#I HAVE BEEN SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS FIC

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

I finished a new Shadisper fic!

Shadow and Whisper get sent on a mission to the icy wastelands outside Holoska. But as the sun starts to set and the temperature drops, there's only one way to keep warm: cuddling. Can Shadow allow Whisper to break through his icy demeanor enough to get the warmth he desperately needs?

[bizarrelittlemew]

i can't wait to be 30+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 40+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 50+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 60+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 70+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 80+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 90+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to look back on my life and know that i loved things deeply and passionately and was inspired to create and was part of communities with incredible people from all over the world brought together by the stories that touched us

[oodlesodoodles]

Harry squeezes a local Club manager to let them have a swim in the fancy ass pool in return for keeping a drugging/poisoning case quiet

[xoxoemynn]

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Hello OFMD crew, I know this isn't how we wanted to be spending our Pride month but I'm so happy to be spending it with you.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[myokk]

For writers:

What’s your favorite piece of writing you’ve done, and why??

Idk I just woke up thinking about this & now I’m curious!!! & may or may not be compiling a tbr based on your responses since I really haven’t had the time to read any hl fics yet🫶🫶🫶

[choccy-milky]

A few months back, I asked if it was okay to write using Clora and Seb. Finished the work - thought I'd lost it on my hard drive and a virus scan located it.

Not sure if it's sad or happy, but the basic premise of it is Clora getting frustrated/upset at Sebastian and Sebastian comforting her, Sebastian getting upset at a predicament Clora's in and Clora comforting him, and them both getting frustrated/upset and having to comfort each other.

If you'd rather I didn't post it, that's fine too, but just wanted to test the waters and double check that you'd be okay with it if I gifted it to you via AO3, or see if you wanted a sneak peak of it before posting it.

OMG im so happy you were able to find it and recover the work you did!!😭🙏 AND YES OF COURSE YOU CAN POST IT AAA I CANT WAIT TO READ IT!! you can DM it to me first if you want, but i also dont mind if you post it straight away on ao3!! IM LOOKING FORWARD TO IT SM AAARGHHHA💖💖💖IT SOUNDS ANGSTY WE LOVE THE HURT/COMFORT I HOPE MY HEART CAN HANDLE IT🥺💖💖TY AGAIN FOR USING CLORA AND SEB AND TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT THEM😭

@sunshine-goblin AAA THANK YOU!!! im honoured its your fav fanfic AND ALSO THE LONGEST YOUVE READ BAHAHAA fr, when you say its as long as four books in lotr it rly makes me realize how insane i am😃👍 aw IM GLAD I COULD INSPIRE YOU TO DRAW MORE AND WRITE AS WELL😭 I was curious so i creeped you and everyone go look at their HL blog @sunshines-legacy your MC is so cute and so is your art🥹💖 as for tips on writing a longfic and brainstorming and motivation and stuff, my motivation was my brainrot and unhappiness with the canon story/ending LMAOO, and looking at the story of the game and playing around with what i was unhappy with/what i WISHED could have happened instead, was a lot easier than just coming up with plotlines from scratch. but something i highly recommend is just OUTLINING and making a timeline, one of my fav parts of writing was just putting on some cafe ambience in the background and doing stream of conscious type word documents where id just barf ideas and then worry about making it pretty later....like look at how many versions of the same chapter i have BAHAHA or like different renditions bc i couldnt decide if id wanna keep a scene/what order, so id make a timeline and keep smoothing things out until i was happy with it and whatnot

brainstorming is defs my fav part of the process and the most helpful part to me. just getting a blank document and writing stuff you want to happen without worrying about how it connects to the story, and then a lot of the times as i was doing that id just keep going and it would kinda tie itself together/id come up with a solution as i was writing / once the ideas kept flowing. so basically : TIMELINES AND OUTLINES I VERY MUCH RECOMMEND, but very low pressure and barebones ones. for example, this is what my outlines/brainstorming look like

its honestly just me talking to myself LMAO, and a lot of the time ill interject and be like "OH YEAH AND THEN THIS CAN HAPPEN" as the ideas come while im writing BAHAHA. its a super fun process and honestly nothing feels better than just getting hit with that flash of inspo, and since its all very low effort theres no pressure to actually write well and its just a chill fun time AND GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR OWN PROCESS / WRITING💖💖💖it can be difficult but HOPE U HAVE FUN TOO💖💖

@a-little-lysdexic WAIT REALLY?? LMFAOO OMG THATS CRAZY....SAME BRAIN...🤝🤝...that would trip me up so much if i were you omg BAHHAHA but aside from having similar tastes in names, IM GLAD YOU LIKE MY ART AS WELL, TYY💖💖💖

THANK YOUUU im glad you're liking it!!! and that its taking over your life BAHAHA💖💖 the video you're thinking of was by @silverxstardust for chapter 13 of my fic, and you can watch the video here! (AND TY AGAIN TO SILVERXSTARDUST FOR DOING THIS!)

