#[stay tuned!]

[ruubesz-draws]

What if...

April Fools!

*DO NOT REPOST MY ART*

[leychin]

backshots this breeding that,, what happened to REAL literature like 10k one chapter slowburns...

[wolfchans]

BANG CHAN ♡ LOVE YOUR W EVENT

[gamorahww]

𝐅𝐈𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 ━ 𝑑𝑎𝑦 2. 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔

Today I'm holding space for the idea that in the context of the movie, dancing is a coping mechanism for Fiyero. While caring is a cure and a solution and an answer. I mean it is nothing new, but it needs to be said.

There will be a separate post on Dancing Through Life later today, but for now, we're starting from later. At history class, Fiyero voluntarily steps up to help the lion cub, and they make it all the way to the forest. Shortly after they are safe, and start talking, Elphaba says, "I know my life would be much easier if I didn't care, but—" and Fiyero cuts her off at exactly this point in her sentence. And I think that moment is crucial. Up until now, he’s never interrupted her before—but now he does and not because he’s frustrated with how much she talks, but because of what she’s saying. He doesn’t want to hear her talk about caring. That’s a pain point for him.

Because he knows it’s easier not to care. That’s the story he tells himself.

The lyrics in Dancing Through Life go: "Why think too hard when it's so soothing?" Soothing what? You don’t need to soothe something that doesn’t hurt. Soothing is only necessary when there’s an ache. To me this means he has cared before, and he has been hurt by caring before, and now he's coping with that by dancing through life. He is soothing his pain from secretly caring just too much, by dancing. Not because he doesn't care anymore about anything, but because he can't stop doing it, so he has to keep dancing. Dancing is loud, and visible. If he dances, people don't ask questions about his personality about what he thinks or how he feels. Maybe they haven't been doing it anyway, so he distracts them by doing his little dance, and as soon as they get too close, he pushes them away. But what he believes to be true for now is that caring = painful and dancing = a way to cope with that pain

But Elphaba just saw him care—deeply. She knows he’s capable of it. And she knows how unbearably sad it must be to choose to pretend otherwise. At the same time, she also understands how painful caring can be, she just highlighted is. In that moment, they find common ground.

But Fiyero’s façade—his carefree persona—is what he assumes people value in him most. So the second he realizes Elphaba doesn’t see him that way, he panics. He thinks that if she can see through him, it means she doesn’t want him there. No one has ever appreciated him for anything beyond the image he projects. So if that mask is gone… what’s left? Why would she still want him around, if he's not fun and happy and carefree? So he starts to leave.

And then she proves him wrong.

Not only does she say "she does (want his help)," but she physically holds onto him, keeping him there. The shock on his face (second gif from the bottom) says everything—he never expected someone to want him without the act. And later, when she touches his face so gently, you can see him struggling to process it. This is the most vulnerable he’s ever been, and it terrifies him. Not only that, but Elphaba sees a scar on his face, and sees that he has been hurt, without him noticing it. She reaches out and touches him gently, not really wanting anything, and he just can't bear it.

Her caring for him is not painful, it's soothing.

His Freudian slip a few beats later—"I better get to safety."—isn’t just about physical danger. This doesn’t feel safe. Being seen, being wanted for real, is the opposite of what he’s used to. Caring and being cared for are equally scary, but only the latter seems like a completely new experience for him. However, after feeling it, he finds something so real that he just yearns for it from now on. Yearns to be seen and touched and to be needed for something he did instinctively, without a thought, something he did because it felt right.

That’s why the later scene with Glinda is so important. When she holds his hand, the shot mirrors the moment with Elphaba—but with one key difference. Glinda is pulling him away, back into the world of pretense. But he can’t go back, not after this, and you can see him looking back at where he came from, back to the forest, back to Elphaba, back to being seen. For once, caring was not painful, and someone cared for him as well.

[qqueenofhades]

Male student sends me email about something that is not my responsibility (it is his advisor's, who is not copied on said email); requests me to do something that he needs to do for himself; ends email with "send reply ASAP."

It is not even two weeks into 2025 and the Christmas wish that @oldshrewsburyian fondly made for us to have less campus novel fodder in the new year seems to be, uh, struggling.

[may12324]

Opening my online store tommorrow!

So if you've been eyeing my Baldur's Gate art, I'll have them up for sale! Including large scroll prints, bookmarks, as well as digital files!

My Store will be open from the 27th of Feb to the 8th of March or until I reach 100 physical orders.

