#thanks for writing this all out wow

[everybody-loves-purdy]

The Genetic Journey of Two Sisters: an Analysis of ThunderClan’s Gene Pool

Flashnose and Daisytoe made their debut in Goosefeather’s Curse, and are revealed to be sisters born to unknown parents. Although these sisters fade into the rest of ThunderClan’s old history, their genetics encompass the entirety of ThunderClan, bleeding into two other Clans. Here is an analysis of their profound genetic impact, starting with Flashnose. (Cats who’s names are red have kits)

Flashnose + unknown tom have a single daughter together: Swiftbreeze. Later in life, Swiftbreeze and Adderfang have five children: Leopardfoot, Patchpelt, Redtail, Spottedleaf, and Willowpelt. Leopardfoot and Pinestar have Tigerstar, Mistkit, and Nightkit. Patchpelt and Goldenflower have Swiftpaw & Lynxkit, while with Robinwing, he has Longtail. Willowpelt, with unknown toms, have Darkstripe & Graystripe. With Whitestorm, she has Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, and Sootfur.

→ Tigerstar and Goldenflower have Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, and with Sasha, Tadpole, Hawkfrost and Mothwing. Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight have Sparkpelt, Alderheart, Dandelionkit, and Juniperkit. Sparkpelt and Larksong have Nightheart, Finchlight, and Flickerkit. Tawnypelt and Rowanclaw have Tigerstar II, Dawnpelt, and Flametail. Tigerstar II and Dovewing have Lightleap, Shadowsight, Pouncestep, Birchpaw, and Rowankit, while Dawnpelt and Crowfrost have Strikestone, Sleekwhisker, and Juniperclaw.

→ Graystripe and Silverstream have Feathertail and Stormfur, and with Millie, he also fathers Briarlight, Blossomfall, and Bumblestripe. Stormfur and Brook have Pine that Clings to Rock, Lark that Sings at Dawn, Feather of Flying Hawk, and Breeze that Rustles the Leaves. Blossomfall and Thornclaw have Stemleaf, Shellfur, Plumstone, and Eaglewing. Stemleaf and Spotfur have Stempaw, Graypaw, and Bristlepaw.

→ Sorreltail and Brackenfur have Cinderheart, Poppyfrost, Honeyfern, Molepaw, Lilyheart, and Seedpaw. Cinderheart and Lionblaze have Fernsong, Sorrelstripe, Hollytuft, Spotfur, Snaptooth, and Flywhisker. Fernsong and Ivypool have Thriftear, Flipclaw, and Bristlefrost. Sorrelstripe and Dewnose have Bayshine and Myrtlebloom. Spotfur, as previously mentioned has Stempaw, Graypaw, and Bristlepaw with Stemleaf. Thriftear and Bayshine have Moonpaw.

→ Poppyfrost and Berrynose have Cherryfall and Molewhisker.

→ Lilyheart and Snowbush have Larksong, Honeyfur, and Leafshade. As previously mentioned, Larksong and Sparkpelt have Nightheart, Finchlight, and Flickerkit.

This wraps up Flashnose’s genetic line, moving us into Daisytoe’s genetic line.

Daisytoe and Rooktail had Moonflower and Goosefeather. Moonflower and Stormtail had Bluestar and Snowfur. Bluestar and Oakheart had Mistystar, Stonefur, and Mosskit. Mistystar and Blackclaw had Reedwhisker, Primrosepaw, Pikepaw, and Perchkit. Snowfur and Thistleclaw had Whitestorm. Whitestorm and Brindleface had Ferncloud, Ashfur, Elderkit, and Tulipkit. With Willowpelt, he also had Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, and Sootfur. Ferncloud and Dustpelt had Spiderleg, Shrewpaw, Birchfall, Larchkit, Hollykit, Foxleap, and Icecloud. Spiderleg and Daisy had Toadstep and Rosepetal. Birchfall and Whitewing had Dovewing and Ivypool, who’s mates & kits were previously mentioned.

Although Daisytoe and Flashnose’s bloodlines began separately, they converge at certain points (i.e. Whitestorm x Willowpelt, Tigerstar II x Dovewing) to form an extensive genetic pool that is responsible for 30/46= 65% of the current ThunderClan population (as of Wind) & 6/30= 20% of the current ShadowClan population. Holy shit.

