#I have the know-how to fix things. I have the skill. but extremely often I do not have the ability

[nope-body]

.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion teaching Tav embroidery/sewing. Preferably with him dragging them onto his lap for a close-up demonstration.

Why do I make everything so long? Do I have a problem? There is always so much introspective nonsense idk man. Anyway adorable idea actualized below!

Also mentions of sex but this is totally sfw. I went with the timeline of when your sleeping together but he hasn't quite admitted his feelings to himself, as a side!

~

Astarion had no idea how he became your camp's designated seamstress. How was it possible that a team of eight adults were all incapable of knowing the basics of such a fundamental skill?

Then again, Karlach seemed to be perfectly fine with wearing her clothes to tatters. Wyll was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Lae'zel, for some gods forsaken reason, was only capable of fixing up heavy armor. Gale seemed to prefer eating magical clothing items versus being able to salvage them and the rest were mediocre at best.

The look of confusion on Shadowheart's, who was the second most skilled by far, face when Astarion tried to explain a ladder stitch was enough for him to give up entirely. It was quicker to fix the tears then to explain simple concepts to simpletons.

Brats. All of you. With one who was significantly more brazen than the rest when it came to using Astarion as their personal tailor.

Tav, the lovely thorn in his side. Who could handle wielding a glaive with startingly accuracy, but somehow managed to consistently stab themselves every time they picked up a sewing needle. It was impressive, how useless someone who was otherwise extremely competent could be.

Impressive as it was frustrating. Because somehow you managed to destroy your clothes more often than anyone else. Always bashfully handing him over torn trousers and ripped shirts every other night. Anyone else he would have told to fuck off by now. Even the rest of the camp knew better than to test their luck with anything more than once a fortnight. But you lacked the very basic level of self-control.

It was his own fault for giving you special treatment in the first place. But sleeping together did warrant a few extra benefits. He got your protection and you got to experience the pleasure of being with him. Simple. Or it would have been if you didn't insist on making things complicated.

Because Astarion was starting to feel things. Things that he hadn't anticipated. Because your company was... oddly pleasant. You were an interesting little thing, he had to give you that. Well-read and talkative, but not boringly so. No, Astarion sometimes found himself losing track of time when he was with you. A simple question could easily turn into a two-hour conversation about the silliest things. It was... nice. New. And oh so different from what he was used to.

Cazador didn't even allow him or his brethren to speak in his home, let alone speak to each other unless it was strictly necessary. But here he was free to do whatever he pleased. And he was finding that included being near you, despite how differently you both saw the world.

He couldn't quite blame you for your delusional optimistic views. As a Tymora worshipper you were basically doomed from the start to believe inane concepts like good fortune, luck, and gods, the good that could be found in "anyone".

You were as sweet as you were aggravating and Astarion truly, honestly, had no idea how your insane trusting nature hadn't managed to get you killed yet. But then again he... kind of liked that about you. He liked that you trusted him. It made his life more convienet and... it was nice to be seen as a person worth confiding in. Instead of the blood-sucking monster he really was.

He... liked that. He liked you. A fact that he didn't enjoy thinking about. He didn't really know what to do with it, and the implications of where his feelings could lead were starting to become unsettling. So he pushed it out of his mind. It was an easy thing to do when doom was always looming in the background. He had plenty of things to think about that didn't include his fondness for you.

Like the inner-rage you caused when you managed to somehow rip the same shirt twice in one day.

"That's it," Astarion announced when you bashfully asked for his help yet again, "Come here. I'm teaching you how to sew."

"But you always get mad when you try," You whined. But despite the hesitancy you still obediently sat next to him as he got out the sewing kit, "Do you promise not to snap this time?"

"That depends," Astarion said with a roll of the eyes, "Do you intend on not maiming yourself with a sewing needle?"

Astarion smirked at the way that made a blush crawl up your neck, "That was one time!"

"Actually darling it was closer to seven," Astarion corrected as he snatched the shirt from your hands, "Now pay attention. Look at where the tear starts. Notice how it's on the seam?"

You nodded along as Astarion explained the basics to you. He could tell that you were trying your damndest to pay attention, but when it was your turn to hold the needle your hands couldn't stop shaking. Astarion frowned as he tried to watch you work, his view obfuscated by the angle and the flow of your hair.

Well that wouldn't do.

Before he could think better of it he was hauling you into his lap, ignoring your surprised squeak as he situated you just right.

That was better. At least now he could see what you were doing. It was a sloppy stich, sloppy enough for him to undo it before putting the needle back in your hand.

