#look this is a hard word okay?!

[lurafita]

Number 6!

So, there is this thing to be found on the internet, about how biblically accurate angels look like Lovecraftian, eldritch monstrosities. Now I don't know if this is true, and I frankly don't care enough to go onto a research binge to find out, but as with anything and everything, my brain went: What can I do for Malec with this information? So now Alec has (semi-sentient) tentacles as a secondary feature. Much like a warlock's glamour, a nephilim mark can be hidden.

And most of his tentacles behave themselves, and they usually aren't out unless he wills them to (like with other shadowhunters). But that f-ing number 6! Number 6 just does whatever it (or rather Alec's subconcious) wants! Be that swatting Jace over the head when he is saying something dumb, or tripping Clary, or playfully pulling Izzy's hair, or sneakily wrapping around Magnus,... (okay, he might not be as opposed to that last one.)

[vampyfrnk]

happy birthday ray toro! - july 15th, 1977

[tzarrz]

to all people who said PART 1 made them laugh - i lov u 💗 this is for u

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

thinking about how mulder loves to get scully a gift, usually terribly heartfelt, even if disguised as something flippant:

the superbowl vhs tape he brings her when she wakes up from her coma in one breath (and her deadpan "i knew there was a reason to live")

tickets for a football game to watch together in irresistible

bringing her flowers to the hospital in memento mori (he lies, saying he stole them from a guy with broken legs to make her laugh)

the birthday keychain in tempus fugit (and when she finds a meaning to it, he claims "i just thought it was a pretty cool keychain")

that is a man who is always thinking about her.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

Please don't hurt yourself

[5a-alf]

I fear Kevin Day is the type of person whose struggle always came second. He funcioned enough that while everyone knew he wasn't alright, it was also nobody's problem, as someone else was actively having a harder time and they took precedence. He internalises all his problems and keeps going and going but he is fueled by alchool and sheer desperation a 100% of the time. If he were to stop for even a second he wouldn't know how to start again.

Did he ever, at somepoint in his life -away from the ex foxes, a pro player, married to Thea- wish he had it worse, just so that maybe it would have been his turn being saved? Being first? How badly would he feel, just one second after thinking it, because he knows damn well he has enough trauma to fill a stadium and he isn't actually jealous of his friends that had it worse, he isn't . That's a fucked up thing to think, stop it, stop it.

Would he still drink himself into a stupor to shoote the ache, to banish the thought? That's the help he got, when he was at his worst, a drink, and then two, and then a thousand. And it worked, it made him go, it picked him up when he was down, and now he can't get down without crashing.

Did he wish to be saved? Did he hope somebody, anybody, took the time and put in the effort to help him, just because they saw him down, not because he begged, but because they noticed he could use a hand. Or two, actually. Was it torment, to always be under the spotlight, yet never been seen? Did he run toward fame hoping the more eyes on him meant it would be easier to be noticed?

[daemon-in-my-head]

Bout that essay titled 'A study of Gortash's twisted love of humanity'- yk what fuck it here goes nothing. Back into a facists megalomaniacs mind we go. Spoiler; this is long.

But first of all; let's do a thought experiment. Let's just assume, for shits and giggles, Gortash's position would've somehow been swapped with any other the other chosen or another Banite:

Let's start with the Banites: if we had gotten anyone except for Gortash Baldur's Gate would've been fucked. Like genuinely. Banites are cruel, vicious, unashamedly gaudy (they suck ass at infiltration missions) and they exploit loopholes perhaps even better than fiends. Any other Banite would've simply reveled in the fear caused by rampant myrkulites and bhaalists and probably stoked that fire by employing some of their own forces. And depending on whether the Zhents join the winning side or not they would've probably used and abused the black network to absolutely dominate trade and potentially choke out every non desirable in the city itself by fun activities such as grand scale slavery, starving an entire city, or simply employing enough mercenaries and some Bhaalist to get the job done. Banites fuck everyone over so hard they usually don't even stop at themselves, and prideful cruel beings who know absolutely no bounds in their desire for power commonly don't hesitate, especially not Banites who thrive in backstabbing. So the other chosen and the grand design are fucked cuz they will most certainly get removed for the sake of someone more desirable the second they somehow irk Banes favourite toy. Which in some specific cases (all of them) would be in 5 minutes flat. If you thought the local nobility was bad just wait until you see a Banite in their natural environment.

Ketheric: Yeah Baldur's Gate is fucked. Ketheric cares about one thing and one thing only; Isobel. And he employs a bunch of sadistic necromancers who have no concept of personal boundaries or consent for that matter, so chances are he'd let them roam freely in Baldur's Gate, making the streets a huting ground for his followers to find prime subjects to perform inhumane experiments on all while he turns a blind eye; either busy trying to get Isobel under his (mind-) control, reviving her or treating a brainless puppet that looks and once was his daughter like his one true solution to decades of grief and fucking up. He wouldn't care about what happens to the city, to the other chosen or even the grand design. He'd follow his gods orders but thats about it and no matter whether that's still Myrkul or Bane; everyone's fucked cuz surpringly the guy who adores lichdom more than life and the other guy who'd rather 'burn everyone's fields than loose' aren't about to give out any orders that will benefit anyone but themselves.

