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Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

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Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

idk if I'm going to be quite as obsessive about this as I have with my past reading threads, but from what I understand, this is required reading for one of my characters

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

November 19, 2025 at 3:46 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Is this anything

The original quoted post, with words scribbled out to instead read "inside every lesbian is another lesbian"

November 12, 2025 at 5:10 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Ordering a copy of the Count of Monte Cristo and uh

yeah I bet.

Disclaimer that reads "Warning: not suitable for children under 10 months"

November 10, 2025 at 11:09 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

my friend is the funniest person alive i think

Me: "this too is neon genesis evangelion"

My friend: "i havent seen that is it like house md"

Me: "yeah kinda"

November 9, 2025 at 12:53 AM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Oh yeah this was my best attempt at contorting myself without pulling a muscle (pulled one anyway)

Very awkward picture of my toenails painted sea green

November 7, 2025 at 2:04 AM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

My butch has given me a new cognitohazard

"Wait, it's all X? Always has been" meme format, where everything is Neon Genesis Evangelion

November 7, 2025 at 12:32 AM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

I remain in a sharing mood. Just opened a new chapter that acts as a sort of interlude between arcs

The death of my parents was a meaningless tragedy.
I was fourteen when it happened. A band of slayers were sent up to the mountains to track down a gryphon. A gryphon! My mother told me they were one of the rarest things in the world, so at home on the winds of freedom that they might go years without ever touching the ground. I was a curious child, so I wasn’t quick to accept that; surely, they must land to hunt and eat? But they were just stories. At least, they were until that day.
Our lord wanted it alive. He would gain new powers from its blood, and so it would be added to his menagerie. That’s what the rumours said, at least. There was so much celebration when they wheeled it through town, everyone came out to watch the big wagon roll up the street toward the manor, the Eternal Manor of Lord Vendric the Vigilant. It was massive: I thought it would be no bigger than a lion — it’s part lion, part bird, after all — but it was almost the size of our house! The slayers walking beside it seemed only as tall as its shoulder, but it was hard to tell for certain: it was tied down and pinned in place with so many ropes.
Not enough.
I begged my mother for a closer look. I knew she would understand more than my father, she knew how much I loved animals, and I wanted so much to touch it. I didn’t tell them that last part — they would have said no if they knew. They should have.
The wagon didn’t stop for us, so I had to chase along. The tail was dangling over the back: it was like a lion’s, but with feathers along either side like a fin or paddle, glossy and brown like oiled wood. A few seemed loose. I couldn’t help myself.
It fell right into my hands as I touched it. It was softer than anything I’d ever felt.

Then it made a noise. Loud, somewhere between the shriek of a bird and the roar of a lion. It kicked, lashed out. I heard someone shout that it cut a rope. The slayers tried to push us away, but I was so focused on not dropping the feather that I didn’t see what was going on until the gryphon was already standing upright, a giant surrounded by mice. People were screaming. The slayers tried to restrain it again, I think. I was too scared to pay attention.
My father died first. He pushed me out of the way. I still remember the look on his face when the talons ripped bloody holes in his skin. I watched his arm come free from his shoulder like he was made of rags and string stuffed with meat. I thought mine would come free too when my mother grabbed it.
All we could do was run, so we ran. I was used to running, and climbing: as a curious child, I would sometimes take things to look at them closer, and when people tried to take them back I’d run and climb so I could keep looking. I’d always return it later, obviously — I just wanted to look. I stopped doing it when I was ten; this feather was the first thing I’d taken and ran away with since. The gryphon was the first thing that had ever been faster than me.
We somehow ended up on the road leading up to the manor. It was away from the gryphon, and that was enough. Maybe our lord would save us. My father said Lord Vendric was the most powerful thing for miles, that the Eternal Lords were invincible. Surely he could save us. Surely he could do what his slayers couldn’t.
My mother died second. Like my father, she was like so many rags wrapped around so many bones. I heard them shatter when that hooked beak latched onto her shoulder and pulled her off the ground like a dog shaking a rat to death. The air left her lungs too quickly for her to scream.

I was still clutching the feather when her body fell onto the cobbled road with a wet thud. The gryphon’s eyes went dumb, and it stood idle as if at attention. The screams around me had stopped, abruptly. People began to kneel.
I turned around, and a man stood over me. He was tall, taller than anyone I’d ever known, and wore a tailored coat and leggings in a vibrant red, the colour of blood, inlaid with golden thread. His collar was framed with a ruff, also red and gold. The outfit was a sculpture of sheer angles, sharp, stark, as though every inch of the man who wore it was a weapon. The falchion on his belt was sheathed; only a raised palm, wearing a white velvet glove, stood between him and the monster that slew my family. It was a command, an order to halt, spoken in a primeval language of strength. Only I dared look him in the face — maybe I was foolish, or brazen, or just distraught. Like his attire, his pale features were sculpted from blades, with high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and a prominent brow that imposed a permanent harshness in his eyes. His beard was trimmed pencil thin, and his short, side-parted hair was pitch black like mine.
“You took this, did you?”
His voice is finely carved oak, heavy and creaking like a door unbolted after eons. He was suddenly kneeling. I didn’t realise at first, still towering above me even like that — I was always short, especially as a child. I found his eyes, downturned and weary, but striking for the way the crimson limbal rings had all but entirely overtaken what were once green irises. They were focused on the feather.
I froze.
He glanced past me, probably at the meat that was once my mother. Even mangled as she was, the resemblance was there.
“Interesting.”