I’d add Robinwing x Fuzzypelt as an honorable mention, but given the fact that their son (Dustpelt) and their granddaughter (Ferncloud) have kits, their line merges with Daisytoe’s since her great-grandson is Whitestorm, who’s also Ferncloud’s father. Alternatively, we could focus on Frostfur, but since both of her sons took mates from Flashnose’s genetic line, their entire family line is one with Daisytoe & Flashnose’s.

Times like this make me feel very fortunate that certain information was retconned. If the fact that Redtail & Brindleface had Sandstorm remained canon, this would make Squirrelstar, Leafpool, Lionblaze, Jayfeather, and Hollyleaf all related to Flashnose. Which raises that ThunderClan percentage from 65% to 76%. This would also make Lionblaze and Cinderheart related.

Seeing how much ThunderClan grew from these pair of sisters is always a “wow” moment for me. Their spirits have likely faded from StarClan’s ranks, but I can’t help but wonder if they ever looked down on their descendants and felt proud of how big their families have grown.

I’ve never seen the exact percentages before that’s absolutely wild. It’s insane how these one off characters that no fan would really remember otherwise, let alone remember they are sisters, have ultimately become the root of most of the current ThunderClan incest problems.

[i-am-abnormal]

Ref:

[tmos-time]

hi

so uhhh this line in your erisol understuck post "not getting into all the ELABORATE thoughts i have on how the geno route would go"

…………can we have some of it????I'm dying of curiousity ever since I read that post lol

also just to let you know that your aus are all very fabulous and they live in my brain rent free all the time. i was wondering do you mind fanart??

aww thank you, i don't mind at all! would love to be tagged if anyone makes any <3

as for the understuck geno route; here's a loose plot path for it!

basically, the plan would be to have a split in how the route could theoretically go; a normal version of the route following close enough to undertale's canon events with the characters given, and a secret route for speedrunners because sollux deserves to have a proper battle at the chagrin of people trying to speedrun LOL

[desceros]

Mr. LEON (think late 30's/early 40's) reuniting with his spouse after a long time away. It's sweet, it's silly, it's followed by absolutely nasty half-clothed, sweaty sex.

me, asks for rise leo prompts, instantly regrets it also i'm not saying this is a tactical!leo fic, but i'm also... not NOT saying it leonardo/reader, EXPLICIT, female reader, 2.6k; leo comes back and wants to smell like home again. filthy nasty smut, soft doki dokis, lame married people jokes, one (1) defiled couch

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, you don’t think twice when you see the rustle of your curtains. Not when you’ve finally, finally trained your stupid heart into not thundering out of your chest when you see it, thinking he’s back when it’s just the breeze. Today, you hardly even glance at them as you continue watering your plants, unbothered, humming, unsuspecting.

It’s so, so typical of him to wait until now to come home.

“Boo!” 

Your scream fills the apartment as you flail, pulse rocketing to the atmosphere in panic when you’re very suddenly not alone. Hands catch you mid-flinch, and it takes you a second to realize that your assailant is, in fact, perfectly safe and didn’t deserve the mighty swing of your watering can. 

Except actually, yes he did, this little asshole—!

“Leo!” you wail, letting him gather you close and press him to his plastron. Your hands clutch at the edge of his keratin, face burrowing in his throat. “You fucking asshole, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Couldn’t resist,” he says, his laughter still rolling at the crown of your head as one hand spreads into your lower back to press you close and the other cups your nape. “You just looked so cute, y’know? My adorable little wifey, wearing my shirt and humming in our living room.”

“Stop talking,” you mutter sulkily, wrapping your arms around his neck and swallowing the tears you feel burning at your eyes as happiness swells in your chest like a mighty wave. He always makes fun of you for crying when he comes home, and you’re already a little miffed. 

Your ire dies as you feel him nuzzling behind your ear with his beak, his lungs expanding as he inhales your scent. He’d confessed to you once, a few years into your marriage, that this was his favorite part of coming home; more than the sex, more than the home-cooked meals, more than sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row. He caresses the line of your throat with his beak, stitching your natural perfume back into place in his mind, sinking into you because it’s not the walls around you that he calls home.

“…Missed you,” he murmurs, making you sigh as he brushes lovesick kisses to your shoulder. 