Orin: Another great case of 'yeah Baldur's Gate is fucked'. Orin wants one thing and one thing only: recognition. Preferably from Bhaal but she'd take anyone at this point. The problem about this whole thing is, she's been conditioned and instilled with so much self-loathing my dearest murder princess can't even begin to realise when she's getting shown any sort of adoration anymore and immediately understands it as mockery, see, for example, her butler. Is what I would say if their corpse wasn't chilling in Durges old bedroom. All Orin would do is stage ever grander and more elaborate public massacres and involuntary 'anatomy displays'. Baldur's Gate wouldn't simply be fucked; give her a week, and the majority of it would be dead. This works well for Bhaal, but for anyone else, it would kinda suck. Including the other two of the dead three. And the cult would probably still loathe her simply due to her not being a true Bhaalspawn, so cue Orin's madness reaching an absolute boiling point. She doesn't and would never care for any of the other chosen or the grand design. Unless she's reigned in, she's a utterly loose canon, even more so than she was already, with Gortash or Durge at the helm, respectively.

Now time for my favourite of the reckless murder hobos; Durge. Given the few in game notes we have Durge had a thing for obliteration. Including but not limited to every living being + themselves. So let's just assume Gortash’s cocky upstart charm and Orins assassination attempt didn't work out as planned and they are still the de facto leader but now without any leash. Baldur's Gate is probably obliterated. Alongside whatever else remains of the sword coast. Or Troil. They'd probably also have some weird ass fuck relationship with the brain cuz they already did without being the undisputed leader. And the brain would probably discard the grand design themselves cuz somehow Durge has that effect on things (might be the innate charm magic of Bhaalist priests that they use to convince people to join a literal murder cult). Either way, with Durge not giving a single damn about the other chosen, any plans but Bhaals (or their misunderstood version of it) and a dramatic love for self-obliteration, it may finally be time to remedy the elves' mistake and rip Abeir-Toril apart properly. Ao hates this trick, alongside everyone else, probably including Bhaal himself.

Which is all my longwinded way of saying; Gortash is the lesser evil. In any set of circumstances he displays enough leniency, monster fucker vibes and rationality to somehow keep this ruined, sinking ship from hitting the sea floor immediately. He has enough of a twisted love for humanity left, compared to the others, to a degree that he doesn't blindly follow orders or actively seeks the destruction of everything, let alone 'true' domination the way Bane intends to have it.

But yes, indeed, Gortash performed fucked up and cruel experiments. No doubt about that. And yet it was still on a lesser scale than a mad massive hoard of necromancers could, and his experiments, for the most part, actually yielded results, didn't they? Presumably, the Coginator and the remote control brain mechanism used for the Steelwatch. After all, there are zombies(?) in there, controlling that shit. However, the experiments on loving families were probably one of his selfish indulgences and his sorry attempt at figuring out if he was just born loathsome and his family sucks ass or if that's normal and humanity doesn't deserve a second chance. Or a 30th. FR lore is fucked up.

This is also a great transition to exhibit B of my thesis why Gortash does in fact love or is at the very very very least heavily intrigued by humanity; the sole existence of the Steelwatch. Listen, my guy serves Bane. Bane hates planning. He likes immediate results. So much so he actively pisses off his situationship Bhaal for it. Repeatedly. And he likes fear and tyranny. So what do you think the chances are that the black hand would actually enjoy the thought of a mecha army patrolling the streets of Baldur's Gate, keeping them save, and worst of all, instilling hope in the hearts of the populous, peasants and nobles alike? Yeah, absolutely fucking none. And yet Gortash did that. And he's not even just a regular banite. He's Banes chosen. He carries a part of Bane's divinity within himself. He has the de facto highest position in the local faith. He's Banes favourite toy rn. He's the centre of attention and he still goes out of his way to use things that could 1000% inspire fear and hatred to sow fucking hope and a sense of safety of all things in plain sight? I bet his adorable wrinkly ass that Bane wasn't happy and that even a thousand rituals to redeem his leniency won't save him from getting tortured extra hard for this fuck up. And considering the state of the Banites scriptures we found, and his entire character, Gortash is smart enough to know this is something Bane absolutely loathes. And yet my guy did that.