[ryebecca]

a dagger tale as old as time: "Look, Anita! Puppies everywhere!" 🐶 🐾 ✨ | (a 101 Dalmatians!Bob AU because you can't tell me that Bob Floyd isn't the most Roger-coded of all time - thanks to @withahappyrefrain and @bobfloydsbabe for the idea!)

[palossssssand]

Solidified these body-themed angel designs, and I'm planning on making them into pins so here is an interest check! They will likely be 2.5~3 inches tall, red will be rose gold plated and blue will be silver plated.

[iristhepng]

joe & kaiser portraits !!!!! who said love can’t blossom between two middle aged men in the boxing ring ?

[sai-int]

HOW TO DISAPPEAR | Sour - 2

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mlist . series mlist . ao3

"How’ve you been?"

His words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain. You don’t respond—your gaze locked on your glass, the drink familiar in its color and weight. You take a sip, the sweet burn sharper than you remember, filling a bitter void you hadn’t noticed until now.

His hand covers yours at the center of the table, breaking your trance. The warmth is painfully familiar, a sting that cuts deeper than you’d like to admit. When your gaze lifts, John’s eyes are already on you, steady and unflinching, as though he hasn’t looked away since he sat down.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, time seems to slow. You glance at his hand—the same one that used to hold you, steadying you through the chaos of your lives, moments that were long behind you.

His face is more weathered now, something in his eyes harder, colder. You can see the years in him just as clearly as you feel them in yourself. Time hasn't been kind to either of you, but it’s the space it’s created between you that cuts the deepest.

You pull your hand away, instinctively trying to reclaim some distance. You steel yourself, but your voice comes out hoarse. "What are you doing here, John?"

He doesn’t flinch. Never does. It's almost unnerving how little he's changed. He leans back in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. "Came to check in," he says casually, downing his whiskey like it’s nothing, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

You can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up, bitter and sharp. "You're four years too late for a 'check-in,' John."

His jaw tightens, something flickering behind his eyes, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a drag from his cigar, the smoke curling lazily in the dim bar light, and exhales slowly. "Things got... complicated," he mutters, his voice rough, like he’s still unsure how to say it.

You want to argue, to throw everything you’ve been holding back for years right at him, but something keeps you quiet. You take a generous gulp of your drink before setting it down with a soft clink. The tension between you thickens, oppressive.

"You left me, John," you say, voice low but sharp, "You walked away. And now you think you can just walk back in?"

His gaze softens, memories of that day flooding back unbidden. The moment he stepped into your hospital room, met your warm eyes and soft smile—only to be the one to shatter it all. He forced himself to watch as the light in your eyes dimmed, the warmth replaced with pain. He owed you that much, at least. For a fleeting moment, regret flickers across his face before vanishing beneath the stoic resolve he’s mastered for so long.

"I didn’t know how to stay and protect you," he admits, the words rougher than you expected, like they’ve been sitting in his chest for a while. His fingers twitch around his glass, betraying his calm façade, but it’s the slight tightening of his jaw that betrays his true emotions. You catch his moment of vulnerability, and you realize how much you’ve missed studying those little, subtle signs. "And I sure as hell don't know how to fix this."

The weight of his words lingers in the air. You didn’t expect him to say that, but it doesn’t change anything. Not really, after all this time.

Your hand brushes his as you reach for your drink. It's quick, almost accidental, but it sends a ripple through you. The faintest shiver runs down your spine—a brief flash of something familiar, something you thought you’d left behind. You hold your breath, fighting the pull to reach for him again, to find some kind of solace in the warmth of a touch you know all too well, yet fear all the same.

His gaze drifts to the booth you once claimed as your own, where laughter still seems to echo like a ghost. For a moment, he’s lost in it, he's sure a part of you both still haunts the seats. His focus snaps back to you, but not before you catch him looking, and feel the weight of why you’ve been avoiding that booth, too.

"Yeah," you mutter, shifting your gaze to avoid his eyes. The ice in your glass rattles with a quiet shake as you try to steady your hands. "Maybe it's your fault for thinking I needed you to protect me."

John’s expression tightens at your words. He takes another drag from his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the low light. The smoke hangs between you.

His eyes search yours, measuring how far he can push, how much you’ll let him in. You shift in your seat, the weight of the pain dragging you down like a leaking hull.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally says, his gaze falters from your own. "Thought I needed to protect you... I was wrong." His words are slow as if he's testing the waters, trying to see if there's any chance that you’ll let him in again.

A part of you wants to believe him, to believe that he didn’t leave because he wanted to, but the years of silence weigh too heavy. You wonder if it’s too late for any of this.

