#i fr had fun writing this

[yuno-karei]

Misfits water gun fight! Who will emerge victorious? Only one way to find out

I did this piece for one of the @mairumadevizine prints! It was also done long before the beach chapters in the manga and I really just... balled with their designs

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I genuinely love not having a crush like I’m not over here feeling physically sick over some mid guy being dry to me I’m literally chilling

[grimesgirll]

“good fucking girl.”

is definitely not something rick should be saying to his best friend’s girlfriend - especially not with his cock halfway down her throat.

the moment shane had stepped out for a run with glenn and michonne, you and rick were all over each other. you couldn’t handle sneaking into rick’s bed down the hall anymore. you were bound to end up in his lap on the sectional, pawing at him like a bitch in heat.

it’s not that shane didn’t fuck you; he took every chance he got. you’re just enamored with rick. ever since your boyfriend had “shared” you with his fellow officer, rick had been on your mind.

the way his brown constable’s jacket fit against his muscles when they flexed. the glint of his chocolate curls. how good he is with judith.

rick gets you goin’ in a way shane hasn’t for quite some time. he was right when he got you down on your knees back at the rest stop. you did look at rick like you wanted to drain him and then have him bend you over and fuck you silly - and that’s what ended up happening.

ever since that day, shane got off on toying with you and having you sit on rick’s cock in addition to his own. he uttered excuses about the stresses of their new duties as constable but you just slid down your denim skort and squealed the occasion away.

you’re quiet now, nice and muffled on rick’s dick as you swallow around him. the motion has him twitching in your mouth. wanting to finish off inside of you for the night, the thick length in your mouth is withdrawing and suddenly you’re in that familiar face down position again.

“so wet, baby,” rick remarks in awe as his length brushes your slippery entrance.

you’re squeezing your thighs together - trapping him between the pillowy soft surfaces. “rick,” you cry. “c’mon, already.”

“what’d we say?”

you swallow, a tear from how needy you are sliding down your cheek. “please, sir.”

you could care less if shane walked in right now. as long as rick keeps driving his hips into yours and breathing your name like a prayer, you’ll be content. content to get fucked silly by the man before he takes you in his arms and spends the night with a hand on your waist and his nose buried in your hair.

that’s after though.

now, you’re being nearly fucked up the couch.

rick’s just enjoying the way your sweet little cunt grips him like it needs him. the little thing sucks him in even better than your mouth.

and you’re a whole other story. sweat sticking to your glistening forehead, you’re babbling incoherent thoughts, strung out on the cock molding you to his shape.

your slick is pooling around rick like he’s in the fucking atlantic. so close to losing it all over him already, you’re making an absolute mess of the couch that you’ll have to resolve before shane gets home. don’t want him suffering from any fear of missing out.

the man is swept from your mind when rick absolutely crams his cock inside of your clinging cunt. the kiss to your cervix is enough for you to start seeing spots around the older man making you take his cock so well.

every time you park your pussy on rick’s thick dick and come, you ground down, grasp his hand, do anything to get as close as possible. feeling him to skin to skin is second only to feeling him fill you up. the filthy praises coming from his lips come close as well.

“fuck, baby, so nice and tight. you want me to come inside you, huh? have shane come home to this pussy all messy?”

you’re shaking your head like you have any idea what you’re asking for. “yes, rick! i want you to make a mess of my pussy.”

“then come all over this cock, honey.”

“mhmm, rick, i-,”

“that’s it.”

“i love how deep you are, rick-,” you’re bumbling like an idiot and muttering a string of “i love you”s as the dam bursts and you come undone on rick’s cock.

the pulsing warmth beneath you is accompanied by a husky, “i love you too,” and a chorus of your name into your shoulder as rick used his horsecock to fuck you two through your climaxes.

the friction on your clit heightens the heat surrounding you and flooding into you from rick. you’re almost overwhelmed by the bruising kisses rick purples onto your neck as he gathers you on top of him.

“you did so good, honey,” he’s praising you and you’re just nodding, humming, “thank you”s and “i know”s until he’s bear hugging you again. the way he nuzzles into your neck from behind and exhales into your hair is enough for you to forget trudging up to bed and drift off into rick’s touch right there.

you’re already asleep in his arms but he takes the time to stroke your hair and kiss up and down your temples. god, he loves getting this time with you to himself - even if you’re asleep.

with you pressed against him and your heartbeat thrumming, the world is still and rick realizes something - he’s never letting you go.

[unicornpopcorn14]

Isn't it interesting how teen skk are like... way more tragic than their adult selves?

[tojisun]

hot to the touch

toji x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; clothed lap riding; begging; so much praises because praise kink goes hard; slight dacryphilia; soft dom toji; fingering; no actual penetration though sorry about that teehee // 1.6k words

: i was daydreaming this multiple times until i caved and wrote it hhshs hope you guys would like it <33; title from west coast - lana // shortest taglist: @whats-belay <3

you squeeze your legs close again, catching your bottom lip between your teeth, pretending that the lack of space between you and toji isn’t doing anything to you. you rub your thighs against each other, breath hitching when the action puts pressure at your throbbing heat.

rumbling groans reverberate from the space beside you and you startle, your heart leaping into your throat, lodging itself there. your shoulders tense, realizing that you have been caught, and slowly, as if it could stop the hammering of your heart, you turn to look at toji.

you catch his burning gaze – emerald eyes hooded with palpable desire – and you gasp, your lungs tightening. 

bathed in the dim lights of the flickering television, with his hair creating shadows just above his sharp jaw, toji has never looked more dangerous. 

he has never looked more hungry.

“c’mere,” toji murmurs, his voice echoing like a growl, his body twisting to reach for you before plucking you from your seat beside him and dropping you to his lap. 

your chest meets his, and you stumble, untethered, your fists clenching at his shirt to balance yourself. it didn’t do much, not when toji caught you, his hands finding purchase on your hips. 

your eyelashes flutter as you look at toji, studying the man under you. toji’s face is flushed, his eyes hazy. drunken.

“y’r so fucking horny f’r no reason, huh?” he asks, almost a little meanly.

toji sees the way your eyes glazed over, your fingers twitching from where they were curled at his shirt. his eyes zone in one the way your parted legs widen, your knees locking on either side of toji, soft skin going taut in tension. 

he grins. 

you whimper, breathless, feeling toji’s thumbs rub aimless circles on your sides. toji lifts himself a little bit, adjusting you two, before dropping you closer to the tent in his jeans. your breath hitches as you feel your clothed cunt meet toji’s hard-on. 

“oh,” you mumble, startling at the contact. 

toji dips his head low, his lips ghosting over your ear. “kept seeing the way you looked at me; the way you closed y’r legs every time i reached over. c’mon, there’s no need to be shy. rub y’rself on me.”

your brows furrow, your lips pursing. “but…” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “it won’t feel as good for you.”

toji pauses, his eyes going wide, before a booming laugh creeps from his throat. “oh darlin’,” he coos. “aren’t you a cutie?”

you pout, feeling lost, and toji just croons a little more. 

“what?” you bite out.

“hush, you,” toji murmurs, his hands leaving your hips to caress your back, the action instantly relaxing you, and toji smiles, satisfied. “it’s not about giving me direct pleasure, kid.”

you tilt your head, confused. toji shakes his head at you, his eyes crinkling with so much fondness.

“the purpose of you rubbing y’rself on me is to make you feel good.” he pauses. “and it’s funny how you think i wouldn’t feel good seeing you using me for y’r pleasure.”

you choke, coughing a little as toji chuckles, having too much fun at seeing you flustered.

“see,” he says, cupping your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin just under your eyes. “when you react so cutely, how can i not have fun?”

you hum, lips still jutted out, before you press forward to kiss his lips. you feel toji smile in the kiss, his hold going tight for a second, as he slots his lips with yours to deepen the kiss. 

slowly, hesitantly, you roll your lips, your clothed core sliding against toji’s tented jeans. a purr slips from toji’s lips, his tongue swiping along yours, engulfing you whole.

your hands settle on toji’s stomach, your fingers sinking into the pudge that replaced defined abs, dimpling his skin even through his shirt. god, he’s so perfect under you like this. 

you break the kiss, gasping for air, your chest heaving as the air around you two begin to rise, almost burning you alive. toji falls onto the cushions again, sharp eyes narrowed in barely-contained hunger staring back at you, his hands coming back to hold your hips.

your eyes are blown wide themselves, feeling yourself be engulfed with uncontrollable desire for toji, your body trembling and feverish. 