Another thing is the hive mind. Bane would probably not hate it outright, as its still 'burning the fields' by turning souls illithid, but it's wasted potential. Because there's so many great things you can do with a hivemind and the remote control over people's thoughts and emotions, for example instilling fear and terror the very things Bane loves. But that's, once again, not Gortash plan. If the notes and one of the evil endings is anything to go by the hivemind doesn't trap people in a state of torment, it does the polar opposite. People are happy, enjoying a better, simpler and nicer life. Enjoying an idea of what their life could've been like. They're smiling, happy, enjoying a casual market stroll and the bountiful rewards of the fields. Which is all things that a good Banite should hate and never inflict on someone. AND YET that's presumably Gortashs plan. Create a hivemind where everyone can dream happily and do soulless labour without noticing it while the world goes to absolute shit but the people do not. It's basically noah's arc. It's paradise in hell. The people are 'saved' while the gods continue to fight their petty games, and Gortash alone lords over this perfect dream. Protecting it answer using it to advance further.

Now, about the busts found in his office. Most of them depicted rather unsavoury, cruel people. Except for one. Which honours a self made person who took pity on those who had less. On those considered lesser by the upright and honourable citizens of the Gate. It's weird how, between all those symbols and testaments to cutlery and tyranny, there's still a sliver of empathy, renegade justice and even care for fellow humans imbued, isn't it? And what's even weirder, all of them are found in Gortash's most private place? His own little office hidden far above the grandeur of the throne room and the Fortress, where he sits at the helm, lording over his subjects and scheming his little plans? This is an excellent example of show, don't tell btw. It's hitting you over the head with the implications. But just in case, this might very well be a reflection of Gortashs mind itself and the visible expression of him being incapable of letting go of humanity as a whole, still carrying it somewhere not even that well buried between the resentment and cruelty but out in plain view for everyone curious enough to touch it because what others reason would he have tob'play the benelovent ruler' in a place where no one sees it? Where only his most trusted and fellow Banites mingle?

And, ofc, as I am a durgetash truther, another exhibit. Him fucking Bhaals gore baby and putting a leash on it prematurely. You see, I've already talked about Banes likes and dislikes plenty so it should come as no surprise that the Edgelord Surpreme wouldn't hate carnage wrought upon foolish mortals by idiots who follow lesser gods than himself, since it would still somehow contribute to people being scared and panicking. But Gortash, being the ever faithful fuck up of a Banite, reigns in the Bhaalist and even the Myrkulites enough for that to kinda never really happen. He stopped the carnage from happening altogether, in fact, by giving the others enough scraps to keep them satisfied and from acting out but not enough freedom to fuck up his plans. I mean, heck he was apparently so convincing he managed to get Durge, again, biggest fan of self-obliteration, from going on an apocalyptic rampage cuz 'daddy I like his brain and I don't mean for dinner'. Him doing that actively contributed to preventing another Bhaalspawn crisis, which could've very well happened with Bhaals resurgence and revival, 2.5 loose canons and no ward of a random old guy in sight. But also him providing a clear goal and orders for Ketheric kept the lich from giving in to the sweet release of just not caring at all whatsoever. Everyone had their designated roles and boundaries and that was perhaps the only thing keeping this group of mentally unstable creatures from unleashing an apocalyptic nightmare; which again would've worked in their gods favour and technically didn't need any prevention.

And about the Gondians... Yeah this is gonna sound fucked up, cuz it is, but Gortash is actually treating them exceptionally nice. Their families are actually still alive and its not just a lie he's telling them, we don't actually see anyone getting flayed, strung up or tortured in some other way outright, they actually get to wear clothes and presumably they're fed enough to a degree that most of them can still somewhat work and the collar and the threat of your head exploding does suck but he could've also simply chained them to their work stations but they aren't. Let alone use charms or other beguiling and fucked up magic to force them into complacency. And they're not being resold or redistributed or forced to serve some random ass guy. The Gondians are, from a Forgotten Realms and probably Bane's perspective, treated exceptionally well. As are their families. Still undoubtedly fucked up and kinda sadistic with the whole explosion collar but objectively speaking he's one of the nicer slave masters. And they do allow him to produce the Steel Watchers en mass which once again contributes to the overall safety of Baldurs Gate and its other citizens. Still the lesser evil.

Though to be fair; Gortash also did some things Bane would really celebrate. Like somehow cheating his way into obtaining the Iron Throne, fucking Bhaals favourite and most fucked up """"child"""" and of course, keeping his parents alive and in agony to eternally fuel Banes fear kink. Except, it's only Sally who's afraid. Dravo is basically a blue screen of death personified at this point. He's a hollow, numb husk, isn't he? So somehow this once again doesn't align with Banes goals and Gortash's duty as a Banite. He's fucked it up again. But Gortash could've also simply killed them if all he wanted was revenge. Why go out of your ways, program elaborate scripts into them, keep the very place that testaments his fucked up past in good condition? Because a quick death would be too merciful? But then why is he so quick to turn on Durge if they betray him in a much smaller scale than his parents did. Well, perhaps he chose not to simply kill the very people who prepared Belladonna in the kitchen when he came to visit because he himself still needs them. Because underneath all that rage and spite there's still a broken boy who wants to hear his parents, albeit empty praise, and who wants to prove to them that he can be better? That his useless playing around actually helped better humanity, that he himself helped countess people and made lives better when all they thought he'd be useful as would be a pawn?