[johnslittlespoon]

Only You Can Cool My Desire

[WC: 6K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Tough And Sweet AU, Summer, Heatwaves, Ice Play, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/Sub, Teasing, Orgasm Delay]

“Gale,” John gets out, wriggling where he’s trapped beneath Gale’s arms. “I’m cooled down, please, can you–”

His plea breaks off into a curse when Gale lets the ice cube in his palm slide onto John’s stomach, watching as it settles in the dip of his belly button, John’s skin so fever–hot that Gale can immediately see the smallest pool of water beginning to form.

“You’ve been whining about being hot all week,” Gale says, pressing his lips to John’s thigh, feeling the muscle twitch at his touch. “I’m just helpin’ you out.”

[AO3 LINK]

[kilometresrufflefuck]

who else up making some gay lawyer shit

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @theotherbuckley 💖

can't believe im still not done with this fic but this week has been *a lot* and so chaotic and i just want sunday to have a day off to write lol (I had to check like five times to make sure it is, in fact, friday even tho the episode aired last night on thursday, what is time anyway lol)

so, more 7x06 buck's pov, and hopefully the last snippet before I post this lol

prev snippet

___

As soon as he sees Tommy walk through the door, he feels heat and want and desire mixed with affection and endearment consume him. Because this man – this gorgeous, cool, interesting man, with the most adorable cleft, and so smooth and charming he makes Buck turn into a blushing blubbering mess – this man is walking in, still in his turnout gear, completely covered in soot and ash, hands held up apologetically, a remorseful, worried look on his face. Tommy seems to have rushed here straight after work, clearly not even stopping by the station to change or shower, or even wipe his face, goddammit. And he looks hot. Buck’s seen firefighters look like this, hell, he looked like this himself many times, but there’s something about Tommy, in his gear, all dirty and disheveled, and here – something about this image takes Buck’s breath away, and he can’t help the smile spreading across his face. 

“Sorry I’m late.” Tommy apologizes, as if him being here at all, instead of passing out in bed after a long, exhausting shift, wasn’t making a thousand butterflies come to life in Buck’s stomach. “That fire was a beast.” he adds, and Buck-

Buck can only respond with a simple “So are you,” and crash his lips against Tommy’s. Because Tommy is. God, he’s such a beast.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @tizniz @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway

btw should i make a separate tag list for snippets and/or fics for bucktommy? bc I know it's not everyone's thing so if anyone wants me to stop tagging them for bucktommy, just lmk - and if anyone wants to start being tagged, also lmk! (I am still writing buddie, and I'll be back to posting them soon-ish but rn this is more fun for me sns haha but whenever i do, bucktommy is not going anywhere anyway 😝)

[chrollogy]

[sp00kymulderr]

From next week I AM getting back into my early morning wake ups and 6am gym sessions and starting to rebuild my strength and also actually doing my job rather than rotting in bed til 10am every day and being lazy and ignoring emails. I might be less frequently online especially for the first few weeks cause I know getting back into the routine is gonna be hard and tiring af.

I’m also gonna use my side @sp00kybravo for gym stuff so I can document things and stay motivated a bit, so I guess follow there if you’re interested in lifting stuff? Idk

[scionshtola]

where the hurt nests - part 3

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 4.9k | rated: Mature | read on ao3 | part 1 | part 2 summary: After recovering from the events of Ultima Thule, Corisande retreats to their private island getaway. When Y'shtola arrives for a visit, she can't shake the feeling that Corisande's pleasant moods are an act-a feeling only perpetuated by their continuing reluctance to tell her what exactly takes place in the nightmares that have haunted them for moons. notes: part 3 of 3. set between 6.0 and 6.1, very big 6.0 spoilers. [divider credit] it's done! and now that it's done, I would very much like to thank Azia for beta reading, rubber ducking, and generally encouraging me even before I actually started writing this 💗 and thank you to Gigi, Dani, and Hannah for letting me talk about this fic for the last year and a half! I appreciate all of you so much <3 and ty to everyone who has read it since it's been posted, it means a lot to me!

By the time morning arrived, the skies had cleared. The sun shone warmly over the island and a pleasant breeze moved through the clearing, the air fresh after a day of rain. They walked down to the beach after lunch, keen to be out of the cabin despite the dripping foliage and the still damp sand. Corisande carried two beach chairs folded under their arms, which they set up beneath an umbrella outside the reach of the tide, waving off Y’shtola’s offers of assistance.

Not long after Y’shtola stretched out on her chair, book in hand and prepared to settle into a contented quiet, Corisande abandoned their own chair in favor of lying in Y’shtola’s lap. They kissed her softly, their lips parting gently over hers, one arm wrapped around her waist beneath the thin cover-up she had pulled on over her swimsuit. Y’shtola allowed this simple return to normalcy, pulling them closer to trade lazy kisses, hands and lips moving tenderly over sun-warmed skin.

