’t care about them, not the way I care about you. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I care about you.”

“I love you, y/n.” It rolled off his tongue as if they were the truest words he’d ever spoken, and as he placed his hands on my hips I practically melted under his touch.

“I love you too.” I breathed, looking up at him doe-eyed, lip quivering as I held back the tears of contentment fighting to escape my waterline.

“I’m yours.” He whispered, pulling me into him before crashing his lips to mine. I turned to putty in his hands, hanging on his every touch as he pulled away and spun me around, large hand resting on my exposed shoulder as the other worked carefully to untangle my zipper, finally allowing the fabric of the gown to fall from my frame.

His lips met my neck, sucking hungrily against my blushed skin and I brought my hand to rest in his brunette curls, holding him steadily against me. He pressed his hips flush against my lower back, his member growing hard as he marked my neck, drawing his swollen lips over the purple patches forming across the sensitive skin of my neck.

I whimpered as he nipped at my pulse point, nimble fingers undoing my bra before letting it join my gown on the floor, immediately cradling my breasts in his soft grip. I rolled my hips back against him, earning a deep groan as my free hand moved to palm him through his fitted slacks.

“Let me prove how devoted I am to you.” He breathed, spinning me back around before laying me slowly onto the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching as he removed his suit jacket, then undid the buttons of his dress shirt one by one, maintaining eye contact as he undid his belt and dropped his pants and underwear, leaving him bare for me to take in.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, taking my ankles in his grip before parting my legs, placing a soft kiss to the small dip on the inside of my ankle. He looked up at me, his gaze never leaving my face as I watched him plant wet kiss after wet kiss up the expanse of my leg before repeating the action on the other, the intimate act arousing me more and more by the second.

When he finally reached my left upper thigh, he lingered, drawing his tongue over the apex of my thigh to my panties, licking a flat stripe over the soaked panel of fabric, drawing a panting moan from my throat. He locked eyes with me, placing a kiss over my clit before taking the waistband between his teeth and letting it slap back against my hip, earning a whimper from me.

He gripped either side of my hips, taking my underwear in hand before pulling them slowly down my legs and discarding them across the room.

I watched transfixed as he kissed his way up my body, leaving soft magenta marks blooming like peonies over my damp skin, paying special attention to my breasts.

“You’re perfect.” He mumbled, tongue tracing around my nipple as I blushed at his words.

“I want to devour every inch of you.” He continued, taking the stiff peak gently between his teeth and tugging, sending a delicious mix of pain and pleasure to every nerve ending in my chest.

“Then do it.” I gasped, relaxing back into the bed. He hummed against me, flicking his tongue over my breast as his other hand slid between my thighs, cupping my cunt. He dipped his index finger to part my folds, already swollen and sticky and dripping with need. I wanted him, and although this certainly was not the first time we’d had sex, I was finally going to have him, all of him.

“So wet…” He trailed off, dragging his mouth up the expanse of my neck before drawing me into a kiss, deep and warm and full of a fire I’d never felt from him before. It’s like his confession had set something free in him, torn down a wall or two, uncaged the animal of desire within him.

“All for you.” I whimpered, pulling him down into another kiss.

He pressed two fingers in slow, pressured circles against my swollen clit, his full lips swallowing every last one of my needy moans and whimpers. Any other night I would’ve reveled in it, secretly loved the slow burn of his teasing, but I was far too emotional for that tonight, and I couldn’t put up with not having him inside of me anymore.

“I need you.” I whined, rutting my hips up into him.

“What do you want me to do, my love?” He asked. I huffed, knowing the game he was playing.

“Please Spence, I need you inside of me. Fuck me, show me what I mean to you.” I practically moaned as he continued rubbing harsh circles against my clit.

“That’s my girl, always so eager.” He praised, snaking his hands around the back of my thighs and lifting to wrap my legs around his hips.

He rubbed himself slowly through my folds, properly coating his cock with my slick before aligning the head at my slit, ready and inviting him in. He pushed slowly into me, a low groan slipping from his clenched jaw as he savored every inch of my wet heat and I met him with a tight embrace, gasping at the way he filled me.

I’d never felt so connected before, like I could feel him in every fiber of my being and as he was seated fully inside of me I felt whole, like we were made for each other.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before he pulled almost completely out, pausing before pushing back in, my wetness making it almost embarrassingly easy. He angled his hips upward, knowing how quickly I’d crumble beneath him with the repeated brush of his cock against that soft spot inside of me.

He looked down at me, a certain warmth spreading over his dilated pupils as he halted his hips and opened his kiss-swollen lips to speak.

“It’s only you. Forever.” He purred, pushing the stray hair from my face before kissing my temple and pistoning his hips forward, punctuating his words with a deep thrust.

Each roll of his hips against mine had my muscles contracting, pulling him closer in every way, never wanting this to end. His rhythm remained steady as he picked up his pace, driving the pressure building inside of me ever closer to bursting.

I snaked one of my hands into his hair, gripping tight as the other found his bicep, matching my grip. I needed to hold him, to feel him, to know that having him here like this wasn’t all a dream. His groans and pants filled the thickening air, like a melody in my ear, mingling with my own and the almost feral “mine” that ripped from his throat on a particularly hard thrust had me crying out for him, clawing at his arm as he repeated the intensity.

I was close, so close and as I felt his cock twitch inside of me I knew he was too. I locked my ankles around his hips, holding him inside of me as he rolled his hips quickly, head dropping onto my shoulder. The continued stimulation of that spot, the sweet spot inside of me only he could hit became too much, bringing stars to my eyes as I cried out his name, euphoria so strong I couldn’t feel my legs as I dug my nails so hard into his arm that I had surely drawn blood.

“I’m yours.” He groaned, hips faltering as he filled me, my cunt still pulsing around him with every spurt of warm cum.

Everything after that was a blur of being held in his arms, whispered I love you’s, and gentle caresses.

“We’ll go to HR as soon as possible, I don’t care what paperwork they want us to fill out or how much shit we’ll get from Morgan, I want everyone at that gala tonight to know that I love you.” He broke the silence, his words a final cementing comfort.

No more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more secrets. Only the two of us.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[guppybibi]

Tattoo artist!Johnny who had already met you a year ago when you made an impulsive decision of getting a tattoo with your current boyfriend's name.

This was nothing new for Johnny having seen this numerous times before, in both men and women, and he knows they'll come crawling back to get them covered up after a nasty breakup. It's been a running game in the shop, all of the workers betting their money on how long it'll take before the customer comes back to cover up the tattoo.

Nothing new, right? Then why was Johnny so surprised when he saw you walk into the shop, the door chimes ringing when you swing the door open to reveal you. Eyes still red and puffy while you sniffled, not doing a very good job on hiding the fact you had been crying. His coworkers shot him a knowing look, recalling the bet from last year.

"Pretty thing, ain't she?" One of Johnny's coworkers commented, looking at the back of your figure as you stepped out of the shop with a huge grin on your face. Probably excited to show the tattoo of your boyfriend's name to him.

"Yeah, too bad she's taken. Lucky man better be treatin' her right." Johnny remarks, noticing the look he was given. "Not for long, I bet. I'm giving them a year max." Johnny blinks once, then again. "Fine, I'm giving them five years." Of course, his coworker was pretty shocked from that. Out of all the people they've bet on, this was probably the longest bet Johnny had ever put.

"Seriously? Don't ya think that's too long?" His coworker asks skeptically, raising a brow at Johnny. "Aye, the gal is lovely. If her boyfriend drops her then that's like committing a war crime." Well, his coworker couldn't really disagree with him on that.

Johnny shoots his coworker a glare that simply said he had more important matters to attend to. Luckily, Johnny was a charmer so cooing a birdie like you into comfort shouldn't be that hard, right?

I mean, it's a break up, not exactly the end of the world here. Plus, you're a gorgeous gal, plenty of fish out there you could probably catch in less than an hour.

"Morning, lass! Welcome back, I see that you've got a little problem, huh?" He points out, seeing you nod subtly. "Alright, I'm assuming it's a cover up for the tattoo you got done a year ago?"

He clearly wasn't surprised when you nodded, having seen this too many times before. He wrote down some stuff, not caring about the paperwork much..before leading you further into the parlor.

The two of you discussed how you wanted the previous tattoo to get covered up, Johnny nudging in to suggest some stylistic choices a few times, which you gladly didn't mind.

Then began the process once you agreed with the design choice, you wanted to get this over with. To remove a past mistake from your life.