So, is it twisted? Yes. Is it rotten? Absolutely. Is it anything you'd consider to be 'conventional'? Absolutely not. But he does hold some wildly fucked up 'love' for humanity, if only as means to a grander goal (that being himself, ofc) or perhaps cuz he's genuinely incapable of letting go. Whether it's that, to spite Raphael, Bane and his parents or someone else, who knows. Probably nobody. But the shit he does is unorthodox and oddly self-sacrificial in a way where I just can't go, 'yeah no he absolutely loathes the sheer existence of the concept'.

I still think it's a missed opportunity he's not trying to build a spelljamming port though. I feel like he would absolutely do that somewhere down the line, if only to limit the black networks influence.

[willmiwi]

Okay so silly little thing I want; no NEED: I want buddie to be either fighting or flirting w each other on a call and get told by some of the victims "oh my god GET A ROOM !!!!". I just knowww their hearts would drop out of their ass *evil smirk*

[w3ndytheraccoon]

Look I’ll say it. I did NOT care for Jimmy’s final death.

Well I care about Lizzie being collateral but like. I knew Jimmy was gonna die because of Grian in a dramatic ass heartwrenching angsty way the moment Grian swore it and I am definitely consuming a shit ton of fanfic about this later. But like. I wasn’t very surprised so it doesn’t hit me as hard and with everything else ? It just doesn’t stand out very much.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I am never going to get the motivation to watch squid game 2 but TRANS PERSON REPRESENTATION IN KOREAN MEDIA??? Let's goooo!! I have now genuinely seen that happen TWICE in a kdrama and I would never have even dreamed of being able to say that when I was younger

[jubmato]

bleghhhh finally sat down and made a full body ref for my bill design

more versions, closeup, and notes under the cut! (version without the coat + accessories, and then a version in minimal clothing) ↓

notes time!

- fuck ass bob forms the vaguest of triangle shapes (like. a soft triangle ig)

- cosmetic scarring on the right side of his face. he literally just made it like that for shits and giggles

- vaguely based on pitiful descriptions of ancient sumerians; long, angular nose, big eyes, long ears, brown skin.

- white hair is self indulgent on my end. i am bestowing upon him the highest honor i know. stupid little white streaks in his hair

- "why is the triangle transgender" fuck you thats why

- rune tattoos on his forearms change frequently. its like an led billboard for all the bullshit happening in the multiverse. the alphabet also changes. i just used galactic/minecraft enchantment table because i already know it

- clothing is always loose and comfortable. i think he'd fucking hate wearing clothes and would wear the baggiest shit imaginable to keep it from touching his skin, if he were actually human. (foreshadowing (/j)). as this is just an illusion he uses in the mindscape, however... just loose. the grippers stay out tho unfortunately. boy put the dogs AWAY

- big fucking robe. idk why it just felt right. let's say it's to sell the whole Muse thing or whatever

- small ribbon around his neck (to stay fashionable whilst also keeping his bowtie (god i fucking hate bowties theyre so ugly im so sorry))

- the glasses are useless he does not need them

- earrings also change frequently. almost always unsubtly gold & triangular but he can get silly with it if one so desires

OKAY I THINK THATS EVERYTHING 🙂‍↕️ sorry for the long post i just have a lot of thoughts in my brain. smiles. if you got this far, thank you for reading, i owe you my life

[thatoneandlonelyemo2005]

Alright I'm going feral but let me explain when cannon era Javid hits, you gotta write about it

David dressing Jacks wounds and him pulling back and sucking in a breath, "Jackie you need to hold still."

"It hurts when you do that Dave."

"Well, I gotta clean it, Jack."

Jack rolls his eyes but lets David clean the wound. Jack lets his mind race with feelings as he feels bad for making David worry about him. "I'm sorry." He says quietly

David looks up at him, "Don't be sorry."

"But I can't keep you worrying over me." He bites his lip

"Jack I will never stop worrying about you!" David holds his hand in his "

"No you can't David, I'm not perfect and I can't give you anything back and-"

"Jack stop it! Don't say that about yourself, I don't care that you can't give anything back and I don't care if you're not perfect neither am I or even my parents, I love you, Jack, you gotta know that."

Jack's eyes glisten, "Are you sure?"

David locks eyes with his,"More than sure Jackie, I love you not matter what."

"I love you too," Jack whispers and feels a tear go down his cheek.

David kissed him gently and continued with dressing his wounds. After finishing and putting supplies away David leads Jack to bed and wraps him into a hug while saying "I love you". Jack looks up at him one more time and, "I love you too. Thank you."

"Of course Jackie, anytime."