“You were gone too long this time,” you tell him, lowering one arm to press a palm to his plastron when you feel his lips seeking more skin, letting him pull the neckline of his shirt away from your clavicle. “Thought you were the breeze, coming in.” 

His mouth curves into something filthy at the dip of your throat, his hands finding your hips and giving them a squeeze. “Yeah? Funny. I plan on coming in something, all right.”

You laugh way too hard, a little mortified that after all these years you still find this clown funny at the lamest lines. Worse still is how he watches you do it, his face going stupid with naked fondness like making you laugh is the best thing he’s done all day.

“You are such an unfunny loser, oh my god,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. 

“And yet you’re still laughing,” he says, his smile widening when you roll your eyes. 

“I’ve been stockholmed,” you tell him, reaching up your hands to cup his beak and pull him into a kiss. 

Leo has always been good with his mouth, in every way, all the years you’ve known him. His kisses are no exception; seconds into it you’re purring, the sweet friction of his mouth against yours warming you from the inside, parting on a soft sigh when a hand grips your nape and tilts you just so. 

“I wanna fucking eat you alive,” he mumbles against your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth into your lower lip and tugs. You tremble, and you know he feels it as his hands go a little tighter. “Missed you.” 

Your fingers find the tails of his mask, tangling in them and using them to pull his face away, just a little. He growls, but you ignore him easily. “Don’t you want to take a shower, baby? Get comfy while I cook you something to eat? You smell like work.”

“I know,” he says, his other hand sliding down to the cloth shorts that are barely visible beneath the hem of his shirt, his fingers gliding up the back to cup the curve of your ass. “And I wanna smell like you, now.”

…He gets like this, sometimes, when he comes home. Touchy. Possessive. You’ve always wondered if it has to do with how he doesn’t smell himself on you when he’s been gone, or if it’s because you start wearing his clothes like he’ll feel it wherever he is. The longer the separation, the worse he gets. 

The worse he gets, the better it is.

“Yeah? You wanna smell like me?” you echo as you trail your touch along the red crescents prettying his face, playing into his turtle-brain, feeling your eyelids close as his fingers flutter on your skin. Oh, he wants it bad. “What do I smell like, handsome? I smell good?” 

“So fucking good,” he groans, his huge hand releasing your nape to grip your jaw, pulling you into a kiss that’s wet and deep. It feels good, claws a mangled moan from your chest that has him mirroring the sound himself. He pulls his head back, pressing his thumb to the corner of your mouth and sliding it under your lower lip where you feel the slick mess of his kiss. “…Open,” he says, making your lip pucker under his touch. 

You obey, watching his pupils dilate as they lock onto your mouth, then your tongue when you let it press against the pad of his thumb where he’s holding you open.

“Shit. You’re so hot,” he says, a wounded rumble that makes your lips curl into a coquettish smile before you wrap them around his thumb, sucking and lathing it with your tongue, pressing your teeth in and closing your eyes when you hear him moan. 

“Not gonna smell much like me by staring at my mouth,” you tell him when you let him go, your hooded eyes meeting his as you smile.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he wheezes, and with three steps he’s got you splayed on your couch, the weight of him pinning you to the cushions while his mouth fucking devours you. All you can do is hold on, one hand tangling in his mask tails and the other clutching as his carapace, crushed and absolutely thrilled about it.

When he breaks the kiss to grip his hands in your shorts, pulling them down, you laugh, drawing his hungry gaze even as he doesn’t stop disrobing you. 

“What?” he asks, mouth going just a little crooked in a smile of his own as you shake your head, staring at him adoringly. 

“Just love you,” you tell him, shifting your legs to help him out a bit and biting down on a grin when you can finally spread them and slink your knees to either side of his hips. You slip one of your arms over your head to grip one of the throw pillows, your other trailing down your throat to entice.  “C’mon, pretty boy. Let me see you drop.”

Leo maintains the stare as he straightens his spine, his hands going to his belt buckle to slide it out of place with a metal clink. The button is quick to follow, and when he unzips and slides his pants down just enough for his cloaca to glisten in the afternoon sunlight, you press your fingers to your mouth, tongue instinctively seeking contact. 

“God, look at you,” you whine, your thighs rising to cup his hips and squeeze. “I wanna lick you. Come up here?”

He shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into your open mouth and pressing on your tongue. “Later, baby. If you want a show, you’ve got, like, thirty seconds for it.” 

Moaning, you soak his fingers with your spit, watching with hazy eyes as he brings them to his cloaca and slides in to the knuckle. He’s always rougher with himself than you are with him, even though he’s told you again and again he prefers it when you’re the one fingering him. 

He makes pretty little gasping moans as he fingers himself hard, his arm flexing and drawing your hungry gaze. He’s gotten so god damned big over the years, making you feel small every time he does something that highlights the difference. It feels good, makes you feel kept, protected. So long as Leonardo Hamato draws breath, no harm will ever come to you, a promise he has the strength to keep.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut as the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of himself get wetter. It’s a familiar sound that makes you ache, craving the thick cock you know is about to slide out like it’s air. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, Leo,” you babble in praise, knowing he likes to hear it, that you like telling him. “Handsome as fuck. God, I can’t believe you’re mine, that you let me see you like this—”

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you and pressing his cloaca to your cunt, his wet fingers gripping at your hips as he rubs your slick against his. “You can’t talk like that, baby, I’m gonna—”

He cuts himself off on a low groan, his hips rolling against yours and his tail pressing hard between your thighs to garner the friction. It feels so good, so fucking good, your skin burning hot with each messy glide of him against you. Your head rolls, fingers gripping in the pillow behind your head and back arching to try and writhe closer. 

“Leo,” you keen, breath heaving when he releases his death grip on the back of the couch to plant his hand by your head, his back arching over you and blocking everything else out. 

“Don’t come, don’t you dare come,” he hisses, lips curled into a bit of a snarl. “Not until I’m inside, understand?” 

Eyes wet, you nod, choking back the shimmer on your skin that builds as he keeps rubbing cruelly. With one particularly good roll of his hip, you snatch a hand to his bicep, trembling. “Stop, stop—!”

He pauses, letting you claw away from the brink to obey. Sucking in a long breath, you open your eyes and see that he’s staring at you like he’s gone mad. 

“Okay?” he asks, voice fucked out, and you nod, whining when he resumes rubbing his cloaca against you, your eyes falling shut and head lolling to the side as you start the burning process all over again. 

“Feels so good, Leo,” you breathe, skin glowing when you feel him duck in close and glide his tongue up the side of your neck. You’re soaked all over with sweat and slick, every muscle in your body trembling from taut desire that’s just shy of too-much, leaving you delirious and stupid.

With a hitched breath, Leo reaches between you, fingers preparing you for the familiar penetration you want more than anything else. With a hiss, his body goes taut, his cock dropping and sliding inside like his katana into its sheath; like you were made for him, perfectly molded, expertly designed. 

“God, fuck,” he wheezes, his forearms framing your face as he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss that breaks on a low moan. He pumps his hips against yours slowly, shaking with each breath that has him bottoming out where he belongs. “You feel so—I missed you.” 

Floating with pleasure, you cup his nape, wrapping your legs around him as best as you can to pull him deeper, needing to feel him in your throat. Your hands find the back of his head, sliding easily on his rough, sweat-slick skin, seeking his kiss and finding it. “Oh, Leo, love you, love you so much.”

He marries his mouth to yours as he fucks in in in, feeling a bit like he never pulls out for how full he leaves you. Every neuron in your body stands at attention, taking note of his weight crushing you, the smell of his salty skin, the taste of his tongue as it curls against your own. 

“Look at me, look at me when you come, pretty girl,” he chokes, because he knows your body better than you do and can tell you’re close before you feel it. You open your eyes and meet his, untying his blue mask and letting it slide to your chest right as you feel your orgasm rising. 

“Leo, gonna come,” you whimper, watching as he nods, one hand finding your cheek, his thumb tracing under your eyes where they’re wet. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel it.” 

Like you do with everything else, you obey and come. It’s a long, wrenching thing, the pleasure washing over you like waves of a mighty ocean as he keeps moving, prolonging it, intensifying it. On and on it goes, your body awash with ecstasy and Leo, always Leo, there to hold you and let you fall. 