Johnny cleansed your skin, disinfecting it with a cold gel. He could see you squirming and struggling not to make a sound. He also does notice another tattoo covered up above your previous tattoo, curiosity swirling around in his mind now.

He tried hushing it, it wasn't any of his business. He's here to do his job, nothing else.

He was quiet for most of the process, aside from some rather awkward small talk about the weather and a few details of what happened between you and your boyfriend. Not that it helped, it really just made Johnny even more curious.

And finally, after who knows how long, the tattoo was covered up now! You seemed to have gotten rid of the nerves from earlier, looking a lot more calmer now.

"Alright, lass. I'm sure y'know how the caring process goes so I'll leave it up to ye." He said, cleaning up all his materials in a snap. He gives in to his curiosity, finding the courage in him to ask you about the other covered up tattoo.

"Uh..before you go lass, mind if I ask ye somethin'? It's about the other tattoo you got 'ere.." You immediately knew which one he was referring to, face reddening in embarrassment as you recalled the immature decision..

"Aah..sure, go ahead." You replied awkwardly, a sheepish smile gracing your face. "Thanks, lass. Mind if ye tell me what was written on there? I- I just noticed that the way it was covered up. The artist did a great job, I'm jealous."

Yeah okay he was just making excuses to get things flowing..never mind that.

"Oo..oh! I don't mind at all, don't worry. That's all in the past..can't really reverse it, you know? It was my ex-boyfriend's name." You answer, shrugging it off. Seems like you were the type of gal to move on from a relationship quick.

"I see, glad you were willing to share that. I wonder if I know who he is." He chuckles, evidently not expecting you to actually tell him who it was. Sure, Johnny was the type to encourage people to loosen up and get comfortable. But..maybe not to this extent.

"His name was Simon, Simon Riley—" And practically everything you said after that was unheard of.

Looks like Johnny needs to pay Simon a visit at the pub tonight.

[scuderiasundays]

chili’s angels

summary: carlos can’t say no to his little girls, leaving him with some explaining to do on media day + a little insta au at the end 🌶️

words: 806

a/n: this one was in my drafts for a while but i brought it out for @thatsdemko and all the dad! carlos girlies out there. i know there are a lot of you! tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, and @diorleclerc just because. feedback is much appreciated as always. hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

When Y/N found out she was pregnant with twin girls, Carlos was over the moon. He had been raised by a vivacious mother and alongside two sisters, who despite driving him mad as a child, had become his closest confidantes. Carlos stopped wearing the Tom Ford cologne you once loved when it started to trigger your nausea. He rushed to a nearby drive-through at midnight solely to satisfy your craving for fries and a milkshake. And when your shoelaces needed tying, he was always there to help.

“I feel like I’m asking way too much of you,” you spoke. He smiled and gently caressed your growing belly. "Never, mi amor. Taking care of you and our girls is my purpose now," he said tenderly. "You're an amazing mom already, and I can't wait to see our daughters grow up with the same strength and love that you have."

You had held off on naming the twins because you strongly felt you owed it to your daughters to meet them and get an actual feel for their energies. Together, you spent an evening brainstorming a list of potential names, Carlos voicing a particular preference for their names starting with the same letter. Labor proved to be more challenging than anyone had ever prepared you for, leaving you drained once it was over. Carlos cradled the newborns in his arms, softly uttering their names, "Melina" and "Mila," while his gaze shifted from one little face to the other.

Flash forward, and your twin daughters thought the world of their dad. You loved getting to see Carlos in a new light, your love for him only growing as you watched him interact with your girls. "Can we go outside and play? Please!" Melina and Mila were like the Energizer Bunny times two on the rare weekends when Carlos was home. Although he rarely said no to them, they were both feeling under the weather, so he shook his head. "How about we stay inside and do some drawing?" he suggested.

"Can we paint your nails? Mamá always lets us," the girls asked, their eyes widening as they edged closer to him. Carlos paused for a moment, thinking, what harm could it do? Eventually, he nodded in agreement. The girls knew exactly where their mother kept her nail polish kit and eagerly fetched the equipment. "We have Barbie pink and Ferrari red, just like our cars," Melina said, holding up the bottles with her pudgy fingers. "Mama wears the red one when we watch you drive on TV," Mila chimed in. He assumed Melina was referring to the little toy LaFerraris he had bought the girls on their birthday. He loved watching the girls as they raced in their garden, a tangible sign they had inherited his passion for cars.

"What's that thing you always say, Papá? For the Ferrari?" Mila looked up at her dad with chocolate brown eyes. "Forza Ferrari, mija," Carlos replied. Before he could even pick a color, Melina grabbed his hand and started painting his thumbnail bright red. The girls both had a hard time staying within the lines, so Carlos took it upon himself to clean up the edges. After they were done, he was instructed to place each hand under the UV lamp. He couldn’t help but wonder if the nail polish would come off easily later, but he soon noticed the excitement of being nail artists had worn the twins out. He picked them up and gently laid them down for a nap.

As Carlos boarded his flight to Hungary, he realized that his red manicure was not coming off without a fight. He absentmindedly picked at his nails, silently wishing his wife had been there to offer him the mini nail file she always carried. With media day approaching, he knew that people would definitely pick up on his vibrant nails.

"Nice nails, Carlos. Whose handiwork is this?" Natalie, a familiar face, pointed at his hands with a smile. Carlos chuckled and replied, "Oh, this masterpiece? My twin daughters painted them. I just don’t know how to say no to those two." He shrugged, shaking his head.

"Well, here they are to say hello.” The TV presenter had organized a surprise Zoom call with Y/N and Carlos' daughters, who had been nicknamed "Chili’s Angels" by his fans.

"Buenos días, mis hijas. I hope you're feeling better," he greeted them, waving at the camera. Melina proudly held up her mom's hand, showcasing her red nails. "Look! You and Mamá match now!" she exclaimed. Carlos winked at his wife, grateful for the little moment of connection despite the distance.

"Forza Ferrari, Papá!" Mila squealed, waving goodbye. “They really are my angels, all three of them,” he thought, setting off a mental countdown of days until he was back in their arms again.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 57,575 others

carlossainz55: life is sweeter with my angels. hope i’m making you proud 🫶🏼

yourusername: we’re so lucky to have you! you just had to choose THAT photo of mila scarfing down her pizza? clearly my genes 🍕🤤

fan1: chili’s angels merch when? i swear i will buy it ALL

landonorris: ask melly and milly who their favorite uncle is and i’ll let you by at the start on sunday!

carlossainz55: “come over, uncle lando! we can paint your nails orange.” - melina & mila sainz

anasainzvdec: the most adorable nieces an aunt could wish for ❤️

scuderiaferrari: when mila said “forza ferrari” in an interview this morning! who’s cutting the damn onions?

fan2: carlos and @yourusername are starting them off young 🥹

[poeticallyspiteful]

hiii! could you please write a regulus black x potter! reader? maybe something like reg and reader secretly going out and getting discovered by James?

thank you!! have an amazing day 💗💗

his muse (pt. one)

regulus black x reader

fluff / angst

cw: unedited as always 😌, a sex joke but it’s a titanic reference lol, marauders being overprotective, kissing, cuddling, someone may threaten to pull out someone’s teeth and put them on a necklace (it seemed like a very regulus threat), artist!regulus because 🥰

summary: you’re the honorary little sister of the infamous marauders; what happens when they catch you with a certain someone?

notes: hey love, thank you so much for the request!! just so you know, i don’t like to write readers to be related to another character, because i want my readers be able to relate to the ‘reader character’ without altering their preferred fancast for another one based on things like race or ethnicity. that is totally on me for not putting that in my request post and i will do that asap, but i hope you enjoy this anyway <33

more notes: i did get just a tad bit carried away and decided to divide this request into two parts, just to make it less overwhelming for me and y’all as well. anyways, enjoy <333

“oh reggie, paint me like one of your french girls,” you giggled, draping yourself dramatically across regulus’ pristine sheets.

he looked up from his sketchbook, brow furrowed in a way that made you want to kiss him until you both passed out from lack of oxygen.

god, you loved him.

“what?” he asked.

“nothing.”

evan and barty had both left the slytherin dorms, off to some place or another, giving you the perfect opportunity for some alone time with your lovely boyfriend. you’ve made sure to do this at least once a week since you started dating in your fourth year. now that you’ve reached sixth year, the tradition had only grown more cherished; precious were the moments spent with someone you’d been otherwise forbidden to see.

“he’s dangerous, (y/n),” sirius insisted, only just finished with his dramatic act of fake vomiting. you had made the grave mistake of assuming your friend would have a normal reaction upon hearing who had asked you to the yule ball.