[popponn]

there is something about how when anime official art gets yoichi right fashion wise it's always a comfy bf look like look at him

very fluffy. very huggable. i want to poke and pinch his cheeks. also he often has those lil blushies when he eats and for some reason it's cute. the gap moe between on field and off field is still something else to see each time i remember it. i love it ofc 💚 but it's still something else

[mappingthesky]

angst prompt idea: they get into a fight and nymphia says ‘just leave me alone’ in the height of emotions but doesn’t really mean it, and jane would actually leave thinking that’s what she wanted, making nymph cry even harder

basically miscommunication at its finest

i said leave (but all i really want is you)

It’s been building in the way that all breakdowns do.

Everything accumulates. The things that are all manageable in the moment - the insecurities, inconveniences, odd interactions and instances of discomfort - start to stack up, sticking to each other like snow, feather-light flakes amassing into unmovable drifts, and suddenly they’re an avalanche crashing down upon her. All at once it becomes unbearable - the weight of the world which Nymphia has fought so hard to remain soft in spite of.

It’s not the first time that Nymphia has hit a rough patch, but it’s the first time Jane is here to see it, and for some reason it’s making Nymphia spiral out, like swerving to avoid the ice and driving them right off the fucking road.

It could be because she’s used to dealing with this alone. That she’s used to everyone assuming she’s alright, used to disappearing until she can find it in herself to be sunny and bright once more. It could be that she’s scared to let Jane see her like this, scared that every day she remains sullen is doing irreversible damage to Jane’s vision of her, whatever it is, and replacing it with this - the slow blinking, soft-spoken, unsure, shell of a girl that Nymphia is lost somewhere inside of. It could be that Jane is being so sweet about it, that every one of her tireless attempts to lift Nymphia’s spirits so clearly comes from her heart, that she’s so obviously willing to do whatever it takes. It could be that, because with every one of Jane’s displays of affection meant to make her feel just a little bit better, Nymphia feels guiltier. More frustrated with herself and her inability to pull herself out of the hole she’s in. More afraid that it’s their grave. More afraid that she’s dug it herself.

Maybe that’s what’s scaring her into silence now, as Jane tries to will her to open. She’s been rattling off things they could do for a few minutes now, trying to coax Nymphia out of the apartment with the promise of a walk around the park, or a trip to the thrift store, or slurpees at 7-11. It’s been days of this, and Nymphia wants it to happen just as badly as Jane does - for something to light her up, to pull her from the place on the couch she’s content to spend the rest of her life wallowing in, for some miraculous gleam to pierce through the low-hanging fog that’s clouding her vision. Jane sighs, and Nymphia feels too heavy to hold.

It’s not Jane’s fault. She’s unfamiliar with the freezing over of Nymphia’s feelings, unprepared for her aloofness after the bright, sparkling fizz of the first few months. She’s doing the best she can with absolutely nothing to go off of. Jane asks for the second time if it’s anything she’s done, and Nymphia feels worse than she did the first. “It’s not you,” Nymphia says, and can’t quite admit the other half of it out of some newfound fear. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t know how to stop it.

“You would tell me if it was me, right?” Jane asks and it’s like a knife, her voice a thin blade of worry. It cuts right through Nymphia - that Jane thinks she could be to blame, when Nymphia has created this hurt all on her own. The truth is that there’s nothing Jane could do that would hurt her quite like this, in the specific way that Nymphia hurts herself. She doesn’t know how to confess something like that, isn’t sure she would want to even if she did. All she can do is nod, and the hot tears spill over as the thoughts completely overwhelm her.

Jane’s oh, Nymphia is crushed with concern, and she moves to comfort her so instinctively that it makes Nymphia’s heart break all over again, because it’s Jane we’re talking about -Jane, the girl who was too shy to make the first move or say the first I love you or shed the first tear is now breaking through her own emotional barriers to comfort her, coming to Nymphia’s aid like it’s as natural as breathing, and Nymphia is the one that’s too emotionally tapped to know how to respond to that. She feels Jane wrapping around her even though she’s unsure, can feel her wondering how to go about putting her back together, and all Nymphia can manage in the face of Jane’s bravery is to cry into her hands.

“Baby,” Jane says, and Nymphia can hear it in her voice - the mounting desperation, the options she’s running out of. “What can I do?”

Nymphia doesn’t know why it happens - why she goes cold when she so desperately wants to be warm. Why she becomes so irritable, why she leans so hard into her roughness when she knows what she really is - patient, kind, loving. The truth is, she’s exhausted. It’s hard work to be so soft-hearted. Sometimes it’s too much to ask.

So all she does is shrug, mumbles that there’s nothing Jane can do. She hears the words come out of her mouth in slow motion, and doesn’t know why she can’t stop them, why she can’t seem to say this is enough. Just hold me until I stop feeling like this. Just see it through with me.

“Hey. Talk to me, Nymph,” Jane says, soft and urging, like she can sense the words Nymphia can’t seem to bring to the surface. It’s more of a plea than a command, but all Nymphia can hear is the frustration buried at the back of it - the part of Jane that surely must be exhausted from her unrewarded efforts, exhausted by Nymphia’s inability to keep it together.