"Now do it again," Astarion ordered, "Let me see what your doing wrong."

Astarion watched as you tried again, frowning when he realized your shaking was even worse than before. In fact, you seemed more nervous than ever, your face red as you kept your eyes down.

It made Astarion torn between watching your hands and looking at your face. You really were adorable, getting all worked up from simply being in his lap, all while trying to stay dutifully undistracted. He could almost hear your heart racing, obvious through the tension coursing through you.

Silly little thing, acting all shy like he hadn't already literally been inside of you. But at least you were doing better, your stitching straighter than Astarion had ever seen it. Maybe he'd have to make the lap-sitting mandatory from now on, for the good of your learning.

"See," Astarion said softly, his breath tickling your ear as he leaned in closer, "You're perfectly capable of learning this."

"So it looks good?" You asked, taking a chance to glance at him. Astarion hadn't realized just how close the two of you really were. He had never... seen you like this before. So closely. Even when you slept together, he had been a bit distracted by other parts of your body. He never noticed just how many light freckles were hiding across the bridge of your nose, how your eyes looked almost golden in candlelight. You smelled nice too, sweet. Like you had been rolling around in a field of lilies. Considering your personality, Astarion had to wonder if that's exactly what you did.

It would take almost nothing to press your lips together. Barely a turn on the head.

"Astarion, are you listening?"

The sound of his voice snapped him out of his revelry. He straightened, clearing his throat as he looked over your work again, embarrassed in a way that he couldn't quite describe.

Maybe you weren't the only one being affected after all.

"It looks better," Astarion said honestly, "But still needs work. You'll almost certainly be needing more lessons."

Preferably like this. Astarion wasn't quite ready to let you go yet, not when you felt so pleasantly warm in his lap. But luckily enough for him, you didn't seem quite so keen to leave.

Astarion tightened his hold on you laughing at the way it made you gasp, "But that's enough for today. I think you've earned a reward. Don't you?"

"I-yes?" You said back, your eyes flitting from Astarion's mouth and back, "Please?"

You really were too precious. How could he possibly say no to that?

Astarion grinned as he tilted your chin up, finally pressing your lips together. It was an odd feeling, kissing someone when he couldn't stop smiling, but he supposed you just had that effect on him.

Maybe being the camp seamstress wasn't so bad after all.

[furiousgoldfish]

To all of you who are feeling behind on survival skills, worried you won't be able to succeed in life because you're not allowed to learn/not able to learn, I want you to know that some basics are extremely easy to get once you're able to try it on your own, or even just have one person explain it to you.

When I ran away from home, I didn't know how to cook, I wasn't allowed to learn, and first month or so, I was preoccupied with just learning how to cook. What I learned was that it was far more easy than my parents ever made it seem. If you're trying to cook just for proper nutrition and not make some fancy meals, most of what you have to do is heat the groceries, and salt them. If you cut up some vegetables and put them in water an add salt, you will have a soup. If you lay them on a tray and put them in the oven, you've made food. You can put stuff in a pan with some oil and stir it on heat and you have a meal. For basic eating, it can be really that simple. I also was able to pick stuff up just from my roommates, who would happily answer my questions, and a lot of people out there will happily explain to you how they make a certain food, and of course, there's video tutorials for specific meals, if you want to make something more complex. Once you have absolute freedom in the kitchen, you will pick this up rapidly.

I have never used a washing machine prior to running away, and then one person showed me once how to use one, and that was that. I was washing-machine certified after that. I gained extra knowledge about cleaning it on the internet, and some people randomly had tips for me about it. I learned to handwash later as well, and that works good too.

I've struggled at the beginning, to find easy and cheap ways to get stuff; the most common way to get things is to go to the store, but I didn't have a lot of money, and buying things was too expensive for me. I've since discovered just where to find the second-hand markets, how to get people to give me their old clothing so I never have to buy any, how to temper with stuff I have so I wouldn't have to buy anything, at this point I even know how to fix shoes and sew my own stuff. I've fixed blinds on almost every window in here, without even knowing how, I just dismantled everything and figured it out. I've put together closets and lamps. I've learned to open up my own laptop and change the parts inside, I've even changed the screen on my own, by watching a video on how it's done. I've learned how to repaint walls, how to tend to plants, how to maintain a living space. Often I'd see someone else who is able to do these things, and just ask. People who are not parents have no reason to gatekeep this information, and they proudly told me how they do it.