“a slytherin, (y/n), how could you?” james moaned, collapsing onto the auto-man like he was faint in the heart. “you have been my little sister all my life—”

“you met me when you were twelve and we are not related,” you corrected.

james feigned offense. “how dare you question our bond? blood does not matter! we are family and that is that, young lady.”

“leave her alone, the both of you,” remus laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you to his chest. “our little girl had to grow up someday.”

sirius looked appalled. “not with my bastard, slimy, death eater of a brother—”

“he’s not a death eater, we’re fourteen!” you exclaimed, pouting dramatically at the older boy. “just one dance, i promise padfoot, if it’s that weird to you, i’ll never see him again.”

you lied.

sunlight peaked in through the curtains, the golden rays hitting regulus in such a way that made him look angelic. so focused on his sketchbook, glancing up every few moments to gaze at you like you were something to be revered.

you sat up in his bed, fiddling with the hem of his sweater that lay around your mid thighs; though you loved to, you rarely got the opportunity to wear reggie’s clothes, given sirius would recognize them in an instant. so, you took advantage of these moments whenever they came your way.

you loved wrapping yourself in the soft, strong, warm smell of him: minty cologne, sea salt, and pine trees. the scent was practically woven in the fabric, making everything feel so much softer, so much more him.

you did have a couple shirts and sweaters you’d stolen over the years, but they remained in your dorm at all times.

well, mostly.

it was a moment of stupidity. a dreary saturday morning, a hogsmeade trip, and you had slept in. naturally, you had to rush out of your dorm to get to breakfast in time; but, you didn’t need to change, did you?

why not wear the sweater you had slept in and save yourself a little time?

so, after changing into more appropriate pants, you made your way down the breakfast and sat in your regular spot; in between remus and james, and smack dab across from sirius.

he noticed his brothers favorite sweater the second you sat down.

“what’s that?”

you’d barely sat down by the time sirius spoke and continued making your morning coffee as the group grew silent around you. finally looking up, you glanced between your friends in confusion.

“what’s what?”

you lifted your sleeve to rub your nose, breathing in quickly through your stuffed up sinuses; stupid fall allergies.

you froze as the familiar sent cooled your insides, eyes darting over to the slytherin table across the great hall.

oh.

that’s ‘what’s what’.

“who’s jumper is that, (y/n)?” james asked, arm draping over your shoulders to tug the sleeve on the other side. “doesn’t look like one of mine—”

“or mine,” sirius chimed.

“or mine,” peter chirped, though you hardly stole borrowed his sweaters anyways (too scratchy).

“it’s mine!”

you were surprised to hear remus’ leap to your defense, as you knew damn well the sweater wrapped around you wasn’t his— still, you weren’t about to question it.

“mhm,” you hummed, taking a sip of your coffee, hoping the boys didn’t notice your shaking hands. “i don’t know what that third degree was about, but i stole this from moony a month ago.”

“what’re you thinking about, lovely?”

regulus was suddenly just inches away from you, sketchbook tossed to the side, instead opting to look at his muse more close up.

“nothing,” you mumbled, smiling as he dipped down to kiss your collarbone, working his way up to your lips with featherlight kisses that made you wish you could stay with him forever.

though at this point, everything he did made you wish you could stay with him forever.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered, eyes scanning every curve and point of your face like a work of art; his work of art, his muse.

he’ll never get tired of that word.

you breathed in deeply, the smell of him practically making you glow like some sort of protection charm; you’d never felt safer than you did with regulus near. you felt untouchable with him, like nothing could ever hurt you.

“what are you doing here?”

lovely.

a grating voice to disrupt your terrible day.

“hey,” severus called. “i’m talking to you.”

you spun around, glaring at the greasy haired boy across from you with as much contempt at you could muster. “piss off, severus!” you shouted; you’d never bit back like this before, but the shocked look on his face was worth it. “really, cornering a younger student in an empty hallway? pretty cowardly, don’t you think?”

before you could debate the consequences of your actions, severus’ hand was gripping your cloaks and you were shoved up against the wall.

“you filthy little—”

just as quick as snapes hands were on you, they’d been torn off, and you scrunched to the ground. regulus shoved him up to the wall opposite you.

“defending your little mudblood, huh?”

“shut your filthy mouth about her or i swear on merlins grave, i will rip every single one of your teeth out and put them on a necklace like a string of fucking pearls,” regulus bit, baring his teeth, an emphasis to the threat. “you got that?”

that night, you ended up in a very similar position to where you were in now; wrapped up in your lovely boyfriends sweater, curled in his arms, and having sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

“y’know, i mean it when i say you are beautiful,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he spoke, breath fanning over your face. it tickled, but you didn’t care; you just wanted to hear his voice. “breathtakingly gorgeous, inside and out.”

“really?” you teased, nuzzling your nose further into his chest, arms wrapped around his torso.

“really,” he laughed. “i could stay like this forever.”

you pouted, pulling yourself half on top of him. “but my daft friends just have to get in the way, don’t they?”

you hear a gasp from the doorway.

“did you just call us daft?”

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Jamie Beck

Jamie Beck is a photographer residing in Provence, France. Her Tumblr blog, From Me To You, became immensely successful shortly after launching in 2009. Soon after, Jamie, along with her partner Kevin Burg, pioneered the use of Cinemagraphs in creative storytelling for brands. Since then, she has produced marketing and advertising campaigns for companies like Google, Samsung, Netflix, Disney, Microsoft, Nike, Volvo, and MTV, and was included in Adweek Magazine’s “Creative 100” among the industry’s top Visual Artists. In 2022, she released her first book, An American in Provence, which became a NYT Bestseller and Amazon #1 book in multiple categories, and featured in publications such as Vogue, goop, Who What Wear, and Forbes. Flowers of Provence is Jamie’s second book.

Can you tell us about how The Flowers of Provence came to be?

I refer to Provence often as ‘The Garden of Eden’ for her harmonious seasons that bring an ever-changing floral bounty through the landscape. My greatest joy in life is telling her story of flowers through photography so that we may all enjoy them, their beauty, their symbolism, and their contribution to the harmony of this land just a bit longer. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do your photography and writing work together? Do you write as part of your practice?

I constantly write small notations, which usually occur when I am alone in nature with the intention of creating a photograph or in my studio working alone on a still life. I write as I think in my head, so I have made it a very strict practice that when a thought or idea comes up, I stop and quickly write the text in the notes app on my phone or in a pocket journal I keep with me most of the time. If I don’t stop and write it down at that moment, I find it is gone forever. It is also the same practice for shooting flowers, especially in a place as seasonal as Provence. If I see something, I must capture it right away because it could be gone tomorrow. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

You got your start in commercial photography. What’s something you learned in those fields that has served you well in your current creative direction?

I think my understanding of bridging art and commerce came from my commercial photography background. I can make beautiful photographs of flowers all day long, but how to make a living off your art is a completely different skill that I am fortunate enough to have learned by working with so many different creative brands and products in the past. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

Do you remember your first photograph?

Absolutely! I was 13 years old. My mother gave me her old Pentax 35mm film camera to play with. When I looked through the viewfinder, it was as if the imaginary world in my head could finally come to life! I gave my best friend a makeover, put her in an evening gown in the backyard of my parents’ house in Texas, and made my first photograph, which I thought was so glamorous! So Vogue!

You situate your photographic work with an introduction that charts the seasons in Provence through flowers. Are there any authors from the fields of nature writing and writing place that inspire you?

I absolutely adore Monty Don! His writing, his shoes, and his ease with nature and flowers—that’s a world in which I want to live. I also love Floret Flowers, especially on social media, as a way to learn the science behind flowers and how to grow them. 

How did you decide on the order of the images within The Flowers of Provence?

Something I didn’t anticipate with a book deal is that I would actually be the one doing the layouts! I assumed I would hand over a folder of images, and an art director would decide the order. At first, it was overwhelming to sort through it all because the work is so personal, and I’m so visual. But in the end, it had to be me. It had to be my story and flow to be truly authentic. I tried to move through the seasons and colors of the landscape in a harmonious way that felt a bit magical, just as discovering Provence has felt to me. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do you practice self-care when juggling work and life commitments alongside the creative process?

The creative process is typically a result that comes out of taking time for self-care. I get some of my best ideas for photographic projects or writing when I am in a bath or shower or go for a long (and restorative) walk in nature. Doing things for myself, such as how I dress or do my hair and makeup, is another form of creative expression that is satisfying. 

What’s a place or motif you’d like to photograph that you haven’t had a chance to yet?