“look at you,” toji murmurs, his voice wavering and so full of affection. so enamoured by you. “my pretty girl.”

you nod, not trusting your words, as you sink back to his lap, gliding yourself on him. sweat builds up in the back of your neck, and you push your hair away from your face, trying your best to maintain eye contact with toji.

“feels good?” toji asks, prompting more than pleasured huffs out of you.

“yeah,” you croak out, your eyes fluttering when the cold button of his jeans dug into your hardened clit, muted pleasure exploding between your legs. 

you roll your hips that way again, chasing the same pleasure, getting desperate when you realized that it’s still not enough.

tears begin to pool in the corner of your eyes, frustration palpable with your every slide. 

toji tuts, sitting up and his laxed hold on your hips gathering strength before you feel him taking charge, helping you as you rub yourself on him. 

“i know it’s not enough, baby, but can you keep going?” he asks, dipping his head to ghost kisses on your shoulder. “f’r me?”

you whine, shaking your head, feeling so edged as another faint pleasure quickly peters out, your veins thrumming with need. 

“please, toji,” you mumble, hiccuping, your hands clutching the back of his shirt. “need more!”

“of course you do,” toji replies, still so calm even when you feel his cock fully hardened under all the clothes between himself and your wet cunt. “i ruined you for anything else other than my cock, didn’t i, sweetheart?”

you mewl, nodding, ah-ah-ahs echoing in the space between the two of you as toji maneuvers you to ride him faster. 

“but show me how good you are,” he continues, kissing your neck this time, his lips parting for him to sink his teeth into your skin. 

you whine, your voice curling into itself. you clench your eyes shut, the tears finally falling and tickling your warm cheeks, feeling the way toji’s tongue runs at the ridges of the bite mark he left.

your panties are damp, sticking to your cunt, but not even your heightened arousal could tip you over the edge. this feels like torture, a prolonged teasing of what you could be riding. toji’s cock is so close, positioned at the perfect spot so that you could sink into it, but toji is resolute at making you cum like this.

you hate disappointing toji but you can’t do it.

“‘m sorry,” you begin to mumble, your lips sticking together and your words coming out jumbled. a hiccup is lodged in your throat and you pull away to look at toji, hoping that the sight of your teary eyes would sway him. “toji, ‘m sorry i really can’t.”

toji takes one look at you before he coos, flexing his arms to stop you from moving, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your tear-tracked cheeks. 

“alright, sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing soothing nothings on your hips. “you did so good f’r me. why won’t you let me take over now, okay?”

you nod, still trembling from being edged, before startling when toji tugs your panties to the side, his fingers running along your wet folds. 

“shh,” he says, slowly thrusting two of them into your core. 

“ah!” you cry, your back arching, your hands digging into toji’s clothed back.

he didn’t even do anything other than press them in but you already feel an explosion of euphoria, your arousal building at the feeling of finally being touched. stuffed. 

“toji!” you squeal, your hips unconsciously moving again – a mimicry of your movement just minutes ago, urging toji to fuck his fingers into you.

“i know, darling, i know,” toji replies, his voice still a measured murmur, as he drives his fingers out, your walls constricting as if sucking them back in, before thrusting them into you again. 

you squeak when you feel him curling them, stretching your plush walls and teasing your sensitive core with his gentle touch.

“this is better, huh?” he asks like you are not falling apart at his touch, throwing your head back, your throat exposed, as toji begins to fuck his fingers in and out of you.

you feel your climax building, this time more pronounced and less muted, your eyes going cross-eyed as toji quickens his pace, feeling your walls spasming in the telltale of your orgasm.

“toji!” you scream as you finally cum, your walls squeezing toji’s fingers, your hands fisting toji’s hair.

“there’s my good girl,” toji croons amidst your orgasm, your buzzing ears straining to hear him. 

toji slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt, gentle as to not overstimulate you. 

you blink your eyes open at the sudden silence, your vision still hazy as you look at toji. he’s studying his fingers, shiny and wet as they’ve been inside you, before he is moving to push them into his mouth.

“no!” you whimper, ashamed, but toji just sucks his fingers, his eyes coming to meet yours, before a satisfied purr rumbles from his throat.

when he pulls them out of his mouth, he says, “my turn to feel good now, baby.”

you shiver despite your exhaustion, watching with your teeth nibbling your bottom lip as toji lifts you from his lap to unbutton his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

“mouth or pussy?” toji asks. 

you lick your lips, not even hesitating as you reply, “pussy, please.”

toji’s smile is wide and lewd. 

“good girl,” he murmurs.

[vehemourn]

gift for a user on the FR forums :]

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

Perhaps, if he had bothered to ask for a second opinion, Shadow Milk Cookie would have been told he shouldn't be doing this. Luckily, he hadn't, so he manages to confidently prepare the magic circle with very little concern towards the appropriateness of his own actions.

He steps back to look over it once more, checking for any errors, before finally setting the chalk down. Brushing off the dust from his hands, Shadow Milk admires his handiwork in the light of the crescent moon, his dough crawling with accumulated anticipation.

He noticed it a long time ago, the suffocating blanket of churning emotion that often drapes itself over him, heavy and dark. It isn't his own emotion, he realised that quickly, because it weighs over him instead of burrowing into his chest, and nothing happened to him personally to prompt such tumultuous feelings. This realisation was soon followed by another – namely, that some sort of external being must be the cause, and it must be following him, if its presence is plaguing him so strongly. It comes and it goes, but it always returns, and he is finally going to find out what it is.

So Shadow Milk is looking forward to this. It is his specialty as the holder of the Light of Truth, after all, to reveal unknowns, and this unknown has long become personal.

With the magic circle ready and the moon in the sky, there is no reason for him to wait any longer, so he doesn't. He steps carefully into the circle, making sure not to disturb the lines as he makes his way to the middle, and with a sweep of his robes, he settles down into a sitting position.

This spell is a difficult one because it was found incomplete, the rest of it either lost to time or unfinished. It had taken quite a lot of reworking to finalise something feasible, in between all his other duties. There is also the added caveat of it being a Black Magic spell, but Shadow Milk had found a compromise for that, which is precisely why he chose to perform it under the smiling crescent, mere days away from the new moon, instead of the full moon.

Regardless of the effort required, if everything went well, this spell should allow him to make contact with the being that had been following him, whatever it may be. More specifically, it should open a mental connection, allowing them to have a conversation even if this being was something incapable of speech.

That alone was worth all this effort. After all, Shadow Milk had plenty of questions to ask it.

He plants his hands on the ground, drawing power from the moon tentatively like unspooling a thread. It starts to spill in quicker, wilder, and he makes sure to remain calm as it seems to buzz and writhe through him, focusing on redirecting it into the magic circle. It begins to glow a cold white, and Shadow Milk feels his dough prickling like it is being watched, that familiar presence growing heavier around him like a blanket. He bites down on his excited smile.

Don't worry. Just a little bit more, and we'll finally meet.

Shadow Milk's hands twitch with the force of the magic coursing through him, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as the shadows in the room seem to congeal, growing thicker and pooling out of their hiding spots. They eat away at the magic circle, closing in on Shadow Milk swiftly, and he welcomes them as they eagerly swallow the circle, the floor, the walls, the room, everything.

What happens next is difficult to describe. He doesn't feel the ground fall out from under him, he just realises it is no longer there. It is so dark that it makes no difference if his eyes are open or closed, and they don't seem to adjust no matter how many times he blinks. It only makes the surrounding darkness begin to squirm in strange patterns, as if alive. He suddenly feels strange and cold.

But most importantly, he feels like he is submerged in those restless emotions, his every move weighted like he is underwater. They nearly choke him, stronger than he has ever felt before, and delight bursts in his chest in jarring contrast, thrilled that the spell seems to have worked.

"Hello?" He calls out, his voice echoing in a way that makes his ears ring. For a moment that feels like forever, there is nothing but a deafening silence around to greet him.

And then, he is attacked with blinding light.