“Please,” you gasp, clenching at his carapace, begging him to meet you here in the glow. “Leo, please—” 

His hand drops down to your throat, fingers ever so slightly curling around as his hips thrust a little harder, the wet sounds of your hips meeting loud in your ears now that you’re listening for it. It’s filthy, his mouth hanging open and eyes going wild as they gaze at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. 

With a wounded sound he comes, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and hand going a little too-tight on your throat as he fills you over and over again, each hot thread coating and claiming in equal measure. You let one hand grip the back of his wrist where he’s choking you, crushing him in harder as he groans and presses into you even further as he finishes, watching as the edges of your vision go a little hazy before he releases you and lets you suck in a gasp of air. 

After a few moments of catching your breath, he picks up his head, his beak wrinkling a bit as he stretches his leg out with a hiss. “Gah, fuck, we’re getting too old for couch fucking. Made a fucking mess.”

“Never too old for couch fucking,” you rasp, causing his eyes to fall to where there’s a mark on your throat in the shape of his hand. He licks his lips, and you feel his cock give an interested twitch. “Oh? You gonna make good on that?”

“Too old for back-to-back marathon fucking,” he pouts, though he does arch his hips once in a good sport try that makes your skin light up a bit. “Gimme like, fifteen. I’ll eat you out while we wait, then we can do something about it.” 

You raise an imperious eyebrow. “Fifteen minutes of you eating me out? You? Leonardo Hamato? Only fifteen? I can’t believe an imposter of my husband is here when I was so sure it was him.”

He grins, a boyish thing that makes him look younger and captures your heart all over again. “…Yeah, okay. Let’s be ambitious and say half an hour.”

You settle into the couch, waiting for his cock to retreat back into his cloaca and spending the meantime trailing your fingers along the back of his nape, sighing out in delight. 

“…I missed you, too,” you tell him, watching as his face smooths out and every concern flies away like a butterfly startled by the breeze because he loves you so, so much and you know it. Then, realizing you hadn’t said it yet, “…Welcome home, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, bending down and nuzzling his beak against your temple, inhaling deeply with a smile. “I’m home.”

[himbohimhoe]

Holding out hope that the writing in veilguard will get more bearable but rook saying to lucanis that it's "not nice that Spite hurt him" and he "shouldn't accept that it’s fine bc it wouldn't be ok if a person did that" like. That is a demon. Built off a single emotion called SPITE. Rook I am finding it really hard to believe that u have lived in thedas for more than 30 seconds.

[foundnthestars]

HELLO BELOVED MUTUAL SKY 👋👋👋 I don't rlly have anything to talk about I just wanted to remind u that you're the best. Don't burn yourself out on writing 🫵 drink water and stuff !!!

oh, man, copper you’re the best seriously!! thank you so much for this, i think i needed to hear it 😭😭

but honestly don’t worry about me, if anything’s burning me out it’s making coffee 40 hours a week for boomers. writing and thinking about writing makes me feel sane.

i will be drinking more water though. that i DEFINITELY needed the reminder for 🫡

[hana-bobo-finch]

TOO MUCH TO CATCH UP ON RIPPING MY HAIR OUT!!!! I’ll get to most of the posts in the morning wauughhh. anyway hi guys, ive been working a lot on my neocities PDBC site these past few days and I have a question: when it comes to the site, it’ll mostly be lore-dumps and character bios like I’ve been posting here (along w my minicomics obvs), and I’ve been fooling around with a bunch of different ideas for the writing style of the lore dumps and I want to know which seems best to you:

1. Objective, such as I normally do with my lore dumps (e.g. no personal biases, all info laid out rather plainly)

2. Written in the style of an “official” fincg island website (e.g. written in the pov of finch describing his Amazing Super Cool island and stuff)

3. Written by Domitone post-main story (e.g. something akin to a historical document explaining The Horrors of fincg island after the fact)

[triglycercule]

WOOOO!!!!! 2025!!!! NEW YEARS AT TRIGLYCERCULE'S!!!!!!

this is gonna be technically my second year using tumblr during new years heheheh BUT IM NOT COUNTING 2024 (because i dont remember it) but i just wanna really say thank you for how this year went :3 <333

murder time trio. murder time trio I STILL LOVE MY AMAZING TRIO EVEN AFTER ITS BEEN A WHOLE YEAR (which is crazy!!!) I WANT TO KEEP ON LOVING THEM (and they keep loving eachother hehe x3) FOR MANY MANY MORE YEARS TO COME!!!! they bring me so much joy,,,, i still have so MUCH i want to say about them i still have so many more ideas i want to draw and write and find new ways to show my love for them!!! I LOVE THE MURDER TIME TRIO SO MUCH!!!!!!! I AM THEIR NUMBER 2 FAN!!!! 💙💜❤️

ヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉ ME WHEN I THINK OF THE TRIO :3333

and carrying on with my love for the trio,,,, I HAVE SO MUCH RESPECT FOR PEOPLE WHO MADE ART OR HCS OR FICS ABOUT THE TRIO!!!! I APPRECIATE YOUR WORK SO MUCH I LOVE SEEING ANYTHING ABOUT THEM AT ALL (^o^) i see art of them and my mood instantly improves :3 i read a fic of them and i'm inspired for the next 3 days :3 i see an post talking about them and I WANT TO SHARE MY LOVE FOR THEM JUST AS THE POSTER ALSO HAS!!!!! here's to a year with so much more trio x333

and i especially want to say THANK YOU MY MUTUALS!!!!! me when i see my mutual post (yippee (^o^)／) ME WHEN THE POST IS TRIO RELATED (💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥) but fr being on tumblr this year was fun ofc bc of my trio BUT ALSO BECAUSE OF MY MUTUALS!!!! past triglycercule wouldnt actually believe i was hanging out with people online and it was one of my favorite parts of the year :D my favorite silly bit must be diglycercule (those who know) AND OF COURSE MTT NATION!!!!!! proud council member of mtt nation citizen count 4 :3

as i type this it's not 2025 yet (10 pm :3) but i still wanted to make this post. this year has been soososososososo much fun and as always im grateful for the creation and passion this fandom has and the people i've come to meet through it, mutual or not!!!!!!! and of course the murder time trio!!!! 🔪🧣🪓 here's a year of much more fun and much more trio THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡🧡

triglycercule OUT HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! (on my way to play rain of dust and have the beat drop right as the clock strikes 12 :3)

[chasedeys]

my unpopular opinion apparently is top joe

noooo don't worry i get you 😭 holding your hands very tenderly and saying i get uuuuuuuuuu, and i am. so thrilled. that u get me. would u like to get married. jk jk i plan to die alone <3 ANYWAYS because you mentioned top joe and im quiet literally in the process of writing top joe i will share my writing in this ask <3

it's the joeteemarr fic under the cut btw lmaoooo when will this fic be done oh my god

you know what's hilarious is that. this is the sex part (every part of this fic is the sex part oh my god its supposed to be pwp tf happened). but this is just straight up YAPPING. the hell. BUT ANYWAY THEY DO HAVE SEX OKAY 😭 there is actual top joe action joe actually DOES fuck tee 😭 i just haven't written it yet....and like. i haven't really proof read anything so if there's any mistake in these screenshots look away i beggggg and like this part was written a mix of the exact night before and immediately after my shit exam so you can imagine the amount of cortisol in my body as i typed this shit out. might possibly have blacked out when i typed it actually wow.

i have written fucking 5.4k of this fic oh my godddd what the ever living hell.............and it's nowhere near finished. i have no idea how long it's going to be. it's literally supposed to be just pwp. porn without fucking plot. 3 parts. one of joe sucking tees dick. two of tee fucking ja'marr. and three of joe fucking tee. three because tee had three touchdowns for joe. why the hell is there 5k and counting. it's not going to be double digits but like. why the fuck is it 5k already. it's literally just smut but all of the sudden there was FEELINGS jesus. im blaming. the narrative. the fucking narrative 😭.

feel free to ask all abt it btwww like idk give me a random word and if there actually is the word and i'll give you the paragraph lmaooo this is mostly bc i don't know when i'll be able to finish it 😭 my schedule is getting shit packed fuckkk my life. or just ask me random shit about it i'll share a random part of it anyway i have no concept of self restraint <3 literally just ask me to share the title or the cover that i have already edited for some reason and i will happily 😭😭

[unsurebazookacore]

my mom very awkwardly coming into my room and handing me my freshly folded laundry telling me "you should be happy in life" 30 minutes after i finished a full mental breakdown in front of her because she said she's not paying for college unless I get into a top 30 university

[benevolenterrancy]

AND IT'S COMPLETED! Last chapter finally posted!