November 6, 2025 at 3:48 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

hey amber is that a whole ass 2ft baguette in your pocket or are you excited to- oh

Mirrir selfie of me in a black longcoat, the pocket of which has the top of a whole baguette poking out

November 4, 2025 at 5:57 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Is it normal for a character's intro to include not one, but two instances of getting sudden intrusive horny lesbian thoughts

Nadia has spent much of the journey focused on her surroundings. She is the cautious type, and even a simple greeting seems an intrusion — when she turns to face Phoebe, she seems baffled that anyone would even make the effort.

“Yes?”

Phoebe is a brazen mouse who has marched into the ocelot’s den. Despite her situational advantages — a well-ranked officer of the guild, and almost a foot taller than her at that — she knows such things mean nothing to this woman. Nadia of Namur, who is known to the guild for two things: a disdain for authority, and a streak of felling giants that would crush most hunters underfoot like insects.

The image of it crosses her mind but briefly; to be toppled and caught underfoot at her mercy. If only her position would not make it improper

“So, what, are you to be my wetnurse? Here to make sure I don’t violate any Imperial sensibilities on his behalf?”

A pause, as the lady-overseer is struck dumbfounded. She cannot tell if she ought to be offended by the accusation, distracted as she is by the mental image of playing the literal role of wetnurse — would that she could. At their difference in height, the pair are already almost perfectly situated for the act; and Nadia of Namur is certainly beautiful in her own hardened way, gleaming gold-flecked eyes that could puncture steel and pierce her most tender-

‘Now is not the time,’ Phoebe tells herself.

November 4, 2025 at 1:53 AM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Estrogen is powerful

November 2, 2025 at 5:01 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Guys I think my twink is broken

Discord DM from my bf: "Donut." Attached is a picture of a donut in his hand, with a running shower in front of him

Me: "that better not be your whole breakfast"

Him: "Of course not! I got the entire bag with me"

Me: "I'm going to kill you with a rock"

Him: "Even ate most of it already." Attached is a picture of an empty bag of donuts, also in front of the shower.

November 2, 2025 at 4:45 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

idk how much a snippet like this makes sense removed from context but fuck it we ball

Nadia’s eyes dart up. Her shoulders tense. The voice flows like the sweetest and finest wine from the smiling lips of a woman standing in the carved stone doorway. Her hair is silk spun from snow, and her encapsulating eyes are bright summer leaves, greener than a blade of grass and sharper than a blade of mythsteel. She is clad in a rich black cloak suited better for a grand hall than an archaeological spelunk, which all but conceals a vibrant red coatee — the colours of the Cult of Zara. Were she with the caravan, Nadia would certainly have noticed; yet her first appearance came only when Kaylan performed the aastkal taev, where she prowled as a fox browsing burrows, elusive and dangerously curious.

“Who are you?” Nadia already knows who she is not: this woman is neither scholar nor adventurer, as out of place amongst Sirites as burnished gold in a stack of wrought iron — or a knife in a flowerbed.

She walks into the chamber proper, not taking her eyes off the slayer. “Just a curious soul,” she answers.

“I prefer names over riddles.”

Her paces come to a halt. The air between them changes somehow. Her smile doesn’t move a millimetre.

“Lady Lucine, of the House of Twines.” She bows in the Zarite manner, her arm to her side. “And you are Nadia of Namur.”

Their locked gazes are load-bearing; the roof will surely come crashing down if either looks away now. “I’m getting tired of people knowing me before we’ve even met,” Nadia complains; her voice is as pointed as her eyes, all but scowling at the stranger. “If you’re after something, out with it. I’m busy.”

November 2, 2025 at 4:15 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

the baby is sleeping

A jack russel cross resting her chin on my knee

October 30, 2025 at 9:46 AM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

If your wife is a goblin, you too can experience unprompted DMs like this

Discord DM from Light of my Stars:
"Kicks open door. Comedically reattaches door through cartoon shenanigans alone. ORCS."

October 28, 2025 at 3:17 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

I will continue to just say I'm a woman every time I have to fill one of these out because this is just redundant

Bullet entries for "Gender" and "Gender Identity" listed separately

October 26, 2025 at 2:23 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Low res because the mirror is way over there but I caught my reflection and had to have another vain day

Selfie of myself in a gym hall mirror, sat on the floor leaning against a bench, wearing a washed out pink gym bra and leggings

October 24, 2025 at 1:53 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Anyway, I don't like being wasteful, so we're roasting seeds and making purée for pumpkin cake

Pumpkin seeds and pulp separated in bowls

October 23, 2025 at 1:35 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Pumpkin.

October 23, 2025 at 12:27 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Chat I acquired something today. im gonna do something funny with it.

October 22, 2025 at 3:15 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Sometimes you have to include a line that reminds the reader that this woman is filled with a capacity for violence

"Clench. Flex. She calls to mind the way his guttural wail of mortal realization was cut short when she caved in his skull. It helps steady her thoughts."

October 21, 2025 at 4:07 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

This is probably going to be the last Gunmetal Olympus thing I read for the next while so let's get at it

October 20, 2025 at 11:09 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Today I'm feeling vain

Mirror selfie of me, a woman with brown hair and round glasses, flexing in a bathroom mirror

October 20, 2025 at 1:50 PM

Amber 🔆

@ambernymph.bsky.social

Every now and then I'll be caught in my head feeling like the gym isn't doing anything for me and then I'll wear a shirt like this and think actually. I've got a lil something going on.