“I can’t read your mind, baby,” Jane reaches out to brush Nymphia’s hair from her face like it’ll reveal something, like she’ll find some semblance of an answer there. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Jane says as gently as possible, but it still sounds like a cue, like she’s begging for something to go off of.

“Okay,” Nymphia says, because she doesn’t have anything at all. “So go.”

She can feel it - the moment of impact. The moment Jane pauses, still mid-reach, still tucking Nymphia’s hair tenderly behind her ear. The moment lightning strikes, the moment the air goes electric.

Jane’s eyes go wide. She looks startled, dumbfounded, afraid to move. Her lips ghost open, breath visibly hitching in her throat. “What?”

”Go home,” Nymphia hears herself say, her voice a scrape against her own soul, a contradiction to everything she cares about. She sees Jane wince, watches as the reality sets in, and the right words feel farther away than ever.

“Nymphia,” Jane shakes her head, scrambling to find her footing amidst the shaking of the ground they’ve been standing on. “I don’t think I-“

”Just go, Jane,” Nymphia forces the words through her teeth and can’t seem to figure out why she sounds so angry.

She watches the pain rippling out across Jane’s face, the searing flare of her eyes. The way Jane watches and waits for Nymphia to change her mind, the way she looks like she’s going to reach out again but doesn’t, the way she awkwardly rises from the couch and looks around the room like she should have more to take with her. Like it’s wrong to leave without Nymphia beside her. The way she so obviously doesn’t know what to do with herself - whether to fight or to flee. The way she’s never sounded quite so meek as when she says goodbye and tells Nymphia to call her if she needs anything. The way she shuts the door so gently, like she’s trying to be silent, like she’s scared to upset Nymphia with something so insignificant as the click of the door even as she’s being shoved away. The way she pauses on the other side like she’s waiting for Nymphia to change her mind. The way that, when Nymphia doesn't move, her steps sound different as she walks the length of the hall - heavier, somehow. And then Nymphia knows why she’d sounded so angry - because she’s doing this to Jane. Because she’s doing this to herself.

There’s a few moments where she can bear the quiet, and then it all comes crashing down, because Nymphia is utterly, completely alone. Because she didn’t have to be.

-

Nymphia misses Jane from the moment she lets her slip away.

She spends most of the night sulking in it, recounting everything that led up to the moment when it all went wrong while the sun sets on her and what feels like everything else. She stays there until the room has gone dark, illuminated only by the far off glow of the hallway light, the blinking power button on the television, the electric green of the clock on the stove.

The night passes, and the sun rises whether she wants it to or not. She knows how this goes. She’s weathered this sort of storm before, knows that there’s nothing to do except feel her way through it. She’s done it before, but it’s not until she wakes that realizes she can’t do it again. Not in the same way she’s done it before. The ache is bigger now that she’s let someone in and shooed them away, and Nymphia desperately wants Jane to hold her hand through it, wants to go back in time and undo the thing that she thinks could do her in for the rest of forever.

She does it more times than she cares to admit - types out a long text message to Jane, deletes it, types a shorter one, deletes that too. The various iterations of the apology doesn’t matter. They all boil down to the same thing. i love you, i’m sorry, do you still love me?

They don’t matter, period, because Nymphia never sends them. She’s scared to see the damage she’s done, to inevitably take inventory of what survived her most recent storm. She hopes beyond belief that Jane will be the first to reach out, that she’ll magically know just what Nymphia needs in the way that all star-crossed lovers supposedly do, and is reminded fifteen times that afternoon that there is no such thing - that star crossed lovers are doomed from the start, that’s what makes them so. And just when Nymphia starts to think that Jane must truly hate her, that she must have already moved on and left Nymphia in the dust to chase after happier, more stable girls, she remembers that she’s the one who sent her away.

-

It’s on the third evening without Jane that Nymphia is forced to reemerge. She’s sat in the dark for longer than she cares to admit, has doom scrolled far past the point of finding anything interesting, and has effectively run out of anything remotely appetizing in the pantry. And so she rises, drags herself into the shower and lets the hot water remind her that there’s something inside her that can still be warmed. She pulls on something she can disappear inside of, sweeps her still-drying hair into a ponytail and slips on her headphones. When she emerges from her apartment building and onto the city streets, she’s reminded that there’s still a world out there - a world that will carry on with or without her, a world in which anything can happen. It doesn’t matter that she’s doing it on her own terms, replacing the noxious whirr of the world with her own personal soundscape - as she walks the seven minutes to the supermarket, she’s meeting that world halfway. It’s a win in itself.