I've learned to organize my stuff to the point where I'm able to easily clean a big mess, and I don't get overwhelmed with things anymore. I've had to do some reading on the internet to figure out the situation with finances and economy, and I also asked some people, got wildly different answers from every person. When I have the opportunity to chat with someone who has a specific job, I ask them about what they do, and have them describe to me how that field of work functions. It gave me insight into a lot of inner workings of society that were previously a mystery to me.

I was able to figure this all out while having zero faith in myself; I believed I was stupid, incapable of survival, honestly thought I would be dead within few months. I was reading army survival guides so I could survive in the wild if I ever got homeless. I was learning even without believing that all of this would help me, it's only now looking back at everything that I understand how much knowledge I gained just from trying it and doing it in every possible way until it clicked.

The most complex for me, were the social skills, since I'm still easily scared of people. But I am slowly making progress on that and finding better ways to deal with people's behaviours. Being curious works well because people love when someone is curious about them and shows interest in what they do. It's been a revelation that outside of my home, I really can just ask any question I am interested about, and will usually get some kind of an answer, and not 'how do you not know this already'. Outside of abusive homes, you're not expected to know everything, without ever being told.

While survival skills and independence are deeply forbidden in an abusive situation, being out of one will practically guarantee you that you'll get them. Sometimes you'll be forced to learn some stuff like cleaning and cooking and you'll have no choice but to learn, and it will become easier the more you do it. But nobody will make you feel bad for not doing it right the first time, there will be no punishment, no berating, you're free mess it up any amount of times, without any consequences. I would say that maybe you wasted some time and effort, but no time or effort is truly wasted when you're learning something; rather it takes that time and effort to learn. But it's not painful, it's not shameful, it's not forbidden anymore. You can learn a lot of things at your own ease and convenience, without worrying about someone's opinion on what you're doing. You can also learn dumb things and never be criticized or called out on it, you can do absolutely ridiculous stuff that brings you joy and no harm is done.

I know feeling behind sucks, and it feels shameful and horrible, but the good news is that you can catch up very quickly, and not only that. If you really want to have a lot of survival skills under your belt, and you keep learning, you will soon know more than most people do. You can out-do any person out there if you have a passion for it. I had people who were telling me how to do basic stuff, surprised at me knowing more than they knew, just months later. It's a great feeling!

[achilles-rage]

Oblivious

summary: you're a part of 50 squad, but with street being your best friend, you spend more time with 20 squad. after a rough day at work, street invites you out with the rest of the team. when tan and luca notice you talking to a man at the bar, they take matters into their own hands, knowing that you're both too dense to realize the other's feelings.

word count: 3.1k

request: @heypeople2 - hi! i’d love a friends to lovers fic with street where the reader is on mumford’s swat team, but is friends with all of street’s team and hangs out with them often. maybe two oblivious lovers? if that makes sense!

A/N: i had no idea where i was going with this at first, but i like how it turned out! enjoy<33

TW: none, allusion to smut, no use of y/n, plus size!reader, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

You still remember every single thing that happened on your first day with 50 squad; it was a stressful day, and you weren’t even supposed to go into the field that day because you had suffered a shoulder injury and were still a few days from being cleared for going out into the field. The universe had different plans, however, and both 50 squad and 20 squad were called to the same place. They needed all the people they could get, so you were quick to tell Rocker you could step in. He wasn’t going to let you, not wanting to go against protocol, but the situation was extremely important, so he finally agreed.

You had a group of hostages with you, trying to take them down to the main floor of the building and to safety, when you saw another SWAT agent fall into the hallway a few feet in front of you, who you now know was Street. It was almost a blur how fast you moved, quickly ushering the hostages into the room you were in front of and moving to cover him, taking down the two suspects that had managed to get the upper hand on him.

From that day on, he was smitten. He was impressed by your skill, of course, especially after he learned that you were still injured, but he also thought you were gorgeous. If it wasn’t an active shooter situation, he would’ve had the time to watch your plush body maneuver through the doorway and take down two targets, how strong your thick thighs looked, how your gear clung to your soft belly and chest. Instead, he noticed after all the shooters were taken into custody, when you came over to ask if he was okay in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

You had noticed how attractive he was too, his broad shoulders, his lean torso. When you went to make sure he was okay, you were asking out of concern, but also because you were curious about him. He immediately continued the conversation when he told you he was alright, wanting to know everything that he could about you, and the rest is history. The rest of 20 squad quickly picked up on this new friendship, noticing the way your eyes would find each other in a room when the other person isn’t looking, and the way you talk to each other. They also quickly realized how truly oblivious you two were, as it seemed that neither of you knew the other person’s feelings.