The Torchwood team manages to get themselves dumped into the middle of the Korean War and have to struggle their way through injuries, medical staff, time anomalies, demon hunters, and more general confusion than even they're used to dealing with on the regular in order to find a way home.

Meanwhile the MASH crew get a bunch of British spooks who just may win for being the weirdest patients they've ever had, and that's saying a lot.

[xlmibby]

i'm a bit emotional about being a guest in xlmi zine because i remember when i was a baby writer. back then, i used to watch big amazing famous writers creating for zines and having a lot of kudos under their fics and getting artworks and a lot of love for their works. one quiet thought in my mind was "i wish i could be like that one day"... and look at me now being like the writers i used to look up to😭😭

[end-orfino]

ahhhhhh i remember why i dont read comics & books and watch movies as much as I should. Because they make me lose it

[scionshtola]

with certainty

summary: Corisande was forced to heal her own injuries following their battle in Cape Westwind. Y'shtola is none too impressed with the job they did. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul (pre-relationship) word count: 1666 | read on ao3 notes: everything about healing in here i made up. and supplemented with things i saw on grey's anatomy. sorry in advance. and spoilers for the end of ARR. [divider credit]

Behind Corisande, Castrum Meridianum loomed in the distance, the glow of its shields bright against the night sky. Before them, the Alliance troops prepared for the next phase of Operation Archon, spurred on by their successes at the other Garlean outposts thus far. Corisande watched them work, running here and there, voices blending with the sounds of weapons being tended.

If all went well, the troops in front of her would engage the Garlean forces outside while Corisande snuck into the stronghold and disabled its magitek shield generator. If it did not go well, if Corisande let down all of the brave people before her, those willing to risk their lives on the misplaced hope that she succeeded—

They shut their eyes, pushing the thought away. There was always a way for things to go wrong. Now was not the time to dwell on the possibilities.

“Ah, there is our Warrior of Light.”

Searing hot metal closed over Corisande’s wrist. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina stood over them, yanked the chain that linked them and sent them stumbling toward him. She dug her heels into the ground, struggling for purchase in the mud and the grass, churned together by his relentless attacks. It was no use. He was far bigger than them, far more prepared for battle in close quarters, and the manacle on their wrist was blisteringly hot. Pain greater than any they had ever felt before radiated through their arm. She needed distance, needed time to cast, needed her hands free—

“Corisande,” he sneered down at her. Around them, the battlefield was ablaze, flames licking their body as they continued to struggle. She aimed her grimoire at his head, tried to shove him away, anything to create the time and space to cast a spell. If I can just summon Titan… “Are you well?”

They blinked, and the flames receded. The manacle fell from their wrist, leaving behind a phantom pain, as if their skin had been scalded all over again—but it did not truly hurt, not anymore. They had made sure of it.

“Corisande?” Y’shtola’s voice broke through the haze of imagined pain. Where Rhitahtyn towered over her a moment ago, Y’shtola stood peering up at her, her fingers wrapped loosely around their wrist.

“I’m fine,” they answered, and tried to cover the suspiciously quick response with a smile. She tugged her arm free, the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers trailing along the back of her hand, and let it fall to her side, fighting against the urge to cradle it protectively against her chest.

Unsurprisingly, Y’shtola did not seem convinced. She trained her gaze on them, unwavering, concern evident in her bright teal eyes, and reached for their arm again. She took it with a practiced hand, pushing their sleeve back to reveal the web of mottled scars encircling their wrist, a wide, morbid bracelet, the tendrils of which stretched across the back of their hand. 

“When did this happen?” Her touch was firm but gentle as she turned their arm over, examining the scarring from all sides. 

Corisande hesitated, reluctant to do or say anything that might distract from the next phase of the mission. Reluctant to relive the pain in the retelling of it. But she has kept little from Y’shtola in the course of their friendship and as much as she wished not to speak of it, she did not wish to hide it from her either. 

 “A few bells ago,” they finally admitted. “At Cape Westwind. I am afraid I got a little too close to my adversary.”

“A few bells...” Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were.

“Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.”

Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened, gaze flicking between their face and their scar. “You healed yourself?” she asked, at once both incredulous and irritated. “Reforming the layers of skin, repairing the nerves, not to mention the debridement—the pain would have been excruciating. Even more so if not given time to rest between stages. Why did you not come to me?”

