Ah Yes, The Four Main Food Groups: Chinese Takeaway, Coffee, Carbohydrates, And Pussy

How do fanfic writers feel knowing that people might have been masturbating to their work?

reblog this if your icon could kill a man

making this on my phone with very little sleep or consideration, but i think the point stands

My wife and I were discussing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (specifically from the 1980s) and she referred to Master Splinter as “Big Rat Daddy.”

I wish to inform you all that this is now what I will be calling Nine-Fingers Keene.

Big Rat Daddy

RIP Minthara, you would have loved spreading misinformation on twitter

Headcanon!

Bowling headcanon that no one asked for (in addition to the one I did about hockey)

Tav: arranges every single game because they’re the only responsible one; is very good at bowling and owns their own ball, shoes, bag, and towel; somehow never gets a turkey but can hit a 7-10 split

Durge: tries to stab someone when they roll a gutter ball; has to rent shoes; spends the night pretending to sacrifice the pins to Bhaal

Karlach: very good at bowling, but doesn’t take it seriously; tends to order pitchers of beer and gets too drunk to throw the ball down her own lane

Lae’zel: also very good at bowling, but takes the game way too seriously; has her own ball, shoes, bag, towel, and embroidered bowling shirt (Shadowheart embroidered it for her)

Shadowheart (Selûnite): doesn’t bowl, but does like the little claw machine game in the arcade area where she can win owlbear stuffies; cheers on Lae’zel from the spectator area when she’s done playing in the arcade

Shadowheart (Dark Justiciar): what is bowling and who the fuck are these people?

Astarion: much like with hockey, won’t play because he might break a nail (also because even the children’s balls are too heavy for him); spends the whole time gossiping with Jaheira, Shadowheart, and Isobel in the spectator area; tries to convince them to leave and get tacos and margaritas instead because bowling is “droll”

Wyll: very good at bowling and takes it only an inch less serious than Lae’zel; also has his own towel, shirt, bag, shoes, and ball

Gale: spends the entire time “educating” everyone on the historical beginnings of the game and how it has evolved over time; uses magic to cheat because he usually spins gutter balls

Halsin: excellent at bowling; brought the game to the Emerald Grove; is as serious as Wyll and loves it when he gets a turkey (he makes a gobble-gobble noise every time)

Minthara: “IN MENZOBERRANZAN THE MALES RESET THE PINS” (she’s yelling because she and Karlach are having a drinking contest that only Minthara knows about); is surprisingly good at bowling when she’s not sloshed; owns her own ball and shoes, but NOT because she likes the game (she does, but would rather die than admit it)

Jaheira: very good at bowling, but doesn’t play anymore because of arthritis; hangs out with Shadowheart in the spectator area above the pit and cheers on everyone

Minsc: Boo has to remind Minsc how to bowl, but once Minsc understands, he dominates; he also gets very drunk with Karlach

Dame Aylin: same with hockey, she was there when it was created and helped design the lanes; “HARK! THY LANES HATH MARKINGS UPON THEM THAT RESEMBLE MOON MOTES IN HONOR OF MY DIVINE MOTHER” (they’re just arrows and range markers, but don’t tell Aylin that); absolutely amazing at bowling; has her own gear that matches her armor perfectly

Isobel: doesn’t bowl, but comes to every single game to cheer on Dame Aylin and Dame Aylin only; sometimes sneaks off to the arcade with Shadowheart

Bonus -

Mizora: thinks the whole game is idiotic, but wants to be included; doesn’t bowl; spends the whole time making bets on who will get the highest score (but the bet is someone’s soul, cuz, yanno, Mizora)

Ketheric Thorm: very good at bowling - was on a league before his wife and Isobel died; spends the night trying to reconnect with Isobel by telling her “back in my day” stories (it doesn’t go well)

Orin: same as Durge, really, but with a dash more chaos; she also rents shoes but doesn’t wear socks

Gortash: greasy ass fry cook (I will not apologize)

born to be a sweet polycule’s housepet forced to be employed

I had to drive to Baltimore (Maryland) and back today. It was a 10-hour drive round trip. I did not have a fun time. However, I did see this monstrosity:

🤷🏻

Greenfinch, Green Witch

"You think you're a darkness, Astele. Only a shadow; a ghost in my life—but can't you see you're really the moon? The light that brings me out of that blackness and guides me home?"

I just stared at you after you'd said it, mouth agape, and chose to focus on the gold flecks in your hazelnut eyes instead of saying anything. Because how the fuck was I supposed to answer that, Harper? What the fuck was I supposed to say? You waltzed into my fucking Guildhall, noticebly unholed, then talked to me like I was the love of your fucking life? How the fuck should I have responded, Harper?