Shadow Milk rears back as much as he can manage, instinctively shutting his eyes at the assault, and raises a hand to shield them when he immediately tries to open them again, curious of the source. Squinting past the shade of his palm, he finds dozens of white suns glaring down at him, their light doing nothing to penetrate the overwhelming black of the void.

"How are you here?" A voice calls back, hoarse and whispery and frantic, as if it had never been used before, and Shadow Milk's breath catches.

Upon closer inspection, the suns surrounding him are actually the pupils of a dozen huge eyes, bearing down on him with wide-eyed focus from all sides. Shadow Milk soaks in the attention, joy bubbling nauseatingly in his stomach like soda, his mind running so fast that his thoughts become incomprehensible.

"Who are you?" He asks, the question almost bursting right out of his chest with how suddenly it comes. He can't quite look at the eyes directly, with how blindingly bright they are, but he does his best to hedge in quick glances.

There isn't a response, not from the voice or the eyes, but that doesn't deter him. Now Shadow Milk has unshakeable proof that the being is here, capable of conversation, he doesn't need any more encouragement to keep going.

"I'm Shadow Milk Cookie, though you must know that already." He introduces himself with a polite nod of his head, somewhat entertained by the thought of his eldritch companion being shy. When that doesn't garner any meaningful result, he tacks on, lightheartedly, "Isn't it a bit rude to not introduce yourself back?"

The eyes blink at him, the syncopated movement rippling through the nothingness.

"...There is nothing to introduce." The voice replies reluctantly, though it sounds more stable than before, slightly stronger as it curls around him. "I don't have a name anymore."

"You must have a name," Shadow Milk urges with a creeping smile, "or at least something I can call you."

There is another stretch of silence, long enough that Shadow Milk is forced to reconsider his approach, before it is graciously broken by his companion, who must have come to some kind of conclusion.

"You can call me the Beast of Deceit, if you must call me at all." The Beast offers, and if Shadow Milk's attention hadn't already been fully devoted to it, that certainly would have done the trick. "That is all anyone calls me now."

"The Beast of Deceit." Shadow Milk repeats the syllables carefully, tasting them as he brings a hand up to the warm pulse of his Soul Jam. Something clicks pleasantly in his mind, like a perfect solution to an equation that has been bothering him. "Then you're almost like my other half, aren't you? Since Truth and Deceit are direct opposites." The thought is nice enough, he supposes, but more than that, it is intriguing. "Is that why you've been watching me?"

This must be the wrong thing to ask, because the Beast skates past his question entirely, eyes squinting as if pained. "You shouldn't be here."

"And yet, here I am. It took quite a lot of work for me to get here too, so you'll understand that I'm not in a hurry to leave." Shadow Milk explains amicably, hoping that if he was clear with his intentions, the Beast might entertain a more fruitful conversation. He pauses, looking around at the surrounding infinity. "Where is here, anyway?"

"Nowhere you would want to be." The Beast says cryptically, its voice slowly moving, collecting somewhere in front of him. It's a bit disorienting.

"...You aren't very good at holding a conversation, are you?" Shadow Milk sighs, not unkindly but certainly with growing frustration. Still, he has considered this possibility before, of his unknown companion being uncooperative, so he tries again. "Isn't it unfair for you to not answer any of my questions, after following me around for so long? I think I deserve an explanation, at least."

"I have no explanation to give." The Beast's tone is flat. It's… a disappointing response, frankly, but Shadow Milk smiles through it.

"But you can't deny that you are the one who has been following me." He counters, his voice light and pleasant so it doesn't come across too heavily as an accusation. "Your emotions are very palpable, so your presence isn't subtle. There is no mistaking it."

The coiling thickness of those emotions seem to shift around Shadow Milk now, almost self-consciously, but they do not lighten. Such strong negative feelings - he is fascinated by them, the researcher in him wanting to know what exactly could cause them.

The Beast sighs as if it is carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders, and the sound finally settles in front of him entirely as some of the eyes slide closed. The clashing light and dark begins to morph before him, a faint silhouette forming and rising out of the nothingness.

Shadow Milk watches, enraptured, as the shape of a Cookie emerges, dripping with the void itself. He looks battered, wrapped in dishevelled black robes with equally dishevelled dull hair. It is covered by a dark hat shaped like a crown, with what must be his Soul Jam set in the middle, its blue the only splash of colour to be seen. His eyes are covered in a thick black blindfold, and he holds a staff protectively in front of himself with both hands, eerily similar in style to the one Shadow Milk left outside of the magic circle, if not for the vertically oriented eye.

All in all, he does not look intimidating. If anything, he looks like a chess piece.

"I apologise for that, then. I wasn't aware my presence would disturb you so much." The Beast mutters, as if he would prefer not to be speaking, his form not quite fully formed. "But you shouldn't be here. Please leave."

"You don't look like much of a beast to me." Shadow Milk comments warmly, extending the friendly compliment in the hopes of distracting the Beast from his complete lack of intention to leave. Even so, his words are genuine. "That title doesn't fit you at all."

The Beast frowns, ducking his head lower. "Don't act so familiar with me. I am called the Beast of Deceit for a reason." He hisses, but it holds no malice, only tiredness. Then, after a beat, he repeats, firmer than before. "Please leave."

The title really doesn't suit him, though. Shadow Milk ponders this for a moment, before mentally renaming him as the King instead. A poor excuse for a king, perhaps, but that still felt far more appropriate than a beast.

"...Will you really not tell me anything?" Shadow Milk asks finally, growing more subdued. "You must know, since you have been following me, that I have worked hard to be able to contact you like this."

"I have nothing to tell, I have already told you that." The King reminds him quietly, unimpressed, turning his head away. "I apologise for your wasted time, but it was unnecessary to begin with." Then, after a beat, he repeats, an attempt at a lacklustre command. "Please leave."

Shadow Milk hums under his breath, pondering this too. This isn't going exactly how he had hoped, that is true, but to call his time wasted is completely incorrect. On the contrary, all this encounter has done is make his curiosity peak, even more invested in this mystery than he was before.

Maybe it was for the best that the King refused to tell him anything. Thinking about it now, wouldn't that have been too simple? It is more fun to unravel some things himself, and Shadow Milk is certainly capable of uncovering the truth behind this odd apparition.

It is his virtue, after all.

"...Alright." Shadow Milk nods, taking one last lingering look at the King, before closing his eyes. "If you insist, I'll leave."

The King doesn't reply. That's fine. Shadow Milk focuses on searching himself internally for the tether to his physical body, for the anchor that is the magic circle. Since this is his first time casting this spell, and the way the magic twists is unfamiliar, it admittedly takes him a moment to get a hold of it, but he does.

Concentrating on that anchor, he calls himself back to his body.

Much like leaving, returning is just as hard to describe. There is no jolt, or impact. Everything simply returns – his senses, the floor beneath him, the sound of the wind outside the window – from one moment to the next. He shudders as he gets reacquainted with his body, or rather, his body gets reacquainted with him.

The chaos of those negative emotions are awfully thick in the air, squeezing around him tightly like they hope to crumble him. Shadow Milk relaxes into it, releasing his grip on the flow of magic and the spell itself, and opens his eyes.

There, in front of him, the King is suspended in the air above the outer edge of the circle, unmoving. His form flickers, translucent and blurring at the edges. Slowly, unnervingly slowly like he doesn't know how to use it properly, he turns his head.

"...What is this?" The King whispers, the words almost dissolving into the ambient noise, his grip on his staff visibly tightening.

"The spell I used to make contact with you forged a connection between us." Shadow Milk says patiently, making sure his expression is open and welcoming, the same one he uses when introducing himself to new students. "If my presence could be projected to wherever we were previously, then naturally your presence can be projected here too. It's only fair, since you were watching me anyway, weren't you?"

Shadow Milk rises to his feet, brushing dust off his robes with both hands. The King says nothing, but he can practically feel the frown directed at him.

"I understand if you don't want to tell me anything. That's okay!" Shadow Milk assures, lifting his gaze back to that blindfold, that staff, that Soul Jam, near identical to his own. His curiosity burns.

"You don't have to tell me," he smiles like a promise, "I'll find out for myself."