She’s only feeling so brave on this particular trip, so she sweeps through the aisles quickly, eager to get home and label today a success, if only for her brief stint in human interaction. She plucks a few things off the shelves, whatever sounds remotely appetizing, and finds herself thinking of Jane; her insistence on satisfying Nymphia’s sweet tooth, on coming home with brown paper bags of flaky pastries or chocolate-covered confections or sweet, doughy balls of mochi. Missing Jane and all of the sweetness that comes with her, Nymphia rounds the corner, and nearly runs right into her.

Jane’s at the end of the aisle and reaching for a bag of those dark chocolates that she’s gotten Nymphia into, because of course she is. Her blonde hair is in a top knot and she’s dressed for comfort much like Nymphia is - leggings, a t-shirt, a cardigan slipping down her shoulder. She gasps ever so slightly, tugs the airpod from her left ear and looks back at Nymphia, a little awed and a little afraid. She looks so soft, so warm, so much like home that Nymphia just wants to curl into her, to give in to her completely.

“Hi,” Nymphia says and her voice wavers, because it’s the first word she’s spoken in two days, the first thing she’s said since she sent Jane away.

If the last Nymphia saw of her was Jane’s complete and total collapse, this is exactly the opposite. Jane’s eyes flash, her chest fills, and Nymphia wants to pour into her again and again. “Hi,” she says, and it’s almost a whisper, almost a smile on her lips.

Nymphia looks at Jane and doesn’t know where to start. There’s a breathlessness between them, a brink that they stand on together. Somewhere between uncertainty and sureness. Nymphia looks at Jane and knows where she wants to end.

Her eyes fall to the bouquet of sunflowers that peek out of Jane’s basket, pretty and plastic-wrapped. Nymphia has a horrible, gut-wrenching thought. Jane interrupts it.

”I, um,” Jane stammers, looking down and shaking her head at herself, mouth closing momentarily, a little ashamed of herself but admitting everything anyways. It’s a little sad, somehow still endearing. “I was gonna drop them off for you,” she shuffles her feet, avoiding eye contact. “And some other stuff,” she says, and Nymphia notices the things at the bottom of the basket. All of Nymphia’s favorites: the instant noodles, the hot chips, the loose leaf teas that Nymphia can never justify splurging on, and the strawberry bubblegum, and the dark chocolates with chili that Jane had been reaching for (because of course she did).

“Sorry. If that’s weird,” Jane sputters in the way Nymphia knows she does when she’s nervous. “I was going to call you. Or text. Um. But I didn’t-I didn’t know if you wanted to talk.”

“It’s not weird,” Nymphia blurts out, and Jane’s head snaps up. “It’s nice,” Nymphia hears herself say, but it’s so much more than that. “I wanted to text you.”

Jane blinks through the disbelief, and Nymphia wonders for the hundredth time what the last forty-eight hours have been like for Jane. Whether she spent them hoping beyond hope in the same way that Nymphia had. She thinks maybe she did, because:

“You did?”

It’s the shyest Nymphia has seen Jane since the very start, when both of them were so unsure and so obviously smitten in the way that women who fall for each other so often are: both so in love and so unwilling to believe that it could be possible.

”Yeah.” Nymphia suddenly feels like she could cry, and is suddenly aware that she’s feeling again. All at once she’s swept up in the exhilarating thrill of risking it all, of surrendering so completely to someone else. “I wanted to text as soon as you left.”

Jane’s breath sort of hitches and the look in her eye is so many things at once -hope, fear, relief, worry. They open their mouths at the same time, both start with, “I didn’t-”, both sort of gasp and start to laugh at each other, and it’s the best sound in the world, because Nymphia didn’t know if she could ever laugh again, if she’d ever hear that sound she loves so much - Jane laughing just for her.

“You go first,” Jane nods, and she could be giving Nymphia a second chance, except she doesn’t quite have to. Nymphia could never fail her, would never need a second chance. Jane would never write her off in the first place, would keep choosing her time and time again.

“I didn’t want you to go,” Nymphia says, because she wants to be honest with Jane; she feels that she owes her that much. So she speaks softly, slowly, making sure that every word is as close to what she means as possible. “I don’t know why I told you to leave. I was scared, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Jane shakes her head, “I didn’t want to go, Nymphia, I swear. I only did because I thought that’s what you wanted.”

”I know. I thought that’s what I wanted too.” Nymphia’s bottom lip is curling out and her eyes are starting to mist and she’s in the middle of a fucking supermarket. “But it’s not.”

Jane swallows. “No?”

“No,” Nymphia shakes her head, can barely get the words out without choking up, but she’s determined. She wants to. She doesn’t care who knows, just as long as Jane does. “I want you there with me.”

Through the first of the tears that are welling up in her eyes, Nymphia can see Jane resisting the impulse to reach for her, just barely holding herself back long enough to ask. “Can I-”

Nymphia sputters, half-laughing. “Please.”