Now, over a year later, you and Street are best friends, and it’s because of this that you find yourself hanging out with 20 squad more often than 50 squad outside of work, although you still love everyone on your own team.

“Rough day, killer?” you hear from across the parking lot as you step out of the armoured vehicle, groaning softly as you feel the pain in your shoulder. It may have been over a year ago, but after an especially hard day of work, your shoulder still gives you some trouble. It’s nothing some painkillers and a heating pad can’t fix, but until you get home and get them, the dull ache remains.

“You have no idea.” Street chuckles at your response, taking in your figure. He notices the way you’re holding yourself, he’s seen it before, he knows your shoulder is giving you trouble.

“We just got back a few minutes ago, we’re all going to get drinks. A drink or two might help with that.” he tells you, a smirk on his face as you walk over to him, starting to take off your gear.

“Yeah, alright. But it’ll be an early night. Want to share an uber over there? I don’t want to leave my car there overnight.” You want nothing more than to go home and lay on the couch with a heating pad over your injury, but as soon as the option of spending more time with Street appears, you can’t help but say yes. He shakes his head at your words, scoffing.

“I can just take you on my bike. I’m not drinking tonight.” he tells you nonchalantly, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest as he imagines you pressed against him on the back of his bike. He imagines your thick thighs wrapped around him, your torso against his back, even though he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that.

You tense at his words, your breath catching in your throat. You’re imagining the exact same scenario as him, but you can’t help the slight insecurities that race through your brain at the image. Your soft body pressed against his. He’d be able to feel every curve of your body, even the ones you usually keep hidden, knowing that although you’ve grown used to them, and are beginning to like your body again, not everyone likes to see them. You also think of having to sit on the tiny seat of his motorcycle, him having to hold up the bike along with your added weight, and you can’t help the nerves twisting at your insides. Imagining how you’d look squeezed onto the back of his bike is something you really don’t want to have to think about, so you’re quick to respond.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to-” He cuts you off, shaking his head as he speaks.

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to be spending money on an uber when you can just ride with me.” he tells you, but a hopefulness breaks through his features, lighting up his eyes ever so slightly. You pick up on this, and let out a sigh, knowing he won’t let this go. Maybe you can do it just this once, and then tell him it was too scary and you never want to do it again, you think. Maybe then, he won’t ask again.

“Alright, fine. I’m just gonna take a quick shower and change. I’ll meet you out here in 15?” you tell him, smiling softly as he nods. You turn and quickly walk into the building, making your way to the locker room.

The nerves are taking over every inch of your body as you rinse off quickly, your brain going into overdrive as you think about having to ride on Street’s motorcycle. It’s a short distance to the bar you guys usually go to, but it’s still a decent amount of time to be pressed up against Street.

Once you’re showered and changed, you go out to the parking lot, letting out a shaky breath before you get close enough to Street for him to hear it. He notices the way you’re still holding your arm a little awkwardly, and he feels a little bad for inviting you out.

“You take some painkillers already?” he asks softly, worry spreading across his face as you shake your head.

“I ran out. I’ll have to get some on my way home.” He turns and reaches into his bag, taking out a bottle of the same meds he’s seen you use. He never told you, but he went out and bought some when he found out which ones you prefer. He knows how much your shoulder bothers you after rough days, and he wanted to make sure you never have to go without them should you run out.

Your eyes soften as he pulls them out, and you take them from his hands. You take one quickly, then hand them back to him, thanking him softly.

He hands you his spare helmet once he puts the pills back in his bag and gets on, holding a hand out for you to get on behind him.

Your ascent is a little awkward, but you finally manage to get on with his help, your cheeks hot as embarrassment fills your stomach.

He finally starts to drive and you put your arms around his waist tightly, feeling your breath pick up as he turns onto the road. You know he can sometimes be a crazy driver, but he seems to hold back today, perhaps picking up on your nerves.

Street has a hard time focusing on the road as he makes his way to the bar; having you pressed up against him so tight has him fighting every urge to drive right from work to his house and dragging you upstairs to bed. The way your arms are tightly wound around him also gets him a little riled up; how you’re putting so much trust into him. He makes sure to take it easy. If anything were to happen to you because of his driving, he doesn’t think he would ever recover.