I am really interested in discovering more formal gardens in France. I like the idea of garden portraiture, trying to really capture the essence and spirit of places where man and nature intertwine. 

Which artists do you return to for inspiration?

I’m absolutely obsessed with Édouard Manet—his color pallet and subject matter. 

What are three things you can’t live without as an artist?

My camera, the French light, and flowers, of course. 

What’s your favorite flower to photograph, and why?

I love roses. They remind me of my grandmother, who always grew roses and was my first teacher of nature. The perfume of roses and the vast variety of colors, names, and styles all make me totally crazy. I just love them. They simply bring me joy the same way seeing a rainbow in the sky does. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

Read the rest on AO3

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon

Join my taglist!

[sl0t4matt]

could you do a fic w hector fort where him and the reader get a matching tattoo please? like something little or whatever you want hehe

h. fort | girl with the tattoo

thank you sm for requesting, i love this request! i only know very few things from friends abt tattoos so i hope i got everything right.

“hi baby how was training?” you ask hector as he slumps down the couch next to you, immediately snuggling up on you.

“it was fine. i would’ve rather stayed with you though.” he admits, laying his head on top of your lap.

you move your hands to his curls playing with them. you absolutely loved playing with his hair, since it was always perfectly curled and done. “don’t let xavi hear that.” you chuckle.

he starts grinning a little too suspicious.

“oh god, what have you done again you idiot.” with that look he must’ve done something, you thought. he smirks. “what do you mean?”

“do not play with me right now, hector. tell me!” you roll your eyes at his annoyingness.

“you know i love when you’re demanding, ma.” he winks liking his lips. you stand up not being able to deal with him right now. he knows exactly how impatient you are. he just loves pushing your buttons.

he won’t tell you. fine! he takes ahold of your wrist, immediately pulling you back.

“okay, okay i’ll tell you.” you sigh sitting back down. he smiles. “hector i swear-.”

“chill, i’m sure you’re gonna like it.” he interrupts you quickly. you furrow at him. what the hell could he mean? “okay so i got an appointment at the tattoo studio.”

“nice. what are you gonna get?” he smirks. “you mean what are we gonna get.”

“what?!” you’ve always wanted to get a tattoo but because of your school schedule you never got to doing it . you honestly also kept forgetting tbh but obviously hector didn’t.

“well i wanted to get your eyes tatted because you know how much i love them, but then i thought ‘oh y/n always wanted to get a tattoo’ so i thought why not just take you with me and we’ll get a matching one.” this boy is something else.

you grin so hard, it hurts. hector has always been affectionate moments like these remind you how much he truly is your soulmate. you jump on top of him shooting him with kisses. “i literally love you, you know that right.” he nods, laughing. “i love you too.”

“when is the appointment?” you ask. “7pm.” he shrugs. “are you serious! i don’t even know what we’re gonna get!!” you sigh, shaking your head at how your boyfriend can be so slow at times.

“we’ll get angel numbers of course. you’re a big astro girl.” hector says, referring to the time you first met him. (your first question being what his star sign is.) “wait, that’s actually a good idea.” he smiles smugly. “i know.”

…

“is it gonna hurt?” you ask hector as you enter the studio. “you don’t want me to be honest, ma.” you sigh. hector takes your hand. “i’ll go first if you want.” he says. you nod. you never had a big fear of needles. you yourself having a belly button piercing but a tattoo is different the pain is there for a while whereas when you get pierced it’s more like a poke.

you get in walking to the woman behind the counter.

“hi, we got an appointment for 7pm.” i smile at her. “of course. come with me.” she smiles back, bringing the both of you to the guy that does hector’s tattoos.

a bigger man with a beard greets us which you assume is the tattoo artist. he doesn’t quiet look scary though rather like a big teddy bear with lots of tattoos.

“the girl who’s eyes you’re getting tatted on?” he grins at hector. “yeah.” he smiles turning to look at you. hector isn’t very social with people he isn’t extremely close with, so he tries to keep his conversation as short as possible. you think it’s quiet ironic since you never seem to shut up, no matter who you’re talking to. they say opposites attract though!

he pulls out a picture handing it to him. the man nods, giving you a quick smile then takes his stuff out.

you follow hector as he sits down on a chair, extending his arm. he shows the guy where he wants it and how big it should be. the man doesn’t waste time and directly goes on tattooing him.

you sit beside him, squeezing his other hand, you being more scared of the pain he must be going through than hector himself is.

“you’re fine.” you stroke his hand, looking at him seriously concerned. “stop it you’re gonna make me laugh.” he mumbles. he’s so unserious.

it must not bother him much since he grimaces and curses on a few spots but keeps cool most of the time.

after him also getting the angel number tatto that is supposed to match with you, it’s finally your turn.

you’re pretty sure you’re gonna piss your pants as you wait in the room alone with hector because you’re so nervous. you don’t know how you’re gonna live to see see the next day after this. “you’ll be fine. it’s bad at first but you’ll get used to it. also i’m here for you, ma.” he tries cheering you up. “fucking hell.” you mutter. you’re probably going to experience the worst pain in your life here.

“are you ready?” the guy asks. with nodding your head, you go to sit on the same place hector sat when he got the tattoo.

you grip hector’s hand tightly, breaking it almost.

hector kisses the side of your face, whispering sweet words in your ear, trying to distract you from the needle that currently goes in and out of you.

“fuck.” you mutter through gritted teeth. “you’re doing so good, baby.” hector whispers. you bite your lip so hard you start tasting blood. “you wanna take a break?” the tattooer you now know as chris says. you shake your head, wanting it to end as soon as possible.

hector hates to see you like this: in pain. he hopes for it to end as soon as possible, the only thing he’s been wanting to do while you got tattooed being showering you with loving kisses, but he didn’t for the sake of chris since he’s sure he wouldn’t want to see a whole teen kissing session.

“it hurts so bad, hector.” you cry out. he moves stands of hair out of your face then cupping your face gently. “i know, baby but you got this.” he nods. the thing is you weren’t even being dramatic for once. this had the be the most hurting feeling you’ve ever experienced.

“we’re done!” chris pats your arm after he was done. your eyes meet with hectors, smiling lightly. you definitely knew you’re going to thank him at home for how he was there for you in this entire process.

[wowevenmoreloveonearth]

You know what? I have become a gaylor sympathiser

This is going to be a long post, sorry! Please read the full post before even thinking about commenting.

Over the past few days I’ve seen a few posts on my dash about taylor swift and her fans that have left a bad taste in my mouth.

I know that a lot of people think that some fans of her are “trying to make her gay” and I just wanted to put the record straight and defend some people after actually looking at what’s going on. And I know I’m probably opening myself up for tumblr’s poor reading comprehension but before I start I’m going to say this:

I do not think taylor swift is a lesbian

Ok? Now let’s have a conversation.

First of all from what I’ve seen most of the fans who talk about Taylor swift and queerness do it from a point of literary analysis and learning queer history. This is a huge part of the community and lots of people have said that they never would have learnt so much about queer history without reading taylor swift’s works through a queer lens.

Adding on to that point, it seems a little hypocritical for the gay site which loves queer readings of books, tv shows, songs, musicals, films etc to be bullying a pretty small group of people who are mainly doing queer readings of lyrics. Especially when those people get near constant death threats. Instead of bullying these people (who don’t think or do what you think they think and do) why don’t you go outside and think “does this affect me? No. Do I agree with them? No. Am I going to cyber bully them because of this? No.”

Secondly, for the people who believe that any speculation on a real persons sexuality is 100% wrong. I used to think this too but I have changed my mind a bit about this recently after stopping and thinking about it properly. I’m not trying to change your mind at all I just want you to stop and think for a minute.

If you only get mad when speculation is queer in nature, then maybe think about that for a minute. Why is it totally wrong to think a person might be queer. We probably do it in our daily lives with people we know and they likely do it with us, back in the day that’s how queer people found each other-by speculating on sexuality. Would you be upset if you found out someone that you know thought you might be queer? I wouldn’t, maybe you would but if you would, why? Why is it terrible to think someone might be queer (this is NOT about hounding a person to admit to being queer like shawn mendes, this is just thinking in your head and on your small blog that the person will likely never see). Also this is literally the website where we talk about historical (real people) being gay even when they would have never said something to the equivalent.

An addition to this point before people start saying in the comments is that this is NOT the same situation as with kit connor. The issue there was people assuming that he was straight and taking that role away from a queer person. Speculating that he was queer was the opposite of what happened in that situation. So this is not an example of what happens when you speculate queerness.