[iceunhie]

interest check!! are there perchance any jiaoqiu kissers here 🙏🙏

edit: the fic is out guys it's on here my dumbass just didn't queue it on time last night ☠️☠️

[hballegro]

the clock is here. all hail.

i forgot to turn antialiasing to the right settings with my pen so it is. the little numbers are chunky. thats life sometimes. just dont zoom in too hard. if i fix it, i wont make a new post abt it ill just edit it on to this one or something [and state that i did so in the post]

prev post with noclock version

and as promised here is also progress pics, harvested from when i sent screenshots to friends as i worked. as a bonus ive also included various layer names and the 5 different names the file went thru. the parts i [very lazily] painted over with dark blue had not been done yet, ergo anything with dark blue over it is just the picture itself so do not regard it

i will now be nice to myself and work on my fanfic and smaller drawings for a while. i will do eye posts sometimes still when i get a slow day and wanna do some peepers for 3 hours, i have collected many eyes [klinger, fr mulcahy, trapper, margaret, charles, hawkeye, bj. ive been busy stealing eyeballs to paint on. theyre all on one document its pretty funny]. i will be doing my best to force the cast into my style so i can do quick stuff.

i also WILL do more paintings of full shots again, but. fellas. ive done 3 back to back full paintings with no other digital art projects in between.

this has been NOT good planning lol

not sure if i should tag everything again so i will just. do so? idk i have not been on tumblr hardcore since like 2018 and have never regularly posted so idk proper etiquette. im gonna leave off characters for this one ig

[kokoasci]

could you give us a rundown on project nova please!! i'm so curious what it's about you make it look so fun 🤍

oh absolutely i can (i will take any excuse to talk about my ocs)

project nova is a slightly dystopian fiction story/comic set in Nova, a city somewhere near what was once the U.S.-Canada border. due to uprisings and international turmoil (along with an increasingly harsh climate change disasters) that destroyed the previous countries where it stands, Nova is broken into four different classes (kind of like, big labor unions) that specialize in different areas needed for a city to thrive. each class has its own rules and regulations for their members, some are stricter than others, etc. these are:

Technics: industrial, mechanical, infrastructure, urban planning

Astutes: medical, scientific research, education

Executives: company administration, police enforcement, distribution and manufacturing operations

Laymen: other roles for either private or public sector, can be baristas, office workers, farmers, etc.

there are 6 main-ish characters:

August Anderson - Layman barista/skilled thief taking jobs from the underground illicit market

Maple Fernsby - a Technic who owns a small mechanic shop in uptown Nova

Beau Jones - recent graduate from the Astute academy focusing on virology research for therapeutics

Amelie Hargraves - an apprentice Exec operative with a strange ability to influence memories and manipulate deceased souls

Rowan Sawkins - estranged youngest son of the affluent Sawkins Exec family, who's bad falling-out led him to join the Astutes as a physician

Rosie - the western sector resistance leader unaffiliated with any class and wants to get out of the city by any means necessary, and take as many people as possible with her

the main story follows August, who's close friends with Beau and Maple living in the outskirts of the inner city. chance lands him to meet Rowan, a physician that works with Beau and who ends up saving August's life after a job gone wrong. on the other side of the city, Amelie is taken in by the Execs after finding out she has an almost supernatural ability to manipulate memories, thus making her an incredible asset. after a combined agreement between the Execs and the Astutes leads to Rowan's manipulation into a pawn for a mysterious plan called Project Nova, the 6 chars' lives now get tangled together as they all pursue conflicting goals

at least, that's the basic rundown !! most everything i draw or post about takes place before or slightly after this exposition dump, who knows if ill ever get around to either writing and/or drawing this story in the first place. mostly they're just my ocs that i will draw situations for, small skits, stuff like that. none of this is set in stone it changes all of the time and ill probably retcon half of it later but for now this is what i have

more info: primary charas + info, secondary charas

[gingermintpepper]

One of my favourite little things about Apollo is how casual his and the Fates' relationship was.

Now, this isn't to understate how grave the Fates were in any way, as a matter of fact, it's written multiple times about the complex interplay between the Fates and Zeus (Stobaeus even wrote that the Fates were given the seat closest to Zeus' throne so he could better give counsel on all things from their machinations)

Indeed, even Zeus was beholden to them and even though the Fates usually left things up to natural course (and Zeus in his position as Moiragetes - that is, the Leader of Fates could even intercede on these events, even interrupting when a someone was set to die) in a lot of ways, there are many, many things that even Zeus could never interfere with, things that were above even the King of the Heavens. Some really good examples are things like Persephone's Abduction which the Fates ruled as necessary for the propagation of the seasons and his marriages to Themis and Hera.

By all accounts really, the Fates were incredibly stern, incredibly grave deities who presided over law, order, birth and death and even worked with the Furies to punish those who broke the sacred laws!

And then you have Apollo who was also known by the title Moiragetes (In Delphi, there were only two Moirai depicted and in place of the third was Zeus and Apollo Moiragetes according to Pausanias) but who did things like, checks notes, send the Fates to be the midwives of his paramour Evadne when she had to deliver his son alone in secret (by the way, he also sent the actual goddess of childbirth to help. The Fates absolutely did not need to also be there, he was taking every precaution:

and get the Fates drunk so they would agree to save his bestie Admetus' life:

Keep in mind btw - this con Apollo pulled for Admetus was multi-layered and even included getting Heracles to wrestle Thanatos and keep him still so Apollo could proceed to help Admetus cheat Alcestis away from Fates when Admetus expressed regret for making his wife die in his place:

And I cannot stress enough that Apollo faced zero consequences for this nonsense. NONE. The Fates weren't even cordial with other Gods - they're almost never referred to directly, they were often depicted apart from other deities or described as old, ugly and unable to walk (though, generally speaking they were artistically depicted as young maidens!) and apart from comforting Demeter by going to personally explain what happened to Persephone in some versions of the story, they didn't really get humanised the way most of the other gods or spirits did. Usually they're referred to euphemistically, or someone will speak distantly about a prophecy they once heard was designed by the Fates but Apollo? Apollo knew the Fates! He was good friends with the Fates! And I think it's even cooler when you consider that both instances of Apollo showing off his Fate's Favourite privilege have to deal with birth (of Iamus) and death (of Alcestis/Admetus) which were the two points most deeply associated with the Moirai and why there were usually depictions of them as a pair over that of a triad.

(Excerpts sourced from Theoi, Aeschylus' Eumenides, Pindar's Olympian 6 and Statius' Silvae; though just a note, one instance of the Fates' involvement with Apollo is misquoted on Theoi - that is the Fates being present for Apollo's birth, that's actually a misinterpretation of Evadne's birthing of Iamus.)

[quuerbee]

Heugh ok big time spoilers warning for 1175 (and prior ofc) I'm gonna be rambling so don't expect anything analytic 🫵

GOD OK SO. Its been commented on multiple times throughout the novel that the diciples of Mount Hua (sect leader, elders, 5 swords, etc) want to carry some of the burden that Chung Myung carries. Hyun Jong asks him to trust him and not go after the Myriad Man Manor (I think that's what it was called before they formed the big bad alliance....) in the direct aftermath of the attack on the sect (chapters like. 350-420 ish if I'm remembering correctly?). The 5 Swords try to protect him during that final fight at the north sea when he's been buried in rubble, and then they try to support him again in the first yangzte river battle (the one where the 3 year pacification pact came from) and so on and so forth. This is a VERY COMMON THING.

Everytime they manage to get stronger to protect the sect (lifting some burden off of Chung Myung), the enemies get stronger and the situations get worse. They (being primarily the 5 swords + Tang Soso and Hye Yeon) begin to realize that despite getting stronger, Chung Myung is always at the forefront of the battle in the most danger. They haven't had a single major battle where Chung Myung was not present to help if needed. This also brought up the idea that they are indirectly putting Chung Myung in even more danger because he has to focus not only on the battle, but on saving them if needed (this has ALSO been brought up multiple times but i don't want to give examples so).