When you finally make it to the bar and walk in, Tan and Luca are quick to look over at you two, their eyes immediately going to each other with raised eyebrows as they see the way Street’s hand is on your lower back, and the way you’re looking over at him with twinkling eyes. They’ve been trying to get you two together for months; and they feel like tonight is finally the night they can make it happen. You catch up with the rest of the squad for a few minutes, before you lean to whisper in Street’s ear that you’re going to go get a drink.

“You want me to come with you?” he asks over the music and chatter of the bar, but you shake your head, giving him a soft smile. You tell him you’ll just be a minute before you turn and walk over to the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish with another customer.

“That’s a nice bike you rode in on. What year is it?” you hear a voice beside you speak. You turn with a raised brow, looking up at a man who came into the bar just after you, seeing you getting off of Street’s motorcycle.

“Oh, um, I have no idea.” you tell him, giving him a small smile.

“It’s a nice one, your boyfriend hasn’t told you anything about it?” Your breath catches in your throat at the word boyfriend. You feel embarrassed, but also a sense of pride that he thinks you’re dating him. You shake your head, letting out a soft laugh.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and he doesn’t talk much about it to me.” you admit sheepishly. The man gives you an awkward smile, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I just assumed-” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. You give him an earnest smile, putting your hand on his arm as you tell him that it’s alright. You can sense he’s a little embarrassed, and that wasn’t your intention. It was an honest mistake.

You’re so focused on the man that you don’t notice that Luca and Tan’s eyes are glued on you the moment the man walks up to you. Smirks break out onto both of their faces as they watch, both of them having the same idea.

“Hey, Street. I think that guy’s trying to steal your girl away from you.” Luca teases Street as he motions over to you at the bar. Street turns in the direction Luca’s pointing at, about to tell him that he doesn’t have a girl, but his words fall short. He looks over just in time for you to give the man a smile as you place your hand on his arm, and he can feel the jealousy bubbling up inside him.

“Yeah, man. You should go get her, before he tries to take her home.” Tan chimes in, smirking as he sees Street’s fists clench at his sides and his jaw clenched. Street is seeing red at this point, imagining you going home with that man instead of him.

He marches over to you quickly, unaware that the rest of the squad’s conversations have died down, and they’re all now looking at the situation unfolding with smirks.

“Hey babe.” he purrs, wrapping his arms around your plush waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. He smirks at the man as he sees his brows furrow, feeling like he’s already won, but wanting to take it further.

“Uh, hey, Street. What’s up?” you ask, confusion laced in your voice as you turn your head to look at the side of his face. You’re used to his flirty tendencies, but this is definitely different than you’re used to.

“Just wanted to see if you were ready to go home.” he says in a low tone, kissing your neck softly. His eyes are trained on you, but he watches the man from the corner of his eye, his smirk widening as he sees the confused expression on the man's face and the way he takes a step back from you two.

“What are you talking abou-” You’re cut off by Street’s lips on yours, his hand coming up and using two fingers to tilt your head towards his. Your eyes widen in shock for a moment before you finally return the kiss, closing your eyes. He’s not sure what came over him at that moment. He’s wanted to do that since he met you, and watching you with another guy at a bar finally sent him over the edge. You pull back after a moment, turning back to the man, but realize he’s already walked away. You turn in Street’s arms, your eyebrows raised.

“What was that for?” you ask, your whole body feeling like it’s on fire, still reeling from the short kiss.

“He was flirting with you.” he states, as if that’s the only reason he needs. You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“He wasn’t flirting with me. He was asking about your bike.” It’s his turn to be confused. He stays silent for a moment, starting to think more clearly about what he just did. He kissed you, and you kissed him back, and you weren’t flirting with the man at the bar.

“Oh.” he says softly after a moment, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, his own still wrapped firmly around your waist despite his racing thoughts.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Why did you do that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look up at him. You think you saw jealousy in his eyes as he approached, but you’re afraid that you’re just seeing what you want to see.

“I don’t know. I had to. I don’t want to see you with someone else.” he says, just loud enough for you to hear over the music. Your drink is long forgotten now as your heart seems to beat louder. Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“Why not?” You match his volume, and he almost has to bend down to hear you. He can see the glimmer of hope in your eyes, and he thinks that since he’s already gotten this far, he should just tell you the truth.

“I want you all to myself.” he states, smirking as he sees your eyes widen. Your lips part slightly as you try to think of what to say. He’s your best friend, and as deep as your feelings are for him, you’ve never had trouble speaking to him until now.

His eyes search yours as he waits for your response, and he sees the way your lips are beginning to twitch up into a smile and the way your eyes flicker down to his lips for half a second, so he takes his chance.