This is the part that makes all the work of letting Jane in worth it - the part where Nymphia is completely enveloped by her, slotting so perfectly into place against her, because she isn’t meant to be alone. She’s meant to be with her. They aren’t star-crossed lovers destined for some ultimate doom, and they aren’t the stars of some great tragedy. They’re something so much simpler. Something so much better. They’re just each other’s people.

“Are you okay?” Jane says against her hair, not daring to let go, not even wanting to, because this is all she’s wanted from the start - to know what to do.

”I will be,” Nymphia squeezes tighter, eyes shut, savoring her return to safety. “Are you okay?”

”Yeah,” Jane says, and Nymphia can hear her smiling. “I think I will be too.”

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT,

Forgive me if this is a stupid question, but I absolutely love the recs you've given (you've introduced me to tomione, and I love it!) and I was wondering if it's possible to give you some recs in return? There are some books and fics that definitely have dramione / got vibes, and I was wondering if I could share them with you!

So glad you've enjoyed them! Feel free to rec me anything you want. I've read most of the classic recs in terms of fic and adjacent content (Cruel Prince et al), but I'll try anything that's well-written. My tastes run towards weird and/or audaciously creative stuff, and I can forgive a lot of weaknesses in plot on the grounds of (1) ambition or (2) character work. My turnoffs are instalove, protagonists who can't fail, and most Y/A (I'm not a hater, I swear, I just need characters who can say "fuck" when their leg gets chopped off.)

I'm also a fan of weird and fucked-up dynamics.(Wuthering Heights was my favorite book for a while, and as a teenager I wrote an AU in which the book ends on a long sex scene where Heathcliff fucks Cathy's ghost and then immediately gets murdered by Catherine 2.) Obviously, I am very normal.

[fobnsfwdoodlesbackup]

Hi y'all, I just wanted to talk a little about the behind the scenes of what I've been up to, to give y'all a little transparency and to open myself up for any tips or input! 🙏 Thank you for your continued support and for taking the time to look at my art 🫶

First and foremost I wanted to give some transparency about my art capacity.

As og followers may remember, I started this blog when I was doing art full time. Eventually my living expenses grew and I had to go back to work. I find myself in a cycle of "I'll make more art soon, once I get a job!" And "I'll make more art soon, once I am done with this job!" I lost my most recent job suddenly, having had an extension waved over my head until the last day(October 7th). Now I'm excited to have more time for art, but I am also feeling a rush to get a new job ASAP as I've been living paycheck to paycheck. I dream of doing this work full time, I'm just scared it's not quite there yet and I worry that I come off as scammy or dishonest when I anticipate more stability around the corner.

Second, I've been struggling with the Patreon. It's taken me a while to come to terms with this, but from what I've seen Patreon is not intuitive at all from the creator end. It doesn't do a good job of organizing addresses, emails, showing who or who isn't subscribed to me, or organizing and displaying the work I put on there. I've been really shocked by this experience, since lots of big names use Patreon. It's been a great way to streamline support, but it's been unhelpful in every other regard. I would like to continue using it, but I will most likely post more wips or process videos there in the future.

Which brings me to my third point, zines. I love making zines so much, it feels personal and fulfilling and fun! However the Patreon issues make it harder to keep information in order about where to send zines, or even where to message folks about them. In addition to this, the post office has been a big barrier to me, oftentimes only being open at the same time as my dayjob. Making zines can take days, then sending them out is a whole other monster.

This work is so important to me. Drawing peoples fantasies, representing body types, creating work around sexuality and the human experience feels like what I'm meant to do. I've made comics since I was a kid. This is the dream to me. The friends I've been able to make through this work are so important to me, and the conversations have been invaluable. Not to mention fun! I wanna doodle, I wanna draw hot stuff, I wanna thirst over these dudes! I want to play!

But I also just want to be transparent about the barriers I'm working around to share that experience. I'm completely self taught, both in art AND in running shops, building websites, running 8 accounts, etc. I take a lot of time to learn the logistics of these things, and try to make them make sense for my relationship with y'all (I do not want to paywall my art!! I don't want to!!!). This year my desktop broke down (the main one I use for all paintings and digital art). I've paused my Etsy shops and my Patreon to try to catch up with things. Trying to learn to paint in a completely different program. Then lost my job with no savings.

At the end of the day I don't want anything to come between me sharing my art with you. I wish I could doodle a thing, take a picture, and post it here. No third party site, no shop, no subscription. Just sharing my art with you. I promise I'm trying to figure out how to stay as close to that as possible, and I want to thank y'all for sticking with me as I untangle all of that.

So, what can you expect in the near future?

I'm working on a couple of painting commissions right now, which you should be able to see in the next couple of days! I want to catch up on kinktober and get those posted as well. There's a comic commission in progress which I'm very eager to work on, and which I think y'all will be excited for! To ease the weight of the Patreon I think I may do less zines/polls there and more wips and process videos! If possible, I want to do more full colored work too.

Thank you again for enjoying my work, and if you have any input or tips my inbox is always open 🙏🫶💕