Now I know that this isn't Mount Hua's fault, they're being thrust into terrible situations with not great timing, but all of this has STRENGTHENED Chung Myung belief that no one but him can protect Mount Hua to the standard needed. (It's very interesting to note that he has ended up on the OPPOSITE side of the spectrum from his previous life, which Chung Myung actually comments on in chapter 1175!!!). Its been mentioned a lot (by that fuck ass monk Bop Jeong and others) that the success of the Heavenly Commrade Alliance lies damn near solely on Chung Myung back. Even Tang Gunak, Meang So, and Seol So Beak themselves admit that they were initially drawn towards CHUNG MYUNG and not towards Mount Hua. Namgung Dowi is a similar ish case, having been drawn to the Heavenly Commrade Alliance by Mount Hua and the Tang clans's actions at Plum Blossom Island (which Chung Myung lead). Long story short, if Chung Myung did not exist in Mount Hua, there would not be an alliance in the first place (which the novel straight up says).

Another concept that's been brought up lately is what exactly is Mount Hua willing to give up in the name of chivalry. Up until now, every single action taken by Mount Hua has had a positive impact on them while also upholding the chivalrous reputation of the sect. THIS IS WHERE CHUNG MYUNGS CURRENT STRIFE IS COMING FROM!!!! At the current moment he doesn't know what direct he wants to push Mount Hua in. Does he tell Shaolin to fuck off (picking the Heavenly Commarade Alliance over joining the 10 Great Sects) and deal with the inevitable consequences of that (reputation hit and more death among not only commoners but amongst Mount Hua diciples) or does he agree to Bop Jeong's plan and risk everything from the past repeating for the sake of chivalry? He is blinded by his indecision, even mentioning in chapter 1174 that if he were faced with the situation Chung Mun faced with Chung Jin (Chung Jin disappearing towards the end of the war), he wouldn't know what to do and he would "let it all slip from his grasp".

Along with this indecisiveness, he's also agonizing over his importance to the alliance. He is now in a position similar to what Chung Mun held in the past, and he's having a difficult time coping with that. Chung Myung rationally understands his importance, going as far as to say that if he were anyone else, he would never let himself go onto the front lines. The issue lies in his survivors guilt. He wouldn't be able to make the decisions needed for victory if he himself wasn't there to be able to prevent any death he could.

Along comes Baek Cheon, who has been one of the main vocalizers for all the things mentioned above. He notices the things Chung Myung tries to hide. There are many, many times where Baek Cheon is one of the ones that knocks some sense into Chung Myung, but the one I really want to focus on is their interaction in chapter 1175. Baek Cheon, despite all the jokes, is the head diciple of the second generation. Chung Myung is his Sajae, his junior brother. He CARES about him. He doesn't like seeing him not act like an insane asshole. He KNOWS Chung Myung, enough to know his habits as well as his fears and motivators.

He uses his knowledge to comfort him in a blunt way by saying that he will outlive Chung Myung. And oh, isn't that heartbreaking? To acknowledge that Chung Myung would rather spend every day in hell than "allow" a diciple of Mount Hua to die before him (again). Baek Cheon says this as an offhand comment, a subtle reassurance without making it a big thing because he KNOWS that's one of the main things driving Chung Myung. Throughout this entire exchange, Chung Myung unintentional image of being a "perfect human" starts to strip away. He reveals to Baek Cheon that he doesn't exactly know why he holds all of this burden, but that he feels he is the only one who can. (Circling back to the guilt he feels due to his inaction 100 years ago).

Towards the end of the chapter, Chung Myung starts joking that he'll be back to normal soon, that he just has a lot on his mind. This signals once again that he is pushing against Baek Cheons silent offer of support. As they sit in silence, Baek Cheon brings up the question that has been eating at the entirety of Mount Hua for a while. He asks if they were stronger, if HE were stronger, would it have lightened his worries? The final sentence of the chapter indicates that Chung Myung doesn't answer this question.

Chung Myung cares so much about Mount Hua that he continually shoulders on more and more responsibilities because to him, that is the only way to atone for his past inaction. I just wish he could see how much Mount Hua cares about him in turn.

[mappingthesky]

planymphia wives honeymoon cutesy fluffy and overwhelmingly emotional drabble pleaseee

take my hand (take my whole life, too)

or: it’s their first week of being married - jane can’t stop referring to nymphia as ‘my wife’, nymphia can’t stop crying, and no one has ever been more in love in all of time.

Jane wakes up when Nymphia rolls over and flings a heavy arm across her torso in sleep.

Jane’s eyes flutter. Sunlight threatens to spill in from the other side of the heavy hotel room curtains all too soon. She’s only half conscious, and her eyes are still a little blurry with last night’s wine, and she’s content to drift back off to sleep, lulled by the gentle brush of Nymphia’s fingertips down her sternum, but then-

A little gasp, a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god.”

“Mmwhat?” Nymphia mumbles, her eyes still closed as Jane grabs for her hand. Again, when her wrist is nearly pulled from the rest of her arm. “What?”

“Nymphia,” Jane whispers, but it’s thin, because she’s smiling. Nymphia can barely make it out through the dim light of the room and the sleep that clouds her vision, but she knows it just the same. She would recognize that smile by the sound of Jane’s words spoken through it, by the feeling of her soft gaze upon her. She would know it anywhere - even in the dark.

“We got married.”

Nymphia’s eyes blink open and look over at Jane. She’s on her back, holding Nymphia’s hand up to the light. She turns it over carefully, fingertips against her open palm, thumb tracing over the silver band on Nymphia’s ring finger. A diamond glitters in the dark.

“I know,” Nymphia grumbles, still half-asleep, still unwilling to be awoken for anything at all. “Spent eight months planning it, ’member?”

It was longer than that. It was the culmination of years of dreaming and months of planning, of Nymphia ironing out every last detail, Jane somehow even more stressed than she was, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect. For her.

(“You have a say, too,” Nymphia had reminded her on more than one occasion. “This day is about the both of us.”

“I know, baby,” Jane said, that spot between her brows that creases when she thinks too hard momentarily relaxing as she kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “But it’s really about you. Everything is about you.”)

Jane pulls Nymphia’s hand closer, studies it for a long while. Nymphia’s eyes are just closing again when Jane presses a kiss to her ring finger, then to her palm, more kisses up the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, up her shoulder. Nymphia whines.

It comes back to her slowly as Jane coaxes her from her sleep, the only one she’d ever allow. Their night. It was everything they ever could have asked for, more than that. Their friends lining the aisle, swearing that they knew this day would come, arguing over who had really called it first. Jane, who had sworn she wouldn’t cry, who had warned Nymphia not to be worried if she didn’t, dissolving into tears the moment Nymphia emerged in all white. Nymphia, unsurprisingly to everyone, openly sobbing for half of the night, dabbing a tissue underneath her damp eyes at the dinner table. They’d had two glasses of champagne each, and nothing else.  They’d promised, because they wanted to remember this: the toasts, the dancing, each other, every moment.

Nymphia is beaming by the time Jane kisses her shoulder blade, eliciting a hum.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jane murmurs, brushing a dark strand of hair back to kiss Nymphia’s ear.

A smile splits through Nymphia’s sleep, eyes still closed as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, deeper into Jane. “It was perfect.”

Jane kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm,” Nymphia hums, because how could she ever pick just one shining moment to stand out among the rest? How could she even begin to split the single most incandescent day of her life into segments? 

“The part where we went home,” Nymphia says, and Jane is pulling her closer. “The part where we went to bed and you let me sleep in.”

“Can’t let you sleep in,” Jane says, chin coming to rest on the crown of Nymphia’s head where it comes to press against her chest. “Too in love with you.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth of last night as it rolls over to this morning.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” Jane asks, and Nymphia can feel the soft reverberation of her voice through her skin. “The part where we wake up and I get to say that you’re my wife.”

Nymphia can’t help but laugh at the sentiment. “This part?” she says, finally tilting her head up to look at Jane. She’s never gotten used to this - Jane looking at her every day like she’s still shiny and new. She doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah. This part,” Jane beams, one hand coming to cradle Nymphia’s cheek as she smiles. “You’re my wife.”

“This part’s pretty good,” Nymphia stares into Jane, belly burning with butterflies, a love bigger and brighter than she ever thought was possible. “Say it again.”

Jane grins and brings her lips to Nymphia’s, kisses her with a lifetime of devotion. She pulls away, and there’s forever in her eyes. 

“You’re my wife,” Jane smiles. “And I’m yours.”

-

Jane doesn’t travel well.