Final things to say:

1) don’t believe every post you see with someone looking insane about taylor swift being gay, a lot of them are fake.

2) before anyone says “they should listen to real queer artists instead” most of them very much do. There’s a lot of fans of Hayley kiyoko, girl in red, Janelle monae, tegan and sara, zolita, kehlani etc.

3) there are some queer flags that are there. Sorry but there are. Hairpin drops, lavender, the ladder, flag colours, songs about women, friend of dorothy reference. Whether they are intentional is a different matter.

4) shipping real people is not what is happening for the majority of the people in the community. Also this comes back to queer vs straight again. Plenty of swifties ship taylor with men she’s been seen with and no one goes into their inboxes and sends death threats even when they are the ones making taylor swift all about the men she may or may not have dated.

5) taylor swift has never stated her sexuality. I know this may be hard to belive based off of how some people act, but it’s true. She has made vague statements which could have many meanings but she has never clearly stated anything. When gaylors get upset with taylor it is not because she said she is straight, it’s because they are getting death threats and doxxed and she seems to either be unaware of it (which is unlikely given how she seems to be a little terminally online) or she doesn’t care enough to tell her fans to stop.

6) if she does explicitly say she’s straight then there will probably be disappointment in her use of queer history and flags and her potential queer erasure (as we saw with lavender haze, with straight women describing their relationships as lavender) and centring herself in queer spaces (like the you need to calm down music video) but no one will be angry that she’s not gay. And a lot will probably be grateful that she actually explicitly stated for the record to absolve any confusion. The main issue would likely be other fans ramping up the death threats and bullying.

In conclusion: these people who do queer analysis of Taylor’s work are not trying to out her or make her gay etc. if you don’t understand it that’s fine it’s clearly not for you and you can go quite easily without seeing any of it. It’s not illegal to read works through a queer lens and if it means more people know about queer history then I think that’s a very good thing.

I changed my mind after looking at what a lot of people are actually saying rather than what people perceive them to be saying and maybe you will too?

Just be kinder to people online please and if you don’t like what people are saying block them and do not engage!

[lemons-pears]

pre-playthrough doodles for mouthwashing [bit shite since i only referenced the steam page to avoid spoilers beforehand]❗

okay, so- i drew these lot before playing the actual game (maybe spoilers? went off the steam page photos/videos for references.) anyways here' my artistic breakdown in order of who got drawn first.

Jimmy - I knew he was the protagonist, went OKAY SO HE'S TRIPPING BALLS based on the trippy horse/pony and eye imagery in the trailers. Each eye for a different crewmember. Obligatory 'main character? of course, draw him first that's the privilege.' HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

Anya - She's really really pretty- um- I based her off this one scene from 'Pearl' because there were axe references made. Decided that she deserved a kick ass axe. Also the only character I had somewhat spoilers for since I watched an animatic on the 'dead pixel' scene a week before I got into this. Also, as the tired looking nurse, I would buy her crocs or something. Genuinely need to draw her again and properly.

Daisuke - Thought his shìrt was nice, did a little MIKU MIKU BEAM for him to show off his rings. Honestly didn't have much of him to go off but he reminds me of someone I know irl. He like me fr fr I love his design so much I need to figure out his shirt pattern.

Swansea - TBH IM NOT HAPPY WITH THIS DOODLE BECAUSE AFTER PLAYING THAT DOES NOT LOOK LIKE HIM. Based him off that one jester painting because he had disappointed dad feeling the end-times are coming after the match vibes. Met this guy before in a Tesco I sWEAR- I feel like he knows he's too old for this mouthwash bullshit. Spacing out all 'what the actual fuck'.

Curly - I... struggled so bad. With the bandages. Put him off until last. Harvey Dent has prepared me to draw eyes on the other side of the face like that. Want to do this man justice visually honest to God. Even if I genuinely believed he crashed the ship at the time because of the steam page. I played both 'How Fish Is Made' and 'The Last One And Then Another' before drawing these, and I loved meeting him as a little fish ball thing. Gave him the cake, too, since I assumed it would be his birthday at some point?

anyways. mouthwashing B]👍

[johnwickb1tsch]

you’re the worst thing (i’m addicted to)

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here...

Part 1.

“Hey, Hels.”

There is no answer, only the warbling of a bird in a distant tree. The day is bright and blue, spring has come again in all her glory. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that the sun should still shine, and the birds should still sing.

Because she is gone.

It’s been two years, but you still haven’t really wrapped your head around it.

You still have your last text message thread with her in your phone. It’s as though you could just punch a few buttons and still talk to her. Always, she would answer you, no matter what she was doing. Sometimes you want to type in I miss you and hit send, just to see what might happen.

But then, maybe it is appropriate, that today should be such a beautiful day. On this day, forty-two years ago, your sister was born. Roughly ten years later, you followed. As a direct result, your mother died of complications in childbirth.

Your father still blamed you, but Helen never did.

In a way, Helen was your mother, more than the woman who bore you.

It makes it all hurt so much more.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

You look down at the stone, this massive granite behemoth. You find it rather ugly, to be honest, but it will certainly stand the test of time, nuclear war notwithstanding. Loving Wife, reads the epitaph below.

You know it was true.

You know that perhaps John Wick is the only person Helen loved more than you. But the inscription still seems too brief. Short changing her, somehow. 

But then, John paid for the stone, so you suppose he got to pick what it said. 

You were ensuring her memory lived on in other ways. 

“I finally did as you asked,” you tell her. “I’ve used the photos you left me in a painting. We're going to be in a show together. I wish you were here to see it.”

There is a mean part of you that suspects your submission was only accepted because it contained work from the late, great, photographer Helen Morgan-Wick, but you shove that down into the seething pit with all the rest of your fears and doubts. You didn't use them for the attention. You did it to feel close to her, and because she asked you to. One final art project, the note had said. She knew you too well, knew that the only thing that kept you from toeing the line of the abyss was a good artistic obsession.

You knew she’d planned to leave a project for John too. A puppy, she’d said. You’d shared a laugh over it, through tears, the last time you’d been together. You never found out how that had gone. John hadn’t attended a family gathering since Helen passed.

Too painful.

You didn’t blame him one bit. 

“I miss you, Hels. I feel so lost without you.”

“Amen.”

The sound of another voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You turn to find him, in one of his signature tailored black suits, looking unfairly scrumptious despite the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't made a sound in his approach. He never did. The man moved like a ghost and looked like a dark dream. You'd always found him insanely attractive.

You'd never done anything about that, of course. But goddamn, you had eyes.

“Hi, John.”

“Hello, y/n.”

You’ve never run into him at the gravesite before, though you have seen the wilted offerings of daisies left by the stone, and you always had assumed they’d come from him. You haven’t seen him since Helen’s funeral. He hasn’t changed much, really, though there is a sharpness to his aspect you’d never noticed when Helen was alive. An edge to his gaze; how can eyes so dark convey so much? Despite yourself, it sends a little thrill down your spine that you absolutely know you should not revel in.  

Maybe you haven’t seen him in person after Helen passed, but you’ve gazed at him plenty through Helen’s lens. There had been so many photographs of him in the collection of prints she’d left you. Nothing risqué, but the way he’d looked at her even through the camera had been nothing less than intimate.

There were times, late at night in your studio, when you’d pretended he’d been looking at you that way.

“How…have you been?” 

He offers a grim shadow of a smile and a shake of his head that you understand all too well. 

“Nice to be with someone you don't have to pretend with.”

“Yeah.”

You both stare down at the grave, meditating on your loss of this woman who touched you both so completely.

“Do you think she can hear us?” you ask, unable to lift your voice above a whisper.

There is a long pause from her widower, the man she left behind.

“Not really.” He lifts his face to the sun, eyes closed, as though maybe he can feel something of her presence. “But you should talk to her anyway. I might be wrong.”

You smile at that.

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“All the time,” he admits with a huff of self-deprecating laughter. “But then, I might just be losing my mind.”

“Ah well. That makes two of us then.”

You gently lay down the bouquet of Gerber daisies you'd brought for her. Helen’s favorite. If you ever have a garden, you will plant some for her. As it is, you have to buy them from the store. You remember the patch of daisies she’d cultivated in the garden of your childhood home. Their cheerful faces and soft petals. They had been your mother’s favorite too. When you were a girl Helen would sing to you and braid them in your thick hair. You couldn’t know at the time, how precious those perfect days had been.

The wave of sorrow hits you like a freight train, the weight of your loss a crushing force. You start to cry, hiding your face in your hands; you would prefer to do this alone, but you cannot stop it.