His lips meet yours again in a soft kiss, and it takes everything in him not to push you against the bar and take you right there. One of his hands reaches up to your jaw, tilting your head up into the kiss, deepening it. He smiles against your lips as you let out a soft whimper, and his other hand moves to squeeze your hip softly.

Your mind is reeling as you kiss him, and you’re not even worried about the way his body is pressed against yours as you get lost in the kiss. It’s not until you hear a loud clinking of a group cheersing their drinks that you pull back, breathing heavily. You have matching grins on your face as you stare into each other's eyes. Street’s eyes dart around the room before they land back on you. He leans in and whispers in your ear.

“You want to get out of here?” You bite your lip as you nod, neither of you even bothering to say goodbye to the squad as you make your way to the door.

The team have been watching the whole time, and they all fight back cheers as they finally see you two give in to one another. Chris chuckles as she watches you two leave, nudging Tan’s shoulder as she speaks.

“Finally. I was beginning to think your ideas were trash.” she teases him, which makes him shrug with a smile.

“They’re both idiots, but they’re perfect for each other, I guess.” The rest of the team agrees with Tan, and their conversations slowly move away from you two to other things, but none of them can wait to tease you two tomorrow.

When you get back to Street’s apartment, he immediately pushes you against the wall, his hands moving to your face as his lips meet yours in a searing kiss. You put your hands on his chest as he slots his knee between your legs, making your whimper softly.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” he murmurs against your lips, hands going down and clawing at the hem of your shirt, desperate to see all of you.

You smile against his lips, raising your arms as he pulls your shirt over your head. His lips are back on your in an instant, trailing down your neck to your chest. He nips and sucks at the exposed parts of your chest, and you tilt your head back to give him more access, one hand traveling to the back of his head.

“Please.” you manage to get out through pants, and that’s all he needs to haphazardly guide you down the hall to his bedroom. You bump into a few things on the way, but as soon as he has you sprawled out on his bed, everything else in the world is forgotten.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[eskeptical]

"only you."

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: after multiple times of having miguel treat your wounds, it's your turn to take care of him. warnings: mentions of blood, needles, and lots of fluff word count: 1k

Working for the Spider Society came with its risk. 

At some point, maturity comes with accepting that every thing you do does. 

Naturally, for an organization like this one, getting injured basically comes with the contract. 

You’ve been hurt plenty of times, sure. Over time, one tends to receive it and keep moving, tending to it later. Often the healing part of it is taken care of by yourself, rarely with the medics team. 

However, in your time since you joined, you had never once seen Miguel O’Hara hurt. 

Not that he wouldn’t get hurt. He did, often. However, as a man equipped with either a lot of pride or extremely fast healing (the possibility of it being a mix of the two being far more reasonable), you had never seen him approach the medic team. 

At some point, the only conclusion you could draw of how he tended to his wounds came from the sight of first aid kits hidden behind his many workspaces, tucked under drawers you had rummaged through upon endless visits to his office.

But doing everything by yourself only gets you so far.

So here you both were, sitting on the hard floor cross-legged with a first aid kit spread open, the smell of rubbing alcohol tickling your nose. 

In a sense, you knew you owed it to him. Multiple times he had tended to you after missions in this same spot, as much as you persisted against it. 

Or tried to, at least. Truthfully, as skillful as you may be, handling blood and wounds was never your forte.

Where you stood with Miguel didn’t matter right now. Whatever you could call yourselves, call this, would only begin to untangle a piece of string that upon hours of hours of pulling and twisting and turning remains the same throughout, knots come undone and redone. 

Your hands were far too busy at the moment, left armed with a needle; the right, a soaked cotton ball that you shortly after placed on the floor next to the rest.. 

“You’re hesitating.”

With a blink, your eyes wandered over to him. Miguel’s voice implied a statement. Resolute, as always. 

(It manifested in his touch too. Any time he had helped tend to your wounds, his hands did not hesitate, decidedly doing what had to be done, while somehow managing to still remain gentle.)

“Sorry. It’s been a while. I’ve had no need to, thanks to you.” 

A hearty chuckle left his throat. He rolled his eyes, a mischievous glint accompanied by a slightly raised corner of his lips. 

“Are you trying to pin your horrible nursing skills on me?” He asked with a raised brow, to which you turned your gaze back onto his shoulder. Bare, from his neck to his abdomen, purely out of necessity to better access the tiny gashes that surrounded it.  