She puts her packing off until the last possible minute and grumbles all the way to the airport. Nymphia can’t be upset though, because Jane ‘my wife’s’ Nymphia at every possible opportunity - she does it to the disgruntled employee who checks their bags, and the TSA agent who checks their passports, and the barista who makes their coffees while they’re killing time at their terminal. Nymphia rolls her eyes every time, but she’s smiling too, and can’t stop examining the sparkle on her left hand ring finger. 

Jane goes so anxious on the plane that Nymphia has to hold her hand through the takeoff. She doesn’t let go until thirty minutes into the flight, when Jane is finally distracted enough to drop her shoulders and stop thinking about the miniscule possibility that they go plummeting to the ground.

Eventually, they settle in. It’s a long flight, nearly twenty hours, and they shelled out on first class for the occasion. Nymphia’s got the window seat (partly because Jane knows she likes to look out the window, and partly because she can’t stomach seeing the ocean several thousand feet beneath them), and Jane wastes no time getting comfortable. 

(“It’s for my wife,” Jane tells the stewardess when she requests an extra blanket. “She runs cold.” 

Nymphia stares up from her book just long enough to swat Jane’s arm, muttering “that’s not even true.”

“I know,” Jane shrugs. “Just wanted to see what playing the wife card could get me.”

“Careful,” Nymphia warns. “You’re gonna wear it out.”

“What, calling you my wife?” Jane grins. “Baby, that’s never gonna get old.”)

They’re curled up together, alternating between books and movies and laughing at odd little happenings around them. Jane scoffs at shitty jokes on the screen, and Nymphia leans over to read her passages from her book, and Jane hums like she’s listening, but really she’s just admiring Nymphia in her comfy clothes, dark hair pulled back, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She likes her the best like this.

At the end of her movie, Jane glances over at Nymphia. “Are you excited?”

She thinks she knows what the answer will be, but she’s asking anyway, because she wants it to be perfect - their honeymoon, their first trip together as a married couple, their first foray into the rest of their lives together. They’d debated on a destination for weeks on end. They’d considered a roadtrip across America (too pedestrian - they’ll save that one for another summer), or a week in Vegas where they’d get married again in some cheap chapel (too cliche - they’ll save it for their vow renewals). They’d debated on whether or not to book a room in the most luxurious resort they could find in Thailand, but had settled on a cozy beachside bungalow instead. Jane thought Nymphia would like that the best, knew she would too, because she’d be happy if Nymphia was.

It’s funny how someone can change you so completely and entirely, how they can bring out the best part of you that was waiting to be discovered. Before Nymphia, Jane had always put herself first, even at the expense of others. She was content like that, and then she met Nymphia, and the center of her universe shifted outside of herself. For the first time it wasn’t a chore to care for someone else, and Jane was better because of it. 

“For the honeymoon?” Nymphia asks, folding her book in her lap. She looks down at Jane all nestled in her blankets, hoodie pulled over her blonde hair, and can’t help but smile. 

Nymphia had always been a hopeless romantic, all too eager to hand her heart over to the wrong person. She was a tender thing then, bruising easily in careless hands, burning through her own wells of hope faster than she could replenish them, and after the almost-great-loves of her young adulthood, she felt like she’d been cored. Having her heart handed back to her so unrequitedly time after time, she’d thought she’d been selfish to want a love as big as her own, to expect anyone to be able to return what she gave to them. She’d stopped dreaming of it altogether, and then she’d met Jane. Jane, who reveres her like the Earth reveres the Sun, who worships the ground that she walks on, who straightened out every desire Nymphia had crumpled up inside of herself and gave her more than she could ever dare ask for. 

Now, Nymphia knows she can be selfish. She looks over at Jane and thinks that she wants this for all time - all of Jane, all to herself. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m so excited.” Nymphia reaches over to take Jane’s hand. “Jus’ wanna spend time with you.”

“Good,” Jane smiles, “me too.” She tilts her head up, puckers her lips in a silent request for a kiss, and Nymphia obliges.

-

The plane starts its descent several long hours after they’ve woken up, and Nymphia is grabbing Jane’s hand before she even has to ask, because she knows she hates this part the most. Jane sucks air through her teeth as the last bit of turbulence rocks the plane, and Nymphia rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the back of her hand. As soon as they hit the tarmac, Jane snaps back into place, blocking the whole aisle just to get Nymphia’s carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry,” Jane says over her shoulder to a disgruntled passenger. “My wife. She’s pregnant.”

“Jane,” Nymphia hisses through her teeth. “You of all people should know I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Jane kisses her shoulder before they maneuver down the aisle. “But when I’m through with you…”

Nymphia scoffs, smiling into the air, because she knows it’s impossible, but if anyone’s love could defy the laws of science, it would be theirs.

-

Despite their sleep on the plane, Jane and Nymphia are so impossibly jetlagged, and the car ride to the bungalow is a delirious haze. Determined to push through the rest of the day, they tumble out of their room and onto the tree-lined streets, perusing the local offerings and getting dinner while they speak to each other in exhausted, two-word sentences that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It’s all they need.

And then they’re out under the sky, wandering in this beautiful place with blue-green water that laps in whispering waves over the sandy beach, and Nymphia has never looked so beautiful to Jane as she does under the moonlight. 

She’s running up the beach, shrieking as the water splashes at her feet, or when Jane chases her up the shore and catches her, spinning her around and pressing crazed kisses against her hairline. Nymphia is laughing, and then her cheeks are wet with tears, and Jane is wiping underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” Jane says, pushing Nymphia’s hair behind her ears, a careful concern crossing her face. “Why tears?”

“I’m just so happy,” Nymphia blubbers, smiling through the silver-wet stars in her eyes, because it’s all been such a beautiful blur, and it hasn’t hit her until right now that this is the rest of her life. “I can’t believe we get to do this forever.”

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jane smiles. “Here I was thinking you stepped on a sea urchin. Or you got stung by a jellyfish. And I’d have to pee on your leg or something. Wouldn’t that be a great start to our honeymoon?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia sobs. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“M’sorry, my love,” Jane coos, wiping another tear from Nymphia’s face. “You’re the most sentimental girl alive, you know I can’t keep up with that.”

Nymphia just laughs, because yes, she’s endlessly sentimental, but, secretly, so is Jane. She still remembers the first time she’d opened a card from Jane and was met with pages filled almost entirely with ink, letters squished together to make room for as many as possible, words winding around whatever tacky quote was stamped in the middle. Jane had a way with words, despite whatever she’d tell you otherwise, and never ceased to amaze Nymphia with the sincerity she seemed to save just for her. 

(It crosses Nymphia’s mind then what her favorite part of the wedding really was - when Jane had recited her vows from memory in front of all their family and friends, had taken those impossibly beautiful things that were usually relinquished to their most intimate moments and had loved Nymphia enough to profess it in front of everyone. Not that they didn’t know already. You can’t hide a love as enormous as this one.)

“You keep up just fine,” Nymphia says softly, resting her cheek against Jane’s hand. She swears Jane’s eyes go misty just before she kisses her right there on the sand, beneath the stars, beneath the universe that brought them together.

-

Nymphia smiles when Jane crawls into bed. She’s in a gray crewneck that’s cut across her shoulders, and she’s propped up against fluffy pillows, and Jane is pushing the book out of her hands.

“Dinner was perfect,” Jane kisses her cheek before slipping into bed beside Nymphia. “But is it bad that I just wanted to get back to the room?”

“It’s terrible,” Nymphia turns over, slotting her back against Jane’s chest. “Is this the part where we get old and boring?”

“Yes,” Jane envelops Nymphia in her hold, fits against her in the way they’re going to for the rest of their lives, slides a hand down the length of her torso and up the inside of her thigh. 

“Not even gonna call you a whore or anything,” Jane kisses her ear. One hand cups Nymphia’s breast, the other dips between her legs. “Just gonna fuck you good and tell you how much I love you.”

“So boring,” Nymphia sighs, already melting away.

“So boring.”

(It’s not boring at all.)

-

Now that it’s hit Nymphia, she can’t stop crying every time the sheer enormity of it washes over her.

She’s always been emotional, but sometimes there’s a delay. Her life moves so fast, always swept up in the current of whatever dream she’s chasing, and sometimes it isn’t until she has a second to slow down that she realizes just how special every fleeting moment has been.