You feel an arm about your shoulders. It surprises you—John was never a touchy-feely man, never one for hugs, always preferring a wave or a handshake. Only for Helen, did he ever display any sort of affection. They had always been touching, holding hands or sitting hip to hip on the couch, his strong arm slung protectively around her shoulders. You didn’t want to say you’d been envious of that, but…perhaps you’d wondered, what it might be like, to be so cherished.

When he pulls you against him you only manage some token resistance. “I’ll mess up your suit.” You sound pitiful, even to you.

“I have an excellent dry cleaner.”

His dry wit had always amused you. This time, it breaks you, and you give in. He is solid as an oak, and as it turns out, his chest is an excellent place to cry on. Under the shelter of his chin you wring yourself dry, until it feels like you have nothing left inside you. His large hand rests lightly upon the back of your head, shielding you from the world. He is warm, and his cologne is subtle but heavenly. Sandalwood, maybe, and something spiced. Cardamom, perhaps. A hint of pepper.

You don’t particularly want to move, even though you absolutely should. Yet his hold on you has not loosened, and you tell yourself that maybe John Wick needed a hug just as badly as you did.

“People keep telling me that it gets easier, and I just want to punch them in the face,” you sniffle.

A huff of laughter escapes him. You feel it stir your hair on the top of your head. “Yeah. I get that.”

Finally you pull back, though not as far as you should. You’ve never actually been this close to him before, and you look at each other from a foot away. Sometimes proximity can shatter the illusion of someone’s attractiveness—but not this man. The impossible angle of his cheekbones, the soft scruff of his beard…is it just you, or does the edge in his gaze soften a little, when he looks at you? It makes your legs a little weak, and you kind of hate yourself for it.

It has nothing to do with you, stupid, you tell yourself. Where you and Helen weren’t exactly twins, you did resemble each other strongly. In profile, you’d been mistaken for her in public plenty of times before. If anything, it was probably unnerving for this poor man who missed his wife so much, to hold you, a sorry facsimile, in his arms. Out of pity, most likely.  

Helen had been the good sister. The upstanding one, the kind one. You? You can be such a twisted little thing.

“Sorry,” you sigh, noticing the smudge of makeup on his lapel.

He doesn’t even glance down, that intense gaze still fixed upon you. “Don’t be.”

Unbidden heat blooms from your cheeks to your toes, finding yourself the subject of that gaze. You’ve got to go, before you really embarrass yourself.

“I'll leave you alone. It was nice to see you, John.”

You turn to go, hugging yourself against the early spring chill. Why did you have to feel so bereft, without his arms around you? You take a few steps before he calls after you, “Y/n?”

You freeze in your tracks, a thrill jetting down your spine. “Yeah?” you dare, turning to half look over your shoulder.

“I…was thinking about going to Helen’s favorite restaurant tonight. Would you like to join me?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest, as you slowly turn to face him. You should say no. There’s a thousand reasons you should say no. This was your sister’s husband. It doesn’t matter that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and that he’s been kind to you, and that he’s looking at you like he might drown if you say no.

“I would like that,” you answer, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears sounds like the hammering of nails into your own coffin.

Part 2

[saeki-rina]

Runaan is kinda out of character in season 7 of The Dragon Prince

I decided to start this thread because I haven't come across anything similar yet and the issue is bugging me. I would appreciate your thoughts and opinions because I'm very curious if anyone else has had a similar impression or has any other ideas about where it might come from.

My feelings after watching The Secret of Aaravos were like, "Runaan is out of character. He's not himself anymore, not completely. Man, he's become less believable to me as a character." I started to wonder why. Here's what I've come up with so far.

1. Runaan started looking out of character for his age.

In The Secret of Aaravos, Runaan looks younger to me than in The Dragon Prince. And much younger. What's the logical point of that? Even if we assume that while trapped in the coin the aging process stopped for him (which is not confirmed in any way, as far as I know), still - Runaan should look at least the same age as in Season 1. Not younger. Sure, maybe the team just decided they preferred a slightly changed/"new" character design, but still - it makes me as a viewer confused. Because I look at Runaan and just think "why did he suddenly get a decade younger?".

And I know Ethari also seems to look a bit younger with her new hair compared to Season 3, but not enough to be confusing. It's entirely possible that a new haircut or different clothing can make you look younger (I believe that's what Ethari is going for). But Runaan hasn't changed a bit in his appearance, and he still - looks much younger.

Credits - I know, the artstyle depends on artist, but still - chrologically younger Runaan looks more like in season 1 than 7

Bloodmoon Huntress

artbook

season 1

season 7

I noticed that Runaan already looks a bit younger in season 1, when he's not serious, irritated, angry, etc., but still, not as young as in season 7. There are limits.

2. Runaan behaves inconsistently with his character.

I don't mean like all the time, but in very situations. In my opinion, it comes down to a few things:

A) in season 7, Runaan's facial expressions are often inadequate to the original character creation.

I really understand the plot situation (2 years in the coin, regaining freedom, Rayla, a chance to return to Ethari) and the fact that Runaan could have changed - become more gentle. And it's no wonder that he's often sensitive this season, after all, he's in the company of Rayla or Ethari.

But I have the impression that the creators wanted to show how much is going on emotionally in Runaan so much that they overdid it. And there's nothing left of the ''COLD AND SHARP as steel'' assassin. His face is so expressive, he constantly seems lost and sad (but like a puppy, not an elf who after 2 years of absence might not keep up with the world).

I love the scene of returning to Ethari and the subtle smiles when she looks at him after picking mushrooms or during dinner, and the fact that he's also shown when he's grumpy [ ''Runaan's expression sheet is the only one to not feature a smile. This elf exclusively broods'' (The Art of the Dragon Prince), ‘’ our favorite broody assassin’’ (https://thedragonprince.com/runaan-birthday/)] . Very interesting, after seeing him only on duty or in prison in Season 1. But most of what is in Season 7 seems to me to be out of place for a serious, composed assassin.

In my opinion, the flashback from Season 3 did a very good job of balancing Runaan's standard seriousness of his expressionless face (or just neutral) with a situation where tenderness towards someone close to him creeps in. It looked natural and very believable.

B) some gestures do not fit Runaan's previous portrayal

Runaan's body language this season is strange to me. Even if he is lost after two years, hurt, tired - ok, I understand. But while in Season 1 his movements were decisive, confident, and - I really don't want to refer to stereotypes, but I can't find a better comparison, for which I apologize - "masculine", in The Secret of Aaravos Runaan sometimes moves strangely "softly". Maybe it's the animation, maybe the choice of shots, their fluidity, I don't know. But for me, even during the mission with Callum, Runaan no longer has the confidence in his movements that he had in season 1.

Unfortunately, I will refer to stereotypes again, sorry, but these are simply the only comparisons that came to my mind.

Two gestures in particular do not fit Runaan's creation so far. The first, when he looks at Silvergrove, putting his hands to his chest, and the second, when he tells Ezran "And yet with grace and strength, you have managed to lead with kindness". I know what the creators wanted to show, but I think the way they did it does not fit how Runaan was presented to us. In both situations, she looks more like the archetypal delicate and sensitive princess, not like a composed assassin who deals with many emotions and changes in mindset. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Runaan (or a man in general) can't be sensitive or delicate. I just think that it would be more consistent with Runaan's personality to show all of this in a more subtle way. For example, in the first situation Runaan might simply fall silent at the sight of Silvergrove, his gaze becoming softer and more thoughtful, camera focusing on his face (like when he saw a dragon egg or coins with Lain and Tiadrin in 1 season).

Apologetic but still self-aware worrior talks to king like that? It's hard to believe for me.

3. Runaan seems more like Rayla's brother than father

Because of his younger appearance, some indecisiveness in body language and a strange impression of "girliness" (again, sorry), as well as some plot situations, I stopped seeing Runaan as Rayla's father. At most an older brother, but it was really hard for me to convince myself that he was the same elf as in Season 1 or Bloodmoon Huntress.

And sure, I understand that maybe they wanted to show that now Rayla is taking care of him, that they are more equal, that Runaan allows her to take responsibility and prove herself. Still, the probably intentionally comical scene of Runaan resting and setting off to Ethari came across to me as if Rayla was scolding her siblings, not the adult elf who raised her. I understand that Runaan is impatient here and could have acted unwisely, but in my opinion it was a bit over the top.

In my language version, Runaan's voice actor changed - from someone with a ''typically male" voice to someone who sounds very "young". I know that this definitely affected my perception of Runaan, but then I watched all the scenes in English for comparison. It was better - now Runaan JUST LOOKED younger. But it still wasn't the Runaan from Season 1 or 3.