They passed much of the afternoon in each other’s arms, the gentle wash of the tide their backdrop. Corisande curled her legs beneath Y’shtola’s thighs, resting her head on Y’shtola’s shoulder while she read. She seemed to dip in and out of consciousness as the afternoon wore on, her breathing growing slow and even every few minutes before she shook herself awake again.

“You ought to let yourself rest,” Y’shtola said when Corisande’s head drooped yet again. As content as she was wrapped in their arms, it was difficult to concentrate with the constant movement in her periphery.

“’m fine,” Corisande mumbled into her neck. “If I sleep now, it will be even more difficult to sleep tonight.”

“You have not slept through the night in several days,” Y’shtola pointed out. “’Twould do you well to rest when you can.”

Corisande stiffened, their arms tensing around her before they disentangled themself from Y’shtola with a sigh. They pushed themself into a sitting position, their back to Y’shtola as they spoke. “I am fine, Shtola. I only need to occupy myself.”

“Your days have been filled with occupations.” Y’shtola closed her book and sat up. “Hiking around the island, swimming, cooking—and yet still you do not sleep.”

“Shtola,” Corisande pleaded, her fingers gripping the edge of the chair. “I do not wish to talk about this. Please, let us find another subject.”

But now that the subject had been broached, Y’shtola was not yet willing to let go. “I have kept my concerns to myself, with the hope they would prove unfounded, but the last few days have shown I am right to be worried about you.”

Corisande rose stiffly from the chair and put several steps of distance between them. Y’shtola continued, though they kept their back to her. “I have tried to be patient, to allow you the time needed to heal on your own, but I fear doing so has only exacerbated the situation beyond your control.”

“���Tis not beyond my control-”

“I have never seen you so upset as you were last night,” Y’shtola interrupted, rising from the chair as she spoke. “What would you have me do, when you refuse to tell me anything of your nightmares? When you do not allow me to alleviate any of your concerns? Stay silent while you wake in terror every night? ”

Corisande finally turned toward her, arms crossed as if to protect themself. “They are only dreams. I do not wish to speak of what is not real.”

“The dreams may not be real, but the effect they have on you most certainly is,” Y’shtola said. She kept her voice as level as she could—she did not wish to argue with them, but she could no longer abide the pedantry they engaged in to avoid her questions. “And on myself, as well.”

Corisande’s brow knitted, and their voice was threaded with guilt when they spoke. “I know the sleepless nights are hard on you.”

“’Tis not the lack of sleep that bothers me,” Y’shtola insisted. “Not on my behalf, in any case. ‘Tis the pain in your voice when you speak of death, and holding you in my arms while your desire to live causes you to sob.‘Tis the weeks and weeks of waking to you calling for me—in pain, in fear, in worry—and not being told the reason for it.”

“The reason does not matter,” Corisande said quietly. “You are there when I wake. That is enough.”

“It matters to me,” Y’shtola said. Perhaps it would be enough if the nightmares were less numerous, or less affecting, or if they did not so consistently check on her the moment they woke. But she was certain there was more to it than simply finding comfort in her arms. “I do not need to know the details of every dream, but I can no longer wonder if your nightmares—your searching cries of my name—are caused by thoughts of me abandoning you.”

Corisande frowned, their lips pressed into a line. They turned away from her, looking out over the ocean. “They are unfair to you. Unkind.”

The admission seemed to confirm her worries, rather than quell them, but she refrained from jumping to any further conclusions. She had already guessed that Corisande, as kind as they were, sought to spare her feelings by keeping their own to themself. “’Tis, perhaps, more unkind to keep it from me.”

They looked over their shoulder at her, and, sensing their grief in the silence that followed, Y’shtola let them take her hand. When they spoke again, it was with resignation in their tone. “Please, Shtola. Let it be enough that you are there when I wake.”

“’Tis not enough.” Y’shtola pulled her hand from their grasp. Corisande’s crestfallen expression cut at her, the guilt as sharp as a blade. “I am not always there when you wake, and your nightmares have only worsened in the time we have spent apart. How can I help you if you will not tell me the full extent of the problem?”

Corisande’s lips parted as if they planned to speak, but the hope that flared within Y’shtola dwindled when they only sighed.

“You need not do anything,” Corisande said quietly. “They are only dreams.”

The deflection stung. She felt suddenly and unexpectedly foolish, laying her concerns bare as she had, only to have them discounted once more.

“If my concerns are not tangible enough for consideration, perhaps the changes to your aether will warrant the truth,” Y’shtola said sharply.

“My aether has changed?” Genuine concern lined the question, and Y’shtola felt a guilty swell of satisfaction at having finally drawn an appropriate reaction.

“It has been strained in recent days, some days more than other. I noticed it the day I arrived. I have yet to deduce a cause, though there is some correlation with the days you do not sleep well. Still, it is of some concern to me, and for good reason.” The sight of Corisande’s battered soul, overflowing with so much light aether that they became little more than a body of light to Y’shtola’s eyes, still haunted her.

