life (my cat) always finds a way (to sleep on my clearly-not-comfortable legs)
'AI Overview' I DIDN'T ASK FOR THAT. I WANT OBSCURE REDDIT THREAD. I WANT 15 YEAR OLD QUORA POST. GET OUTTA HERE SCRAM
I am shocked at how many people don't have an actively hostile relationship with advertising
I am skipping your ads as fast as I can. I'm skipping past your sponsor read. I'm muting the tv. I'm muting the tab. If they get too annoying I will simply stop trying to watch.
If advertisers can use every manipulative trick in the book to get me to buy their product, I am fully within my rights to do everything I can on my end to make their job impossible
Neuvillette's new skin ☆
What is the first song on your Spotify Wrapped that has a type of animal in the title? What is the first song that has someone's name in the title?
little wolf and Odysseus lmaooooo
ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀɴᴛᴇʀɴ'ꜱ ɢʟᴏᴡ
ꜰʟɪɴꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
The fog in Nod-Krai eats sound.
Your footsteps don’t echo, your breath feels stolen, and for one frightening moment you wonder if you’ll vanish into the whiteness like a ghost.
Then
A soft glow breaks through. Violet against the mist. Steady. Patient.
You blink, and there he is.
Flins.
A lantern in one hand, his polearm resting against his shoulder, gaze as unreadable as the frozen sea behind him.
“You shouldn’t wander here at night,” he says, voice low but not unkind. “The paths curve back on themselves. Even the locals get lost.”
When he tilts the lantern slightly toward you, the light brushes your face. Warmth floods your chest—relief, yes, but something else, too. Something softer.
You fall into step beside him before you even realize it.
The fog curls close, but his lantern carves out a small world just for the two of you. A little circle of safety. He doesn’t speak much, but the silence feels careful, deliberate, not cold. Once, your hand brushes his as the path narrows. His fingers twitch just barely as though he considered holdingon.
“Stay near me,” he murmurs. And though his words are simple, you feel them coil around your ribs like a promise.
The two of you move slowly, the crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound for a while. The air smells faintly of salt and iron, the way it always does this close to the sea. You wonder how many nights he’s walked these same paths alone, lantern in hand, keeping vigil over the quiet graves.
“You do this often?” you ask, if only to break the hush before it swallows you whole.
His eyes shift toward you, briefly illuminated by the swing of the lantern. “Every night.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but there’s weight behind it, like the words themselves are carrying the memory of countless walks just like this one.
There’s something steadying in that thought—that he has been here, night after night, guarding, guiding, waiting. Like the lighthouse itself, his presence feels less like chance and more like inevitability.
The fog thins as the graveyard comes into view. White stone markers rise from the earth like teeth, pale and solemn. Flins pauses, lifting the lantern so the light falls gently across the snow-dusted graves. For a moment, he looks almost untouchable—statuesque, eternal, a sentinel bound to his duty.
But then his gaze softens when it returns to you. “The lighthouse isn’t far,” he says quietly. “Warmer there. You can rest.”
You nod, though part of you almost wishes the fog wouldn’t part—that you could stay in this fragile circle of light a little longer.
As you walk the final stretch, the lighthouse looms against the dark sky, its flame burning faintly at the top. Flins slows his stride, as though reluctant to let the moment end.
At the doorway, he lowers the lantern but doesn’t extinguish it. His hand brushes yours again—this time, intentional. A fleeting touch, careful, but enough to send warmth rushing through you like the firelight above.
When he finally speaks, it’s softer than the wind itself. “You’re safe now.”
And though you stand at the threshold of the lighthouse, you realize you already were from the moment he found you in the fog.
So.
Had an amazing honeymoon in Japan. Genuinely an incredible once-in-a-lifetime trip (at least with our income).
Came home, got my ass kicked by jet lag. Slept 5 hrs for three days, then crashed and accidentally slept for 14 hrs straight and woke up to my husband coming home from work, then stayed up for 30 hrs after that to force myself back onto a regular schedule.
Getting back into work, prepping for a busy time, and then came down with Covid. So my temperature has been oscillating wildly between 99 and 103 for a couple days and oftentimes I'm too weak to move.
Here's everyone's reminder, for the sake of everyone but especially immunocompromised people like myself, please mask in public if you are/have recently been sick.
So yeah that's why you haven't been hearing from me lately. I have been chipping away at that longer-from Welt Yang fic I posted the AO3 link for, so I'm getting a little bit of my smut fix. But as you can imagine, it's tough when I'm getting my ass kicked like this.
As always, send thirsty thoughts if you ever want to, and hopefully I'll be well enough to write again before too long 🤘
btw the way i handle writing burnout is by having multiple projects. if i lose inspiration for one, i dont force myself to continue, i just work on something else in the time being.
it doesnt have to be another writing project either. indulge in other hobbies too and give your mind a break.
for me, i have a lot of different ideas, and not all of them work in the same project. so i end up just making a list of all of my random ideas and pluck from it whenever i need to.
tldr: if youre dealing with burnout, dont be afraid to put it down for a bit and do something else