Summary

The more I think about it, the more I feel that Runaan's character in Season 7 is not consistent with what the creators presented in Season 1, 3 or the books (art book, Callum's Spellbook, Bloodmood Huntress).

I am deeply disappointed, because I followed this series mainly because of the Runaan, Viren and Aaravos storylines. And in each of them I see certain clashes and puzzling decisions of the writers. But nothing persecutes as much as the "new" Runaan - younger, more delicate (at times "girlish"), who says that he is Rayla's father, but somehow does not give that impression (cause he seems to be too young for that).

I do not understand these methods of the creators. I know what they wanted to show (maybe the confusion, the more delicate side of Runaan, his uncertainty, the change of previous beliefs about himself and his profession), but the way it was done does not convince me.

And although there are moments that I absolutely love and consider credible in the context of Runaan's personality (and the only problem is his younger appearance) - for me his character is no longer consistent with what we have seen and could read about him so far. In season 7 he's so often just looks like a lost, uncertain, delicate pretty princess to me.

I do not see in him that mature, determined warrior with the aura of a protector.

I feel more like I've met his twin brother - very similar in appearance, but very different overall.

season 1

season 7

[fanaticsnail]

Meet Tobiuo

Moodboard: Art by @skullfacedlady (centre image), and @thenotsofantasticlifestory (Kiki [OC], Tobiuo, and Heat). The rest of the images are found on Pinterest or are stock images. Lyrics are sourced from 'Come What May' and 'Until the Day I Die'. Song used found here, Morgan Clae is the artist.

Images: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen. Dividers by @/firefly-graphics.

Depicted below is a little about Tobiuo and history regarding her culture and her species. There are references to all Deep Blue fishfolk reproduction, but nothing overtly NSFW below. I have marked it with brackets if you would rather skip them.

Tobiuo

Many would assume she is quiet and reserved simply due to the fact that when her lips move, no sounds follow. Silence lies in place of tales, songs and laughter: only the flurry of hands and hasty etchings of carefully calligraphed words depict her emotions in communication that leaves nothing to misinterpret.

Her body language? Another beast entirely.

Tobiuo, for lack of a better word, is a boisterous himbo. Her emotions and intentions are written in the way she carries herself: shoulders arched, arms strong, and always in a stance to either tackle or tease. The way she gets the attention of those around her is pursing her lips and whistling, or to simply grip the wrist or trace the forearm of her companion up to their elbow.

Tapping in code, using Auslan to flutter her hands, and sometimes diving below the Tang and communicating via radar are the ways she chooses to depict her words.

She knows she's not the most comfortable creature to look at, and would never dream of making anyone uncomfortable by her touch, but sometimes she can't help it. If Penguin is needing assistance with a task in the kitchen, she'd bump her hip against his before swaying to the beat from the den-den radio. If Shachi ever requires an additional pair of eyes on watch, Tobiuo is up there with a blanket draped over her shoulders and sitting behind him: the single blanket cascading down his body as he slouches over and reads to her.

If Law is in need of his back realigning, all he has to do is give a lazy gesture of his hand before Tobiuo emphatically raises to her feet, crosses his arms over his chest, and hoists him effortlessly into the air to release the soft pops of taught muscle.

When partners and lovers are introduced for members of the crew, she's just as enthusiastic about them as she is her found family. Hands squeezing over knuckles, soft scrunches of her nose, punches of cheeks, warm, encumbering embraces: that's Tobiuo. If she could talk above water, her voice would be that extra layer of comforting gruffness that matches her playful physical outbursts.

The one thing she dislikes, and will be slow to forgive, is if any reference to her fishfolk heritage is spoken of in a negative light. Her name, Tobiuo, translates to “flying fish.” Any depiction or slur, even in jest, and she is using her larger frame and stronger body to pin down and place a warning bite at the jaw of all those who attempt to do so. Being called “fish” or anything to do with oceanic life that reflects her genetic markup, spoken as a negative, makes her upset.

She does not think she is very attractive. Her eyes are otherworldly, her gills on her face, elevated bumped scales on her skin, and webbed ears, shoulders, hands and feet are all aspects of herself that set her apart from the majority of her crew. She envies the ability to speak and fit in with the society she interacts with on shore, reminded by her reflection puncturing the corner of her eye that she's not like the others. Even in fishmen circles, her folk are foreign and often thought of as simply a myth or creatures from fables.

Her crew loves her, and she loves them. She feels at home with them, and is extremely loyal to Trafalgar Law. Growing close since he found her entangled in shackles and chains, she sees him as an angsty little brother that is in constant need of cheering up or teasing. She respects him as a captain during her scheduled work hours, but treats him like a sibling outside of that.

Wrestling, rough housing, sparring, grappling, hugging, platonic kissing, nose brushing, hair braiding, back cracking, massaging: Tobiuo wants to express her emotions physically, as much as she can. If she receives it in return, in her mind, she is immediately friends. Respect her, listen to her orders as chief of security, and give her permission to sit closely beside her friends: that's all she asks.

This physical touch is what makes it difficult to differentiate between friendly touch and romantic expression for her. She kisses her friends on the foreheads and lounges with them, splaying her entire weight over them, or cradling them into her. How is she to know any different?

For her, falling in love takes time. She is blissfully ignorant of people looking her way without explicitly suggesting that they find her attractive and would like to pursue a relationship with her. Leaning in for a kiss? Tobiuo would shake her head with a soft smile at such a joking notion before reaching up to brush her lips over their head.

A lot of things go over her head, but when she catches on? She will shut down while she attempts to process as to why someone would ever want to see her in that light. She's had trysts and couplings in the past, sure, but navigating an entirely new beast like infatuation and romance is a foreign concept to her. She doesn't know what she's doing.

Tobiuo’s body is very taught and athletic, and littered in scars she has no memory of receiving. She has lean arms, and her legs are her strength. With all the throwing and lifting she does in combat, a lot of takedowns are done by sweeping and pinning. Her body is pear-shaped, and she usually dresses to hide her insecurities regarding her hips and otherworldliness outside of her Heart-Pirate uniform.

The clothes she owns consist of her boiler suit, heart pirate stock pajamas, her yukata from Wano, and her bathing suit. She doesn't own any other clothes, and will need assistance if she ever chooses to buy them. She has no sense of fashion, she just goes off vibes alone.

Her eyes are milky with no pupils, and her perception of the world is both hindered and advanced by the fact she is color blind. The only colors she can see clearly are the bioluminescence of her skin radiating in the light, alongside the temperature changes of others’ auras. She does have an awareness of what color is, but she does not actively care about what she's missing. What she does have is the ability to make out shapes in perfect perception underwater and at night. She can also see at great distances.

Her face includes large gills on each cheek, and two smaller beneath each eye. Her ears are frilled and webbed, matching two that lie flat against her shoulder blades. Unless she desires to jump higher or swim faster, they remain within her body until she releases them. Like the species she gets her name from, she can jump and hover over the ocean up to 300’. She can only hover when her shoulder fins are exposed, but she does not enjoy having this species feat well known. Her uniform was twin zips at the back that open up to allow for this ability.

The teeth in her mouth are all incredibly sharp, two larger canines on her top and bottom jaw, but all small enough for all to be hidden behind her lips. Her barbed tongue is tucked safely behind her teeth, but can flicker out into a pointed tip that extends below her chin. The feel of the barbs are coarse, but not sharp. Little ribbed peaks litter her palate, hindering her ability to truly taste food. She enjoys textures and different tingles on her tongue rather than fussing at the flavors. Sichuan green peppercorns are her favorite, the numbing effect has always been a delight for her.

Tobiuo is exceptionally self-conscious of her teeth, and often keeps her lips shut to hide this from others. Given her height is over seven feet, her tongue can extend a full seven inches outside her lips should she desire to demonstrate it.

Her fingers and toes are webbed, her nails sharpened into medium length claws. She also has scales framing her face, down her shoulders, over her ribs and lining the outside perimeter of her body.

While the scales are not visible in raw light, under UV and in great depths of the sea, they can be seen. They can also be felt to the touch, and are slightly ticklish. Intentionally touching her scales is seen as an intimate act for her people, and will only allow the touch for two reasons: genuine curiosity, and courtship practices. These scales can malt, and the peeling process is an awful and itchy experience.

Reproduction for her people is complex.

There are two species of fish-folk that lurk in the depths: angler-type mer-species that act as a lure to unwitting prey, and barbaric folk that have twin legs in lieu of a single fin.