Corisande turned away again, and the defeated slump of their shoulders made realization dawn on Y’shtola.

“You know the cause?” Y’shtola started to reach for them, but thought better of it, letting her hand drop to her side.

They did not look at her when they replied. “’Tis not the nightmares.”

Y’shtola had neither the will nor the patience to wait for them to work up to revealing the answer. “Corisande, if you know the cause, please do not keep it to yourself.”

Corisande was silent. Y’shtola held herself back from repeating the question. What had happened, that they would risk such changes to their aether?

Finally, they let out a resigned sigh. “I have been trying to cast again.”

Y’shtola’s stomach dropped in disbelief. “You know the risks of pushing your ability to channel aether beyond its current capabilities. Why would you not tell me? And when have you even had the time to do so?”

“I am sorry.” Corisande’s voice quavered with her words. “I go to a clearing north of the cabin some mornings, before you wake. I thought I could regain my abilities on my own. I did not wish to speak of it until I had done so.”

“Another matter you do not wish to speak of, no matter the detriment to yourself,” Y’shtola said bitterly. The realization that Corisande had not only not asked for her help but deliberately kept this from her stung more than their earlier deflections. “You are as versed as I am in the study of aether, more than well enough to know the risks of pushing yourself too far, yet you pursed this on your own anyway?”

“And what would you do, were you me?” Corisande turned sharply in her direction. “Bide your time resting, in the vain hope that the problem will fix itself? I do not believe that.”

“I would ask the person most familiar with my aether for her assistance,” Y’shtola insisted. “Particularly if she can see aether while I cannot.”

“I did not wish—”

“I am not asking you to tell just anyone, Corisande.” Y’shtola cut in. “I am asking you to tell me.”

Silence fell. They stood in it for a moment, no noise other than the tide washing in, the air between them growing heavy with their discomfort.

“I was afraid.” Corisande broke the silence, her voice still shaking. “That if I waited any longer, I would be rendered permanently incapable of summoning again.”

“There is no reason to believe that,” Y’shtola pushed back, hoping to make Corisande see reason. “We do not have enough information, and you have spent the past several months recovering from incredibly dangerous injuries. You need rest, and to allow your aether to replenish itself. You are perfectly capable of utilizing other skills in the meantime.”

Corisande shook her head. “You would not be so content to wait in my position, if you know what this absence felt like.”

“I cannot know how you feel if you do not tell me,” Y’shtola said, exasperated at returning to this point of contention yet again. “But I do know something of absence, or have you forgotten that I do not see as you do?”

“And how long did you wait before you began channeling your aether to see? It drains you, exhausts you, but you do it. Yet you lecture me on the safety of my own practices?”

The touch of petulance in their tone surprised her. In all the years she had known them, she could not recall them speaking to anyone this way, and certainly not to her. “Because you are taking risks alone. By yourself, on an island, where no one can help you if something were to go wrong.”

Corisande opened her mouth, but Y’shtola spoke first. She kept her voice level, despite the anguish behind her words. “I witnessed your soul strain with the changes to your aether once before. Please do not ask me to sit idly by while I see what is wrought on it now.”

Corisande stood rigidly before Y’shtola, her lips pressed into a thin line, and then all at once she seemed to fold in on herself. Y’shtola’s eyes widened as Corisande sank to the sand, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Y’shtola knelt in the sand next to her, resting her hand on Corisande’s shoulder.

“’Tis not only the absence.” They spoke quietly, their head down, their shoulders tensed beneath Y’shtola’s touch. “When I reach for my aether and cannot grasp it, I do not feel like myself.”

“Of course not,” Y’shtola said. Corisande had been practicing summoning long before they had ever met, ‘twas only natural that an inability to channel aether would leave her unmoored.

“It feels as if I am—as if—” Corisande cut herself off with a shuddered breath. Her shoulders shook with it, and Y’shtola’s resolve to hear her out trembled along with it. She squeezed her shoulder gently, to keep herself from pulling her into her arms. Corisande took a deep breath, steadying herself, but her words still came out half a sob. “It feels as if this body is not my own.”

An ache throbbed in Y’shtola’s chest, even as her mind raced forward. Corisande had not been able to channel aether since the day her soul had been forced from her body and into that of an Imperial soldier—’twas no wonder that any failed attempts to do so now made her feel as she had on that day, nor that she was so keen to move past it.

Corisande’s harsh, shallow breathing interrupted Y’shtola’s thoughts. They pressed their forehead to their knees, hiding their face as they struggled to breathe. Y’shtola had rarely ever seen them in such a state, and only ever after waking from a nightmare. The sudden oncoming in the middle of the day was so unexpected that for a moment she could only blink, unsure of what to do.