It’s been a whole week of being married, of wandering through villages and long hikes up mountain sides and afternoons spent sunning on the shore, of dawns and dinners and keeping a distance from the rest of the world as they know it. Now, Nymphia is sitting in a hammock at the edge of the beach, and she’s looking out over the water, and she’s basking in the overwhelming perfection of this moment. It’s something out of a dream, the sort of thing she’d long thought would be impossible for her to experience, and she can’t help but want to slow it all down, to draw out every precious moment long enough to memorize them, to make them last forever.

She’s sniffling just a bit when Jane finally finds her. She slides into place beside her, knees tucked into her chest, and stares quietly at the last of the sun as it sets over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Jane murmurs, and it’s about the sunset, but it’s about Nymphia too. She presses a soft kiss to Nymphia’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end,” Nymphia sighs, unwilling to look away from the heaven that’s in front of her. They still have another day of this, one more perfect day at the edge of reality, and then they’ll be packing their things, leaving the quiet paradise of their bungalow and flying home. Back to work, back to their crazy, stupid friends, back to the never-ending rush and whirr of the city.

It’s not just that Nymphia doesn’t want the honeymoon to end. She doesn’t want this to end: her and Jane, so head-spinningly in love that nothing else matters, so finely attuned to one another, so freshly devoted to making it last. Nymphia wants so desperately to do it right, for their love to outlive that of either of their parents, for them to see all of their promises through for years to come. The possibility that they can’t pull it off is mind-numbingly terrifying, but the possibility that they can…

It’s an impossible promise to make to one another, and yet they’ve already done it. 

Nymphia sighs, mind swirling, and Jane somehow knows exactly what she means when she says, “what do we do now?”

Jane goes quiet for a moment, staring out over everything she’s ever wanted, and does her best to be brave for Nymphia.

“We sit out here until we’re too tired to keep our eyes open, and then I’ll take you to bed,” Jane says softly. “And then we have one more beautiful day, okay?”

“Okay,” Nymphia says, chewing on her cheek, still unable to look away from the landscape should it all disappear on her. “And then what?”

“And then we go home,” Jane looks over at Nymphia. “We go back to our house. And I’ll take you to work every morning, and then I’ll come home and be pissed about something, probably, and you’ll roll your eyes and tell me to shut up and I will, because I love you and, y’know, I generally think you’re right about everything. And we’ll have our stupid friends over and show them a billion pictures from our trip and kick them out so we can watch Project Runway and fuck. How does that sound?”

Nymphia giggles, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the beach, she realizes there’s another heaven right beside her, one that she gets to take home. And home, their home, the one with the fat cat and the mismatched furniture and their pictures all over the wall, that's another heaven too. Suddenly, the trip being over doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Nymphia is almost looking forward to it.

“Are you scared?” Jane ventures softly, searching Nymphia’s face carefully. “It’s okay if you are.”

“Only a little,” Nymphia mumbles, voice wavering, eyes watering. 

“I’m a little scared too. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Jane continues, looking a little smaller all of a sudden, pushing through every worry that threatens to override her strong front. “I know we’ll have bad days too, Nymph. I know I’m gonna fuck up and not listen enough and piss you off sometimes, but I love you to fucking pieces. I’m gonna give you the best I’ve got, I promise you.”

Nymphia takes Jane’s hand, and there are silent tears streaming down her face, because it’s only been a week and she already loves Jane more than she did on the day that she married her. It’s enough love to override everything that threatens to pierce through their perfect bubble, enough to fuel the years to come, enough to roll over into the next life and the one after that.

“And if you get sick of me,” Jane teases, squeezing Nymphia’s hand. “Y’know. Just say the word.”

“Shut up. I’ll never get sick of you,” Nymphia cries, throwing her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Jane laughs into her neck, pulls her closer into a bone-crushing embrace. This is the best part - Nymphia married her best friend. It’s enough just to hold her, just to be beside her. All those other parts, the sex and the sweet nothings and the swearing each other to forever, they’re just the luxuries of being in love with her. 

“You promise?” Jane says into Nymphia’s hair. She knows what the answer will be. She just wants to hear it anyway.

“I promise,” Nymphia whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jane says. “With all my heart.”

(They go home two mornings later, back to the city and their couch and their cat, and they aren’t scared anymore, because the warm glow of one another lasts much longer than fleeting sunsets over foreign shores. They wake up together, kiss goodbye on the way to work, hang their wedding photos on the wall and muse over the best day of their lives for years to come. They have lots of good days, and a few bad ones, too. They fight, and then they talk, and they never go to bed angry, just put each other back together in the way that only they can. And then they wake up and love each other more in spite of it.

The honeymoon was great, but here’s the best part: they make it last.)

[jadecantcreate]

had a Thought about skrimm/barnabos (offhandedly mentioned very light/not plot related spoilers for eps 1 through 8)

so obviously barnabos has his thing with the woman in the shell right? calling her lover and all — it’s very clear they’re in a romantic relationship. it feels to me like it’s also kind of a warlock-patron or follower-god dynamic given her nature as some kind of otherworldly being (giving barbabos boons/abilities, appearing as fish, etc)

so imagine when barbabos catches feelings for skrimm and realizes it…how could he betray his lover, his muse, his goddess, even, like that? what would she think if she knew? she’d abandon him, certainly, and she would be justified. what is he to do? i mean, he might just be reading too deep into it and it’s just friendship. that comforts him a bit. but a part of him knows what he feels and it horrifies him. he loves the woman in the shell and devoted himself fully to her. but was that love anything more than admiration now? when had his romantic feelings for her dissipated and weakened enough to let someone else in? and skrimm, lazy slacker and sleazy conman skrimm, of all people? maybe if he can convince that nagging part of him, neither skrimm or his lover will learn of this sin, and he’ll forget all about it. he’s not sure he can. he tells himself it’ll pass eventually, as all things do and manages to believe it

and skrimm would react similarly, too. it just started as a joke by queenie and him exploiting a loophole (and barnabos’ assumption of him meaning well) to not do any work…he should’ve known to keep his guard up, to stop himself from getting too close — closer than he already was to all of them. in such a dangerous situation, attachment was a disadvantage. sticking together and being friends benefits the party, of course. more people, more skillsets, means more chances of survival. but love messes with skrimm’s head, and he’s not the smartest already — who’s to say he won’t sacrifice himself for barnabos’ sake? its a scary thought, and its even scarier that he doesn’t have a strong aversion to the idea. he has to get rid of these feelings somehow and he will figure it out…hopefully

[atopvisenyashill]

connections between naerys and sansa?

There’s plenty! She’s very much in a Naerys/Aegon scenario in ASOS & ACOK, where she has no ability to leave the capital, no one doing anything meaningful to protect her, and a King that is obsessed with sexually humiliating her. There’s a lot of romanticism and chivalry surrounding her character and how other people react to her character, the same as Naerys.

But also, Sansa makes the comparisons to Naerys herself, and she does it before she realizes what kind of person Joffrey is! In fact, it starts with her very first chapter where she compares Joffrey interrupting Ilyn Payne & Sandor Clegane to Aemon demanding a trial by combat against Ser Morgil:

A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

She will compare Joffrey to Aemon and herself to Naerys again later, to Ned:

"Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies."

(lowkey she’s so fucking funny for that “i only just now remembered” comment, idk how ned kept a straight face for it)

She then uses Aemon (and the Cargyll twins) to make Tommen feel better and dunk on Joffrey:

Prince Tommen sobbed. "You mew like a suckling babe," his brother hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry." "Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound." "Be quiet, or I'll have Ser Meryn give you a mortal wound," Joffrey told his betrothed.