You aren't sure how to respond. The anger still simmers beneath your skin, but there's something else you can't shake. He’s not the same man who left you all those years ago. Or maybe he is, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now that wasn’t there before. You see it. You sense it. He's changed, and so have you.

Swallowing hard, you try to keep your emotions in check.. The years of being alone, of picking up the pieces... You won’t let him see that. Not yet, at least.

Tears well up, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall.

"I don’t think I can ever forgive you for what you did," you manage, the words scraping like gravel in your throat.

John looks down at his glass, his shoulders heavy as he swirls the whiskey, staring into it like it holds answers he’ll never find. When he finally takes a sip, the light in his eyes has dimmed, replaced with something harder, something resigned. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t offer excuses.

The silence stretches between you, broken only by the soft hum of the bar. You glance at the booth again, the ghost of a memory flickering there—a quiet laugh, his hand brushing yours, the fleeting hope you’d felt back then.

"But," you say, voice trembling despite your best efforts. You inhale deeply, steadying yourself, clenching your fists as if the words themselves weigh more than you can bear. "I... I’d like to try."

For the first time tonight, you meet his gaze fully, no longer avoiding his eyes, no longer pretending that none of this matters.

You see it then—the faintest flicker of something in his eyes. Not hope, exactly, but something close to it. Nostalgia. A question he doesn’t yet dare to ask.

The tension lingers, heavier now, while the soft blues and whines of an electric guitar drift back into focus. Neither of you moves, neither of you speaks. It feels as though the past itself is watching, waiting to see if its grip on you both can finally loosen.

John leans forward slightly, pressing the stub of his cigar into the ashtray with deliberate care before setting it aside. His shoulders sag just enough to betray the weight he’s been carrying. He lingers there, the silence palpable, before letting out a breath he’s been holding for years.

"I’d like that," he says, his voice almost a whisper.

tags | @fruitymoonbeams-blog

[nosnexus]

This one will definitely go over the 4 hour rendering limit I put on myself for the Huevember stuff…

But I don’t care cause I really wanted to draw THEM again! 🤡

[ruubesz-draws]

New comic series featuring the Godzilla Brothers and Mothra :) Will we finally get to see Minus One and Mothra's first meeting?

Stay tuned!

Part 1

I nearly made a dumbass mistake lol:

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

PART EIGHT

Listen. Listen. Listen.

I will go over everything between Kinger and Pomni’s convo in Hell in a more in depth analysis, amongst other significant things that happen in the episode.

But before all that, these are the last little bits that I just wanted to mention.

Again, lighting is hella (lol) dark, but I’m in love with this extreme wide shot view of Kinger and Pomni staring into the hallway of the damned because it’s very similar to this shot with Pomni and Gummigoo in ep 2 when they were stuck under the map👇🏽

Both scenes make the characters look so small.

And, incidentally, both locations happen to be “underground”!

These are quite literally the low points of the episodes, and in both instances the characters experiencing emotional turmoil are able to resurface with newfound hope from the help of a friend.

It really drives home Kinger’s point about how their current existence may seem pointless, but having people who care about you can mean a lot.

These characters are trapped in this massive virtual world with so little control over their lives, yet they can still find comfort in each other.

We know this is physically painful for Pomni.

We know because she tells us right at the beginning.

Anyone who has ever held their breath for a long time, either while swimming underwater, avoiding noxious fumes, or just for kicks, understand that when your body is screaming to take a much needed breath your brain is instilled with the fear of suffocation if you continue to deprive yourself of oxygen. Ya know that thing people normally need to live.

However, we also know that, because the player’s digital bodies aren’t real, that fear is now rendered unwarranted. Pomni has been told that she should have no fear of death if she doesn’t take a breath, yet she still feels it, because she is still afraid of it.

Now of course this is much easier said than done, but it is what ultimately helps Pomni in the end. And it’s done almost accidentally because just as Pomni is beginning to feel the fear of suffocating…Kinger starts to glow, and as a result creates a sort of distraction for her to make it through the hallway. She is no longer thinking about how she should be afraid of dying. Kinger, just by walking through "hell" with her, helped her become a little braver.

It’s not only visually beautiful, it’s also thematically heartwarming.

This overhead shot of Pomni approaching Ragatha is so funny to me cuz it feels so unnecessary.

We already know she smol, the angle here is almost rubbing it in!

Look at this loser. Absolutely enamored with this girl finally giving her positive attention.

Meanwhile Jax’s literally stuck in the background watching this sapphic saccharine scene playing out against his will thinking

[relatablepicturesofscully]

[hazeldrop]

webtoon does NOT like what ezra does with lucy in next week's page

[cinamun]

I don't play about my husband | Next