When another sob escaped them, Y’shtola shoved the uncertainty aside. She came around to the space in front of them and took them by the shoulders, pushing them gently but firmly until Corisande lifted their head. She cupped their cheeks with both hands, wiping the tears that fell away with her thumbs. She spoke to them quietly, reassurances and gentle commands to breathe.

It seemed to work. Corisande lifted her own hand to wrap her fingers around Y’shtola’s wrist, and her pained expression softened as she turned into the touch. Her breathing slowed to match the deep breaths Y’shtola modeled for her, but she did not loosen her grip.

“I’m sorry,” Corisande said quietly. Fresh tears fell onto Y’shtola’s wrist. “Shtola, I thought I—”

“’Tis all right, my love,” Y’shtola said, when Corisande could not finish their sentence. Her own hurt and anger felt distant, swept from the forefront of her mind by the distinct pang in her chest for Corisande. She took their hand. “Whatever else there is to discuss, we can save it for another time.”

Y’shtola had expected that to come as some relief to Corisande, but she had no time to assess their expression before they leaned into her, their long ears wilting as they laid their cheek on her shoulder. She held them there on the beach, her arms wrapped around them, the ache in her chest growing, until the wet drop of their tears dried to salt on Y’shtola’s shoulder.

—

They held hands as they walked back to the cabin, but neither of them spoke. The conversation, the admissions—and lack thereof—still lingered somberly in the air between them.

When they arrived, they both went upstairs to change. Y’shtola swapped her beachwear for a loose top and trousers, and Corisande discarded hers for a sturdier set of clothes she often wore for gathering.

“Is there naught I can do to convince you to rest?” Y’shtola asked as they laced up their boots.

“I need to do some work in the garden.” Corisande stood, and came around to Y’shtola’s side of the bed. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Y’shtola’s cheek, easing some of the tension Y’shtola felt. “I’ll come in soon.”

Y’shtola nodded. She followed them downstairs and tried to make herself comfortable on the sofa, where she could not easily see the garden. She passed three-quarters of a bell there, flipping through the pages of a book she had already read, until the need to do something became too strong. She rose to make tea, steeping a floral blend that Corisande favored. They arrived back at the cabin not long after, a few peppers for dinner in hand, and Y’shtola poured them a cup while they took off their muddy boots, gratified when they accepted it with a tired but sincere smile.

Corisande remained quiet through the rest of the afternoon, speaking little through dinner and the early evening, but her demeanor lacked the impatience and restlessness it had taken on the day before. They seemed to be tired, more than anything, and they stayed close to Y’shtola, retiring with her to the sofa after dinner and tangling their feet together as they relaxed.

Y’shtola went to bed first, and she nearly drifted off before she felt the bed dip, the quilt rustling quietly as Corisande climbed beneath it. They laid down facing her, close but not touching, and the distance, however small, pricked sharply at her.

She reached for their hand, pressing their palms together, and relief washed through her when they laced their fingers through hers. She fell asleep quickly after that, comfortable, their hands entwined warmly between them.

—

Corisande’s side of the bed was empty when Y’shtola woke. At first, she assumed she had slept until morning and they had simply risen earlier than her, but the chill and the too quiet stillness of the cabin suggested she had woken in the middle of the night.

She found Corisande downstairs. They sat facing the ocean, their back against the arm of the sofa, hugging their knees to their chest. They turned to her when she descended the stairs, watching her approach.

“I did not hear you wake.” Y’shtola stopped beside the sofa. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Corisande shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep. I came down here so I would not wake you, but it seems my precautions were for naught.”

“Do you need anything?” Y’shtola asked, not certain what she should do. They did not seem to be upset, but insomnia certainly did not indicate an untroubled mind. “Perhaps some tea will help you fall asleep.”

Corisande shook her head again. A heavy beat of silence passed before she spoke. “I know these past several months have been difficult—that I have been difficult—but I am grateful you are here.”

“I am not one to be put off by hardship.” Y’shtola sat beside them on the sofa and touched their arm lightly, smoothing her thumb over their forearm, brushing against the edge of their scarred skin. “I will always choose to be at your side. I only ask that you allow me to bear your burdens as well, so that I may do what I can to ease your hardship.”

“You have done much already. More than I had a right to expect.” Corisande put her hand over Y’shtola’s, squeezing gently.

“You expect far too little, then. You ought to ask for more.”

Corisande laughed softly, and the sound of it warmed her. They lifted Y’shtola’s hand to their lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles that made her heart ache. “Go back to bed, my love.”

Corisande released her hand, but Y’shtola made no move to rise. It did not seem right, leaving them alone in the too still night with only the thoughts that kept them awake. “I would like to stay.”

They hesitated, but Y’shtola felt the sincere acceptance in their nod. She moved over on the sofa and Corisande followed her lead without argument, shifting onto their side and laying their head in Y’shtola’s lap. Y’shtola stroked their ears gently, listening to their quiet breaths and the soft roar of the ocean as she turned the day’s conversations over in her mind.