(Not the first ones, you noticed. Multiple scars covered him, a few tones darker than his skin. Most fully healed, others almost, some still fresh. The sight of it pinched at your sides, and you bit your cheek as you wished you could wrap your arms around him for comfort. Something you would have done if only you had absolute certainty it wouldn’t harm him any further.)

“Maybe. You know, there’s a medical team for this. They could do this ten times better than I could.”

Miguel’s hand reached out to you, his fingers circling around your right hand. His thumb caressed your knuckles, tracing circles over them slowly. A habit of his, you had noticed since you two had gotten to this level of trust. He fixed his gaze on his thumb, shrugging and lowering his voice. 

“No, they can’t. Their instruments probably aren’t clean. I could get tetanus.”

To this, you laughed, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous statement.

“Tetanus? From the medics? That you recruited?”

“Whatever. I want you to do it.”

His quick reply hit you in your weakest spot, butterflies bursting rapidly throughout your guts and arteries. At this point, you knew you should be used to them, given there are far more passionate things you have done with Miguel than simply playing a part in his healing process. Still, knowing you were wanted, that he wanted you to do this for him, and trusting you fully to do so filled you to the brim with excitement and warmth. 

“Okay, okay, fine.” Attempting to hide a smile, you squeezed his hand, before gently putting it aside and getting to work. 

Talking to him throughout the process made it a lot easier to withstand. As you were getting the final stitches done, he commented on it.

“They’re not half bad.”

The teasing criticism made a smile tug on the corners of your lips. As you finished, you began to clean up the aftermath. Cottons, liquids, scissors, all spread around in a mess.

“Yeah, does the expert approve of them? Speaking of, just how many people do you treat around here in your free time that you’re so quick and precise with this?”

Miguel helped you clean up. He smiled, small but warmly, before shaking his head and holding his gaze to yours.

“None. Only you.”

There it was again. That undeniable tug at your heart that somehow had the power to untangle the knot in seconds. 

You couldn’t hide your grin, your hand reaching towards him in an attempt to shove him playfully, but being intercepted by his own and moving it backwards, pulling you forward for a kiss. 

Despite your protesting laugh, you easily leaned into it, letting yourself melt against him, to which he hummed in approval.

It lasted a couple of minutes. The sense of euphoria it arrived with never seemed to grow old.

When you both pulled back, you were breathless, your lips tingling with the aftertaste, and his hair disheveled.

He grinned, his suit recomposing to its original state.

“Does this mean you’ll help me next time too?”

You rolled your eyes, quickly pecking the corner of his mouth before standing up.  

“Mhm. Those medics really can’t be trusted, you know. Tetanus is no joke.”

He nodded full heartedly, following suit.

“Definitely not.”

[alovember]

The m4's God Tier if they were in a SBURB session in Homestuck!!

I actually thought about this wayyy more than I should have so here's my reasoning BCS I know too much abt this godforsaken webcomic

I’m classpecting based on values/growth not existing strong character traits

Ex/ Someone might classpect Kyle as Mage of Mind because he is typically logical, knowledgeable, and curious but going off of growth he could be a Mage of Time which would require patience, cooperation, and handling sudden change.

Stan Marsh - Knight of Space

In Homestuck, the knight class is one that provides protection through their sword, their body, and their mind. It’s centers around providing assistance and protecting the other players, from harm or even themselves. Stan knows who and what he cares about, and sticks up for it. This combined with the space aspect makes a character that protects others through physical manifestations or manipulations of space. In Homestuck, the space aspect is taken literally so he could travel through space riffs by cutting through with a sword, combat involving teleportation, etc. He’s the only kid who is physically separated from the rest of the cast due to his family, as being moved out to the farm which mirrors Jade a character homestuck removed from her friends on an island. The space character is the one that breeds the Genesis frog. This would provide Stan with some growth as it requires him to look outside of his own emotional needs, and desires to provide that for another creature. We’ve seen, he can sometimes get to preoccupied with his own emotional reactions which leads him to not put others' feelings first as we see with Kenny’s death in the hospital.

Kyle Brovloski- Mage of Time

I made Kyle a mage due to his desire to actively seek truth and insight, which is what the entire mage class is about. We’ve seen time and time again that Kyle is a character who will take meaning from the mistakes that he and others make. That combined with the time aspect would make a character who knows and utilizes the timeline of the session to further their game. This would require patience and intense cooperation, which I think is something that Kyle would benefit from, and while his role is essential for the success of the session, being the time player is a tedious role. His abilities as a god-tiered character might involve some form of time manipulation whether it is speeding up or slowing down time and intimate knowledge of future and past events of the session as they make choices. Time players are ones that learn to harness the urge to change the environment around them, and often face many hardships that shape them throughout it all. 