Again, there’s a focus on Aemon’s romantic relationship with Naerys because that's what appeals to Sansa. But when people say "Sansa sees the world through stories" it's not just about how she romanticizes or idolizes knighthood, nobility, and chivalry - she thinks through information by comparing it with similar historical events or stories and analyzing it. She clearly sees the problem with Loras protecting Margaery from Joffrey by comparing him to the Toynes instead of Aemon, and Joffrey (once again) to Aegon the Unworthy:

She is so brave, Sansa thought, galloping after her . . . and yet, her doubts still gnawed at her. Ser Loras was a great knight, all agreed. But Joffrey had other Kingsguard, and gold cloaks and red cloaks besides, and when he was older he would command armies of his own. Aegon the Unworthy had never harmed Queen Naerys, perhaps for fear of their brother the Dragonknight . . . but when another of his Kingsguard fell in love with one of his mistresses, the king had taken both their heads. Ser Loras is a Tyrell, Sansa reminded herself. That other knight was only a Toyne. His brothers had no armies, no way to avenge him but with swords. Yet the more she thought about it all, the more she wondered. Joff might restrain himself for a few turns, perhaps as long as a year, but soon or late he will show his claws, and when he does . . . The realm might have a second Kingslayer, and there would be war inside the city, as the men of the lion and the men of the rose made the gutters run red.

She’s also not wrong in her assessment here because the Tyrells (my guess is Garlan and Olenna) are so worried about this outcome they just murder Joffrey and install Tommen; like Bethany Bracken, Margaery is groomed (with all the implications that are included in such a loaded term) to be sexually available to the King because her father wants power and doesn't care if his daughter is sexually abused to get it. Like Terrance Toyne, Loras is considered attractive, skilled, and has several brothers more than willing to start a war to avenge his death. I think it's incredibly intuitive that Sansa ultimately comes to the same conclusion as two seasoned political players like (presumably) Olenna and Garlan come to, and she makes this judgement call very quickly!

And Sansa also hits on a lot of (correct) similarities when she makes these comparisons between Joffrey's court and Aegon the Unworthy's court; Aegon and Joffrey both have wild, violent temperaments while being notoriously difficult to control. It’s not just Naerys that attempts to get Aegon to stop marital raping her; Aemon’s useless tears aside, Viserys does do the bare minimum here in sending Aegon away so Naerys can heal from her miscarriages, Daeron got shitty with the Brackens about being tacky over Naerys' marital rape and ill health, Baelor fasts himself to death over Naerys’ miscarriages, etc etc. All of the “authority figures” around Aegon think his behavior is wrong but Aegon proves stubbornly difficult to control or kill. Joffrey falls along these same lines - Cersei, Robert, Tyrion, Tywin, and even Varys all struggle to get some control over Joffrey but like Aegon, he knows once he’s of age and has that crown he doesn’t have to answer for SHIT and stubbornly resists every attempt to curb his behavior. Joffrey is a hell scenario waiting to happen because like Aegon, he’s petty and petulant enough to pull the stunts Aegon pulls like pitting his true born kids against his bastard born ones and causing another violent succession crisis. I say this as like, the ultimate Joffrey Apologist here, lmaooo, he has reasons for being a nasty piece of shit but the Tyrells are right to look at him and go “oh that’s trouble” because he is a ticking time bomb. And the crazy thing is, it’s not just Sansa who compares Joffrey to Aegon the Unworthy:

"A king can have other women. Whores. My father did. One of the Aegons did too. The third one, or the fourth. He had lots of whores and lots of bastards." As they whirled to the music, Joff gave her a moist kiss. "My uncle will bring you to my bed whenever I command it." Sansa shook her head. "He won't." "He will, or I'll have his head. That King Aegon, he had any woman he wanted, whether they were married or no."

Joffrey makes the comparison himself. He's a piece of work just like his hero and he is directly threatening to rape Sansa the same way Aegon raped Naerys and poor Bethany Bracken. He is directly admitting he is "unworthy" and practically daring all of KL to overthrow him for it because he thinks they'll blink before he does (and he is unfortunately deadly wrong in this assumption).

And when you extrapolate out from there, you can see other, similar patterns between Naerys' life and Sansa's, beyond the Joffrey-Aegon, Margaery-Bethany, Loras-Terrance, and Sansa-Naerys parallels. Tyrion himself aspires to be a sort of Viserys II type player (see: "It should have been called the Lives of Five Kings" rant he gives to Oberyn); a power behind the throne directing his crazy family to do what's right or smart or proper. There's an interesting echo in Viserys taking direct action in sending Aegon away from Naerys and Tyrion stopping Joffrey in his assault of Sansa - like Viserys, he can see the monster in the king he is raising, makes an attempt to stop it, but fails because he underestimates just how dangerous and erratic his little king has become. Like Viserys, Tyrion is suspected of poisoning his own nephew in an attempt to get closer to power and the throne (and Viserys, like Tyrion, is probably innocent - the sort of fasting that Baelor was doing regularly is hard on the body!).

I don't think any of this is coincidental or accidental either, because of that haunting scene where Joffrey destroys the gift Tyrion got him. Here's the scene, excuse the wall of text, but it's important:

He plays the gracious king today. Joffrey could be gallant when it suited him, Sansa knew, but it seemed to suit him less and less. Indeed, all his courtesy vanished at once when Tyrion presented him with their own gift: a huge old book called Lives of Four Kings, bound in leather and gorgeously illuminated. The king leafed through it with no interest. "And what is this, Uncle?" A book. Sansa wondered if Joffrey moved those fat wormy lips of his when he read. "Grand Maester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good," her small husband answered. "A book every king should read, Your Grace," said Ser Kevan. “My father had no time for books.” Joffrey shoved the tome across the table. “If you read less, Uncle Imp, perhaps Lady Sansa would have a baby in her belly by now.” He laughed … and when the king laughs, the court laughs with him. “Don’t be sad, Sansa, once I’ve gotten Queen Margaery with child I’ll visit your bedchamber and show my little uncle how it’s done.” Sansa reddened. She glanced nervously at Tyrion, afraid of what he might say. This could turn as nasty as the bedding had at their own feast. But for once the dwarf filled his mouth with wine instead of words... [Joffrey gets a Valyrian sword and figures out a name for it, Widow's Wail, it's a few pages, it's not relevant here] Joffrey brought Widow’s Wail down in a savage two-handed slice, onto the book that Tyrion had given him. The heavy leather cover parted at a stroke. “Sharp! I told you, I am no stranger to Valyrian steel.” It took him half a dozen further cuts to hack the thick tome apart, and the boy was breathless by the time he was done. Sansa could feel her husband struggling with his fury as Ser Osmund Kettleblack shouted, “I pray you never turn that wicked edge on me, sire.” “See that you never give me cause, ser.” Joffrey flicked a chunk of Lives of Four Kings off the table at swordpoint, then slid Widow’s Wail back into its scabbard. “Your Grace,” Ser Garlan Tyrell said. “Perhaps you did not know. In all of Westeros there were but four copies of that book illuminated in Kaeth’s own hand.” “Now there are three.” Joffrey undid his old swordbelt to don his new one. “You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped to pieces.”

God I love that passage so much. There's a lot there but what's relevant is a) both Oberyn and Garlan are trying to get a measure of who Joffrey is, and have some child murdering plans potentially in the works during this scene. Watching Joffrey destroy a priceless tome of history given as a well thought, well meant, incredibly generous (and pointed) gift from his uncle is more than enough proof for either man to decide Joffrey is not worth the headache, and please note Garlan is the only person to call Joffrey out to his face, and Oberyn is a few pages later the only person to acknowledge this was a fantastic and kind gift from Tyrion that Joffrey reacted absolutely deranged towards for no reason. and b) Tyrion is almost literally saying to Joffrey "I can be your Viserys, I can make it so you're remembered as a great king the way Daeron II or Baelor are, or a great warrior like Daeron I, but you have to understand the reason why I'm worried about your behavior" and Joffrey does the most destructive, unworthy thing he can possibly do - he quite literally destroys priceless, useful historical knowledge and wisdom with his bare hands, in favor of senseless, petulant violence. As Catelyn would say, Joffrey's real bride is not Margaery, but the war he's fighting and the crown on his head.

All of this to say - there's a lot of parallels between Sansa's situation in KL and Naery's life and these parallels are drawn not only by Sansa herself, but also by several people around her. However, I hope for better things for Sansa than what poor Naerys got - I hope for an Aemon the Dragonknight that will do more than just cry while she's raped, but actually step into that room and defend her, or else give her the power to defend herself. Despite the long wait for The Winds of Winter, I also think it's likely we will get some sort of Dragonknight, devoted sworn sword for Sansa and this person will help protect her, and Sansa will have agency that Naerys could only ever dream of.

[saltplane]

Business meeting