Corisande insisted that Y’shtola had done much for her already, but what exactly had she done for them since arriving on the island? What had she done for them since they left the infirmary in Old Sharlayan? She was there when Corisande woke, she was there when they wanted to kiss and cuddle rather than speak, but she had yet to do anything to materially benefit their recovery. And wasn’t that why she had come? Hadn’t those five words that had brought her here—Come soon, if you can—seemed an urgent plea from someone so understated, so reluctant to ever ask for help? Hadn’t she hoped to observe the scope of their well-being, and do what she could to help?

As reticent as they were with their troubles, it had been difficult to do much for them. But as reluctant as they were to discuss their nightmares, they had finally given her something to work with. She understood now just how much losing their ability to cast had hurt them. They were clearly not willing to give up their quest to regain their abilities, and Y’shtola could hardly blame them for that. But neither was she willing to leave them to solve the problem on their own.

She glanced down at Corisande, peaceful in their sleep for the first time in days, and a powerful resolve overcame her. Now that she had a modicum of information, she could act in a way unavailable to her prior. Tomorrow, she would set about doing her best to ensure Corisande regained her ability to cast.

—

Morning had truly arrived by the time Corisande woke. They sat up quickly, offering profuse apologies to Y’shtola that she only waved off. Y’shtola made them promise not to do any casting on their own, to which they readily agreed, and went upstairs for a nap. Satisfied with the sincerity of their promise—they may have kept a secret from her, but they were not one for lies—she was able to quickly and comfortably fall asleep.

‘Twas late afternoon when she woke again. Corisande had not yet returned to the cabin, but that was no matter. Y’shtola had plenty of time while they slept to think over the matter of Corisande’s casting, and now that she was rested, she was keen to put the plan into action.

She was making a list of questions she would need answered before moving forward when Corisande ascended the stairs. Y’shtola rose, coming around to greet them when they sat on the edge of the bed.

“You have returned just in time. I have some questions, if you are willing to answer them,” Y’shtola said.

“Shtola—”

“About your casting,” she clarified, noticing how stiffly they sat. “And I will need you to try to cast, if you are up for it. Not today, of course, whenever you feel ready—”

“Shtola.” The gravity with which they said her name brought Y’shtola up short. She waited for them to speak, a sudden slight trepidation sparking in her stomach. “I have been thinking about what you said to me on the beach.”

Y’shtola had gone over that conversation in her mind for hours while Corisande slept, trying to glean what information she could, and come away with the feeling that perhaps she could have been less reproachful. She kept her voice level when spoke. “Many things were  said yesterday. Perhaps not all of them need be treated with the same consideration.”

“I think you were right,” Corisande said, as if Y’shtola had not spoken. “I have been unfair to you, Shtola. Worse, I have been unkind.”

A pit bloomed suddenly in Y’shtola’s chest, a small but deep worry clawing its way out as they took her hand. They pressed their lips to her hand before continuing.

“Everything was going so well when you arrived.” Corisande ran her thumb gently across Y’shtola’s knuckles. “I hoped it would last. I hoped neither of us would have to contend with the nightmares any longer, and I thought talking about any of it would jeopardize any chance of peace.”

Y’shtola brushed a curl out of Corisande’s eyes. “’Tis an understandable, if misguided, instinct.” She smiled, and cupped Corisande’s cheek as she spoke. “’Tis not anything that we cannot resolve together going forward.”

Corisande did not smile back. They closed their eyes, and Y’shtola’s heart fell. She recognized the way they steeled themself, had seen it over and over again throughout the years.

“I cannot see a way forward that does not cause you pain.” Corisande’s voice was almost hoarse, thick with emotion as she spoke. “I cannot see a future for us that is kind to you.”

A cold nausea worked its way from Y’shtola’s stomach to her throat. “What do you mean by that?”

They took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to look at her. “I have been hurting you for months, and I do not wish to do so any longer. The only way I can see to do that is—”

They cut themself off, pressing their lips together as they fought a hitch in their breath. The silent pause that followed weighed Y’shtola with a heavy dread that only grew the longer the moment drew out.

“—is to bring our relationship to an end.”

The very ground Y’shtola stood on seemed to crumble beneath her. She felt caught in a landslide, her heart and her hope slipping rapidly out of her reach.

“Surely you cannot mean that,” she said, latching on with both hands to the last bit of hope she could. “It hardly seems necessary.”

Corisande’s silence pained her. She felt almost winded, as if she had been struck a heavy blow. “You have slept little, and arrived rather rapidly at this conclusion. Perhaps you should reconsider after some rest, and include me in the decision process this time.”

Corisande shook her head. “I have given it much thought already, Shtola. ‘Tis better for us to part ways now, before I can visit even more unkindness on you than I have already.”

“And what about this unkindness?” Y’shtola asked, embarrassed by the way the hurt had worked its way into her voice. “If your aim was to prevent any further pain to me, you have sorely fallen short.”