Should I have told you that you're the only brightness in my supposedly cold, dead heart? That you're the sun to my moon and the dawn that greets me every morning? What the fuck should I've said to you?

Probably all of those things. But you changed the subject before I could snap my mouth back shut. I don't even remember what you said afterwards - your words were too busy gnawing away at me, hollowing out a hole for them to take root in like you'd just cast a vine spell directly into my chest.

But… none of that matters now. Now I'm trodding along the dusty brown dirt path that leads up to your little cottage in the forest, bag of holding thrown over my shoulder. It's a charming little place, deep within the woods, small and cozy. The walls are covered in thick green vines that twist and twine wild around the cottage, climbing up to the thatched roof to reach towards the rays of sun that barely break through the dense tree canopy. White smoke rises in thick clouds out of the chimney, lush green and purple herb beds line the walk and front of the cottage, and patches of pink, white, and yellow wildflowers sprout here and there.

Grandmother, my sweet Jaheira, my green witch. All green things grow for you and all animals call you friend. I call you my love.

As my feet carry me ever closer and my eyes dart around to take in every ivy covered tree and moss coated rock, I realize I'm quietly singing and wonder how long I've been at it with a shake of my head. It's a tune I'd written for you after the first time we'd kissed:

Amidst the forest green

I seeketh me a rose

Within the sunny brambles

Where the elder oak tree grows—

I meet within the wood

A maiden bright and fair

With eyes of golden honey

And silver gray of hair—

I sayeth to the maiden

You're the most beautiful rose

And I hold her to my breast

Where the elder oak tree grows—

Stupid, I know. Such a silly little thing to have warbled at you. I didn't even sing it to you until a month later, and when I did, you kissed me even sweeter and called me your greenfinch.

I stop to watch a black and gold bumblebee awkwardly dance around one of the pink pops of blooms that lines the path. It buzzes and sways in the air before almost crashing in the middle of a blossom to load its legs up with bright yellow pollen. There weren't bumblebees in the Guildhall. Beer, gnats, liars, and thieves. There was the occasional flower there though - you.

The admission, although mental, makes me chuckle because when the fuck did I start talking like that? Nine-Fingers Keene, ruthless Guildmaster and famous rogue.

Retired.

Retired and moving into the forest to live with her ancient Druid and retired High Harper girlfriend. I can hear the echoes of laughter that would have filled the Guildhall if anyone other than my Ladies Court would have ever found out. I tried not to love you, I did. But you - you made me fall for you with your smile as soft as light and your skin smelling of moss and fresh rain. How could I not fall head over heels?

Mol, the tiefling that once sought shelter in the Guildhall as a girl has replaced me. She's even smarter and more cunning than me if anyone can believe it. She'll do more than well there. None of that matters to me anymore. Nothing but your enchanting smile matters to me anymore.

Suddenly, I find myself surrounded by a little army of bunnies you've created for yourself. A spy network, I tell myself, as a brown and white spotted one with long, floppy ears rears up on its hind legs to sniff my trousers. I let it take a good, long whiff, and then it's off, racing towards the cottage like I'm here to set you on fire. Maybe I am. I watch the little rabbit run right up to your wooden front door. It turns to face me and looks me right in the eyes while it lifts its little brown back leg and thumps on the door in rapid succession. Tattletale.

But then the door opens and there you are. Your halo of gray hair, left down to be wild and free like your spirit, spills over your shoulders like a waterfall of silver stars.

"Astele," you gasp as if you didn't think I'd come. Of course I'd come for you, Harper. You've got some green witch enchantment on me. That's what I'd told myself all those years, after all, before I finally admitted that your face was the last one I imagine every night before I fall asleep.

My arms are swiftly full of my Jaheira; full of the warmth and brightness of the sun in all its splendor, and when your pillowy lips meet mine there's an eclipse. The yellow moon that is encased in my heart thrums and pounds in my chest, tight against the bones that cage them that ache and shiver only for you.

"You're finally here, my little greenfinch," you ghost against my lips.

How could I resist?

For @ixievee - thank you for the inspiration!

The moon is shy (revised), 2025- mixed media (watercolour and colour pencil) on hand made cold pressed paper.

This painting was inspired by a beautiful photo by @raethanbhanneth.

Some lore: in my sapphic, tumblr ridden soul, the sun and moon are lovers. They get to see each other for only a few hours each day in the quiet hours of dawn and dusk. And when they part, the sun leaves golden kisses on her lovers skin, a tender reminder etched in the freckles on her cheeks. ❤️

uncropped 🔞 unorthodox use of magical vines version: bsky / imgbash