Corisande had hardly been able to take two steps after defeating Rhitahtyn, the pain had been so overwhelming. They had tried—one foot in front of the other, just until they reached the others, but they hardly knew where they were going, the pain blinding them to everything around them. Every step had jostled their arm, lightning bolts of pain emanating from their wrist. She’d held her arm to her chest, but every brush of her open wound against her clothes had set her wrist aflame all over again. It had been impossible to think straight.

They had only meant to heal it enough that they could think about something else. Anything else. But Y’shtola was right—the pain of healing had been excruciating, so much so she could hardly keep her eyes open to watch. But she had. She’d watched as the seared bits of her gloves fell from the wound, grit her teeth as the skin began to reform. They had meant to stop, meant to leave the rest until they could find a real healer—until they could find Y’shtola.

But they had never had much control over their healing, had always neglected the study of it for the more interesting act of summoning. She could hardly tell what she was doing, her own cries ringing in her ears, unwilling tears blurring her vision. It had been hard to see, so hard to think about anything but the pain—until there was no pain at all.

“I only meant to make it bearable,” Corisande answered, meeting Y’shtola’s gaze. Her expression flickered, melting from a borderline scowl into softer concern as she looked into their eyes. It lasted only a moment, and then she dropped her gaze to their wrist once more. She prodded at it with cool fingers, then pressed hard against their skin, almost a pinch, pursing her lips when Corisande gasped.

“‘Tis not the prettiest work, but your nerves are intact,” she said neutrally, and let their arm drop to their side.

“You could have just asked.” Corisande rubbed her wrist, though she could not quite hide her amusement at Y’shtola’s straightforward approach. In fact, she found something rather comforting in her lack of gentle bedside manner.

 “Had you proper knowledge of healing magicks, there would be far less scarring,” Y’shtola continued, as if Corisande had not spoken. “But we must make do with what talents we have on the battlefield. That you have healed is of greater import than the manner in which it was done.”

“Come to me should you need any further healing,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument from Corisande, then narrowed her eyes at them. “But do not expect that I will let you get away with subpar healing forever. A mage of your skill should know how to properly heal themself.”

The laugh that Corisande had struggled to produce moments ago burst easily from her lips now. “I look forward to your lessons, Master Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola smiled, pleased, a touch of mischief in her eyes, and Corisande’s heart swelled with affection, an answering grin forming on their lips. Until Y’shtola’s eyes darted over their shoulder, at the fortress still looming over them, returning to the forefront of their mind all the worries that had fallen to the side when she had first touched them. 

“I would prefer that you rest, but there is still work to be done,” Y’shtola said, staring up at Castrum Meridianum with steel in her eyes. Corisande turned to face the fortress, and for a moment they stood side by side in silence, contemplating the task before them. One more step on the path to Eorzean liberation.

Y’shtola grasped Corisande’s hand. This time she did not look away when their eyes met, and instead returned their gaze with an assurance in her eye that calmed them. “I will see you when you return, Corisande,” she said, giving their hand a comforting squeeze before slipping away to resume her duties amongst the troops.

Corisande took one last look at the looming castrum and let the sound of the battle preparations taking place behind her wash over her. The fate of Eorzea, of everyone behind them, very likely rested on their shoulders. The thought was nearly enough to send them running for the forest they had come from. 

Instead, she turned toward the crowd of people working behind her. Cid was somewhere amongst them, beginning the preparations for the infiltration, and it was past time she sought him out to assist. 

They worked their way through the encampment, a certainty rising within them as they walked. Y’shtola was right—they would see each other again. They were as sure of it as Y’shtola seemed to be herself. 

And they found, suddenly, that they could bear anything, so long as they had that to hold on to.

[despairforme]

[todayisafridaynight]

Hey so Snap this is going to be so fucking weird, but honestly don’t care. So I was watching a clip of Drag Race Philippines and it was the make over episode and I think they were making over family members and this father was all about getting into drag. So, I just wanted to tell you never forget how much of a lovely loving kind and caring father you have, who loves you and protects you and makes you feel heard. That’s all.

i'd have to die before i forget how great my dad is thank you for the opportunity to brag about him again anon