“I know.” The grief in Corisande’s voice echoed within Y’shtola, mirrored in the way she still clung tightly, hopefully, to their hand. Her mind worked quickly, racing with solutions, something she could say that would bring an end to this deep and cutting ache—a kind of agony she had never known before. Something that would convince Corisande to take back her words. She could say she was fine not knowing anything of what haunted Corisande’s dreams, that they only had to speak of what Corisande wished to speak of, that she could let it all go, if they could, too.

None of it would be the truth.

In the end, she said nothing, only let Corisande pull her in with their hands on her waist. With Corisande sitting, they were almost the same height, and Y’shtola only had to bend her neck slightly to press her forehead to theirs. She lost track of how long they stayed that way, her hand on the back of their neck, their hands curled around her waist, warm through the fabric of her dress.

“I love you,” Corisande said softly, a quiet breath shared between them. “I want you to be happy.”

The ache in Y’shtola’s heart throbbed painfully. She tilted her head, closing the distance between them with a kiss. Corisande’s hands tightened on her waist, and a second later they were pulling her closer, their lips parting beneath Y’shtola’s.

Corisande let Y’shtola push her gently back onto the bed, pulled her along until their bodies pressed flush together. Her hands slipped beneath Y’shtola’s dress, soft and warm in their caresses, and Y’shtola met the gentleness of her touches with her own.

When the first tears fell down Corisande’s cheeks, Y’shtola wiped them away and kissed the salted tracks they left behind. She held her close as they moved together, each touch tinged with finality, and a longing for what they already missed.

Y’shtola had fought for Corisande before. She had hoped and prayed so fervently for Corisande to return to her that she had bent the universe to her will and made it so.

But just as before, there was naught she could do to keep them from choosing to go alone.

***

Corisande watched the tide roll in.

Y’shtola had left in the gray of the morning, teleporting to the aetheryte at the Moraby Drydocks, and taken Corisande’s shattered heart with her.

It was for the best. That was what she had to tell herself, over and over, to keep from taking it all back. She could not give Y’shtola the kindness and the openness she deserved. She had hardly been able to speak of the way her hindered casting affected her. How many more painful nights until Corisande worked up the strength to tell Y’shtola of the things that haunted her? Until she could admit she often dreamed of Y’shtola’s death over and over again, her very being unraveling before Corisande’s eyes? Or that sometimes Zenos loomed over her, bearing down upon her with his sword, and other times she stood over him, her boots spattered with blood, and she did not know which was worse?

They had already hurt Y’shtola enough. They would not make her suffer for them any longer.

She hugged her knees to her chest, reaching for the will to face the empty cabin. They only had themself to blame for the way it seemed too quiet now, the island too vast and empty. For the hollowness in their chest, a void they had torn open in themself.

When the sun finally cleared the horizon, and the pink sky faded into a too perfect blue, they rose to their feet. Baldin would be arriving soon to retrieve the luggage that Y’shtola had left behind, and for this, at least, Corisande would not make her wait.

[themeraldee]

obsessed with your writing rn and i’m bored and curious so what’s something you want to write for homelander that you haven’t gotten around to?

💖💗you💓💞are💝❣️so💘💞sweet💓💖 i love uuuuuuuuuu

alright let me pull up my massive to-do list. Here's a little peek. Not all of these have an actual outlined plot and are more of an idea.

Currently I'm working on Part 4 & 5 to Lucky Winner (and ending the 'series'). A Homelander body worship fic (essentially I'm getting him out of the suit 😂). A voice kink fic where Homelander's the one with the kink (shoutout to the person who submitted this to my inbox, I am positively insane about this). And I've started chipping away at the Android AU fic (think Detroit become human-esque) with is per usual turning out to be much much much bigger than I expected it to be lol.

I'm the most excited about both of the AU series, Roman Empire & Android AU. I adore reading AUs, so coming up and brainstorming (with @witchyclipse💗) all the ideas to make this world work is so so so fun. (I have a crazy document mind mapping and outlining the plot bcs god forbid I ever write off the top of my head 😂 but honestly the brainstorming and planning things out is like half the fun for me)

an example of my mind maps:

Besides the stuff I've actually somewhat started, the one fic I thought of around the time when I posted my first fic is the Officeverse. Where I wanted to write Homelander slowly gaining genuine friendship with someone at first. And idk, I like office shenanigans. But yeah nowhere near gotten to that 😂

And anooother one I've planned a while back was a collab with the incredible @mrsdesade 💗(which is the Criminal!Reader one) that I'm also veryyyyy excited to write!! Sometimes I really wish this was my full time job so I could write all of these a whole lot faster!