Her half-sister, Masami, is an angler-mer, and is next in line to succeed the species as their ultimate queen. Tobiuo was meant to be the warrior to protect her, and the final trial that she underwent is the reason for her scarring and memory loss. She is unaware of this, and equally unaware that her sister has embarked on a mission to actively seek her out and bring her home.

Both of these species are born as male with the potential of becoming female should they hear ‘The Call’.

Reference for Gender Gyration in the Fish World: sequential hermaphroditism.

Breeding and reproduction includes spawning season, a flurry of eggs being laid by all those claiming the identity of female. This is done in a cave mouth, a soft pocket where air meets water in a warm humidity, where the Deep Blue folk take turns in nurture, care and protection over their developing young. This is done outside the body, no pregnancy is done internally. Each season, only a select few are chosen to reproduce to ensure no season of young are related genetically to the other.

The groups are all given names, and this is how they identify their bonds to one another. There are seven familial rotations that rotate genetically: wind, flame, sand, tide, illuminance, shadow.

Genetically, her sister belongs to illuminance: her father took another mate when her mother died. He has only spawned two young, and kept Masami away with his new bride when he shifted colonies. He returned when that fresh colony was wiped out by a sea king lurking in the depths of the furthest point of the Deep Blue.

Siblings and Cousins, Uncles and Aunts, Father's and Mother's, Nieces and Nephews, and potential mates are categorized genetically. If Tobiuo was to spawn, she would engage with her genetic mate: Flame or Tide. She is Wind: Flame is said to make her young stronger, and Tide is said to move faster with the swell of current. She is only permitted to engage with either of those if she wants to have offspring.

She does not want to have offspring, but does want to be a fiercely loyal and protective aunt to any young thrown her way. She adores new life, but it is not a life she wants for herself.

All of the women in Tobiuo's culture are what most humans refer to as trans or intersex. They're born with the genetic capacity to be both male and female. At fifteen, some receive what they refer to as 'The Call', akin to puberty, where they feel an overpowering urge to become female. This is the only true, extremely painful part of their puberty journey.

The males of Tobiuo's species are shorter than the females. Part of the process of 'The Call' is the stretching, breaking, and shifting of bones to make them larger. Few females survive this process. Tobiuo and Masami are both anomalies, it is rare to have two females within the same family.

The process involves shifting the bulb at their abdomen internally, their semen calcifying and forming into pouches of squishy orange spheres that would become clutches of eggs. A hormonal release coats their insides and shoots throughout their veins and blooms at their chest to form breasts. The mounds are capable of expressing lactation to feed their offspring should the parents be inclined to.

The shifts in abdominal structure and bone are a test to their endurance, and screams are heard throughout the Deep Blue that can register on submarine radar. It is not pretty, but it is a natural process.

This happens at sixteen years old.

Birthing clutches occurs over three to five days, to which small eggs are laid in batches of five to seven. They're given a ceremonial blade to cut them open to prevent insemination before they're fed to the sea. This is extremely private, and is not spoken about outside of extremely close relationships. Menstration occurs biannually.

If the eggs are cultivated, few fry make it to full gestation. It is not uncommon to have a clutch of fry laid in batches of five to seven. Inseminated eggs can take up to 1.5-3 years in the egg before they are ready to hatch.

Tobiuo does not want children.

The ceremony afterwards includes having an elder of the Deep Blue present the new female with a ceremonial blade they will use for their menstration, and they introduce themselves by a new name they will now refer to themselves as.

The first person they introduce themselves by their new name as female is a woman they respect.

Tobiuo introduces herself to Masami's mother, Ria, her step mother.

Tobiuo's name as a male was Takeshi - meaning "military" or "warrior". She chose Tobiuo because she has wings on her back and she's a Fishwoman. Flying fish seemed appropriate, and nobody would dare question her choice. She liked the way it sounded, and her Auslan sign name remains the same.

Her species is monogamous, and they choose a mate that is their special person for life should they unify through marriage. If one of them dies, they go into a state of mourning that can last anywhere between five years, to the rest of their natural life. After the five year period, they are asked to speak of the desire to take another mate, and the colony respects whatever decision they make.

Tobiuo enjoys dancing. There is a festival her people celebrate with to enjoy their amphibious attributes called the 'Irukandji Jellyfish Festival'.

Tobiuo's people don't celebrate many overworld traditions: Valentine's, Christmas, Easter, St Patrick's day, etc. Birthdays are celebrated in brood clutches: one birthday per year shared with hatch-mates. New year for them is based on the lunar cycle, which is another tradition all together named: "Call of Tide," to be discussed later.

The Irukandji Jellyfish festival is an event that began as courtship practices for her species to find their mates. Now, it is used as an excuse for her species to get naked and enjoy parading from the depths of the ocean, to the rise in the sand and rock.

It involves: Music sung by the sirens in the deep, drums beating on the dunes, and painting your bodies in a way to match your clutch-designation. The only thing worn to these events is the paints, and although it was initially used as a way to attract a mate, it is simply used now as a time to drink, dance, and enjoy the freedoms involved in a life between land and sea.

If an outsider is invited to share in this experience, their host (in this case, Tobiuo) would grant them a designation from the different factions and have the honour of painting their bodies. The paints are bioluminescent, and can only be removed by a special ointment dabbed at the skin. It does not come off in water, as it is a way to share which clutch they hatched from.

To receive an invitation, simply ask Tobiuo if there are any traditions she would like to share. She would wholeheartedly want to invite an outsider as a guest to dance with her, so long as they are okay with the fact that all parties attending are expected to be fully naked.

Guests are extended a title of brood clutch to don their paints, often at the bequest of their host. Wind, flame, sand, tide, illuminance, shadow, all have unique paint for their designations, and Tobiuo adjusts the markings of her guests accordingly.

The more she likes an individual, the closer she'll mark her bonds with paint. For a romantic partner, she will either give them 'flame' or 'tide' to match her 'wind'.

I hope you enjoyed reading about Tobiuo. I adore talking about her, and she is just so much fun to draw. If you made it this far, here is a picture of when Tobiuo decided to go clothes shopping by herself.

She's upset because Shachi and Penguin made fun of her. She thought she looked nice: like a coral swaying in the wind. They said she looked ridiculous and to take it back.

This is what she returned with, after receiving a little bit of guidance from her friend. She likes the other one better, but this one got a better reaction from her crew.

[vasito-de-leche]

so remember when we were all wondering what's with the r1999 character profile page?

the "an arcanist's work displayed in the 19xx"

and with their length x width dimensions

and how our chosen character in our home page retreats to being a painting in the background

anyways...in one of the new game infos in the loading pages (which has a very short window of reading time so it was hard to catch), it was said that:

there was a strange phenomenon of people turning into paintings that they can't find the cause of

based on what we have so far i am not liking what bluepoch could be implying in that loading page 🥹

For those who don't know or haven't seen it yet, they're talking about the following loading screen (ty to Tale's lore server for providing these!)

I just assume that these details are part of the whole artistic theme within the game, like how each Chapter is named after a real book, all the references to artistic movements and so on and so forth. As well as Vertin's role as the Timekeeper─she's meant to record and keep evidence from different eras, which sounds to me like a job for an art collector, conservator or restorator! So it makes sense to me that the people she saves are seen as art pieces.

Besides, the suitcase/Wilderness is a very vague, mysterious place. It's a literal pocket dimension that just seems to do its own thing and follow its own rules. I'm willing to casually accept that, sometimes, people turn into paintings for no apparent reason because it's a LITERAL pocket dimension that pulls people from time and space.

If I think reaaally hard ... Maybe you're implying that the people within the suitcase are doomed to become paintings eventually, because they're in the wrong era?

But that makes no sense, because there's hundreds of other survivors within the Foundation, Manus Vindictae and Apeiron so far who survive just fine─and Chapter 05 revealed why some places are immune to the "Storm."

Any potential arguments to support this theory don't hold up from my perspective, either. For example, the idea that the arcanists Vertin pulls from the spinning wheel in the middle of the lake are different from people who survive the "Storm" through different means (siding with either the Foundation or Manus, or by being in Apeiron, these are the only examples we have so far), and therefore they don't count, so they could be affected in different ways. This doesn't hold up, because Vertin pulled Sonetto, someone from the same era as her, into the suitcase through the spinning wheel. Whereas Regulus, who comes from an entirely different era, was just pushed inside. And yet, both of these characters turn into paintings anyway when you select them on the main screen.

So I don't think I understand the "implication" you're talking about and why you wouldn't like it? But please, feel free to elaborate on a different ask/reblog/reply, etc etc! I'd love to know!