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

can someone please banish this writer's block for me 😫

it's the worst i've had in such a long time and i've tried to be patient with it but it's been fucking weeks now. i want to write so much but whenever i try they just feel like words on a page. every evening i sit down and rearrange them a little here and there and add some new ones, but they all just feel empty and and shit and my brain feels totally devoid of the creative spark i need to make everything come to life.

i know in large part it's my perfectionism getting in the way, but i don't know how to break through it. i don't know how to feel connected to my writing again. i don't know how to shift this fear of not being good enough that surges up every time i pick up a pen.

it's something that's always been there - but usually it at least comes in waves, or my love of what i'm creating is big enough to muffle it. right now, it's all i can hear. my inspiration has been totally drowned out by it. and i hate it so, so much. the fact that i can't access the one thing that brings me the kind of solace and joy and escapism i can't get anywhere else and is so vital to my soul. that i am blocking myself from engaging in the one thing that makes me feel like me.

i just feel so stuck and so lost and i miss being in that creative headspace so much it’s like a physical pain. it feels like part of me is missing, and it terrifies me that i don't know how to get it back.

[lilliancdoodles]

\o/ THATS EVERYONE :DD (at least that weve seen so far) All of the human adults in @tastytoastz's mer au Life is like the ocean, it goes up and down!!

Click for better quality, design notes below the cut!! <33

Master post of all designs for this fic

So maybe I got carried away and made everyone two designs... Everyone has a 'casual' outfit and their 'wet suit' outfit or 'I'm planning on getting in the water' outift. And Felps I just gave him a hat. Does that justify a full second person? probably not. But I did it anyway!

Pac: Pac's casual outfit i've drawn before and it's mostly taken from his cannon outfit so not too much to note there. For Pac's wet suit, I feel like he would wear the full suit with full legs and arms. I thought about giving him one that stopped at the thigh for the prosthesis but I didn't want to give him two wet suit designs, but he probably has both. (the basket he's holding is the one he would use for fit and ramon's catfish)

Mike: Mike's causal fit and 'wet suit' fit are pretty similar. For his casual he has a simple t-shirt and swim trunks. And for his wet suit he has the swim trunks over the wet suit. He could take them off if he wanted, it just cuts off at the thigh, I think he would just like wearing them.

Tina: Tina's outfits are mostly cause I remember one tina stream where she said that q!tina would choose fashion over function. So her casual fit is just a tank top and short shorts, and her 'wet suit' fit is just a one piece swim suit. I imagine that tina would slip on the short shorts as a cover up when she needed. And she's wearing flip flops!

Jaiden: Jaiden's casual fit is a combination of her v-tuber and a fan art I found on pintrest. Her bird symbol on the jacket and suit is from her v-tuber! She's wearing these water shoes:

and I didn't know if her hair was brown or miku blue so here is miku blue if that what it's supposed to be:

Felps: In my own Mer/Pirate au I gave Felps his pink shirt and for some reason I think it's super funny that no matter the universe felps somehow manages to find a pink shirt and wears it. No one questions him they just allow it. Since Felps doesn't work at Chume Labs I didn't think it made sense to give him a wet suit, so I didn't. I used his second spot to give him a captains hat... and that's it. Maybe not a great use of space but I didn't want him to be the only one with only one body so I just made a whole separate one for just the hat. >:)

[quinn-of-aebradore]

WIP Wednesday - looking for the meaning of life

Hello friends! It's been a while since I've done one of these and I thought considering how long my current WIP is taking and how fond I am of it, it would only be right to give you all a little snippet! Enjoy 💜

She hasn’t seen Essek in… well, centuries. It pains her to admit that even to herself, that she let their connection wither and fade for so long. It pains her even more to acknowledge that it was already withered and faded by the point that she saw him last, before he vanished from the Dynasty and became a fugitive. She has been, as she always has been towards him, neglectful. Absent. She knows that if she’d reached out soon after his disappearance, anytime in that first century, even after he was lauded amongst the heroes of the Red Solstice, it’d have put him at great risk. But she also knows that that wasn’t her reasoning back then, or at least not the key factor in it, and even if it was, that it doesn’t excuse the next two centuries of silence. Most likely, he resents her still. It’s only in this life that she’s managed to shed that habit herself—loathing potent enough to sink into the bone—and it’s one she watched him inherit. She cannot fault him for it, if that is how he feels. Worse, though, he could simply not care anymore. If she taught him anything, it was apathy.

Light, that would break her heart, shatter it irreparably, but she cannot deny the likelihood of it, nor the fairness of it. All his life, she’s behaved as though she hasn’t cared for him. Only now, in this life, has she found the will to try and show him otherwise. It’s that same will that stirs her from her spiraling thoughts at last and pushes her forward, towards the front door of her son’s home. She crosses from the stone street to a gravel walkway lined with brightly blossoming flowers. There’s too many to count, to name, to decipher, but it’s beautiful and the air feels so alive. It makes her very soul sing as she comes up to the door, the glass of its windows stained and depicting a starry sky grown over with vines of white flowers. For a long moment, she feels as though she cannot breathe. And then, she knocks; three steady, resolute raps against the wood. A minute passes, in which she patiently waits, before the door swings open. The man standing across the threshold is not her son.