ALSO time and space are the two players required to complete a session. This would make these two a formidable duo as Kyle can provide insight into any events or timeline altercations while stan executes those changes in the space area and provide protection and attacks from denizens and opponents. This makes sense from a narrative level as Stan and Kyle are often the two driving forces behind how things get fixed/accelerated in South Park. It’s essentially the planner and executor.

Eric Cartman- Prince of Life

The Prince of Hope fits Cartman extremely well since it is the most active (self seeking) class out of the majority of them and is the most destructive one as well. A prince is an extremely powerful player with a game that can make or break whether a session will succeed or become an offshoot. A prince uses their aspect to destroy and create chaos within a session. A prince of hope would be someone who uses hope to destroy their enemies or in the worst case their teammates. A prince of hope’s power could revolve around the manipulation of a person's innate hope and use it to his own advantage. In the end, a lot of Eric's growth would come from realizing how to use his manipulative skills to aid his friends and provide protection, although this could prove difficult as he is often self-serving throughout the show. This aspect and class fits him because he could either be the greatest obstacle to winning the game or inversely provide the greatest support to win. In the show, he acts as an oppositional force towards other characters for self-gain or provides clever insight and aid to whoever he’s trying to help or assist in any way.

Kenny McCormick- Thief of Doom

I feel like Kenny’s is the most accurate to the show. The thief class is someone who uses their class to steal their aspect for themselves. And like in the show I’m going to keep the Kenny dying and coming back concept as a glitch in the session. A thief of doom would be someone who steals doom or narrative peril from other characters for themselves. This could happen with any tasking or opportunity where he could take the fall and die for other characters over and over again. For example, if Stan was at risk of dying due to the actions of another character, he could steal the doom that surrounds Stan and direct it towards himself, therefore making him the target and allowing Stan to continue to fight or do whatever is happening in combat. Then due to the glitch, he would be revived the next day. So kind of like in the show, Kenny would be the stand-in person for others' injuries and potential downfalls. The growth would come from him realizing you cannot take on everyone’s issues, whether physical or mental, and come to realize that he and others can handle their own issues and don’t require intervention all the time, a hard lesson to learn for someone who is used to the role of sacrifice.

Anyways if you read all that ty!! and if you don't know HS hopefully it still made sense somewhat lmaooo

[thedevilspearl]

Ooh! If you’re still doing the kink game, who is most likely to have a hypnosis/mind control kink? Who would control and who would want to be controlled?

mind control/hypnosis

warnings: barbatos gets a little dark and hints of manipulation but nothing extreme. no kinkshaming! minors do not interact!

solomon would love to use you as his guinea pig, with your consent of course. he’s casted a number of spells on you. some of the outcomes were questionable and caused a lot of chaos but most of the time, his spells worked perfectly. he is a skilled sorcerer after all. but even as a sorcerer with all the power he has, there’s one thing he's never been granted and that is control.

so when you offer to test out the mind control spell for him, he is delighted! and it works wonderfully. both of you are so happy with the results that you try it a few more times and he can’t help but let his mind wonder when you’re under his control. he wonders if you would feel him touching you, if you would remember the words he confessed.

of course, he would never make a move on you while hypnotised until after you gave him permission to do so, but turning you into a mindless, malleable doll turns him on more than he’d like to admit.

barbatos on the other hand, is a little more sadistic with this kink. i always see barb as a dark and twisted man so forewarning, this may get a little dark. he’s a powerful demon, bound only by the prince himself. if he was a free demon, he could destroy the world if that was what pleased him.

but sadly, it isn’t often that he can express his inherent, demonic desire to dominate and destroy. i said he could destroy the world if he wanted to, but what if you were his world? what if you were the single, most perfect thing he has laid his eyes upon? the entirety of your existence becomes an obsession to him, and he wants nothing more than to destroy your mind.

he starts slow, secretly getting off when thinking about the small, sly comments that will eventually lead you astray. he leaves a trail of crumbs that will undoubtedly drag you to him. the web of forged niceties enraptures you to the point where you would do anything and everything if he asked it of you. and when he finally has you where you want him, he will unleash his full power. you’re under his control completely, hypnotised by his lies and sick smile.

lucifer was always riveted when you used your pact to order him, so using a spell or hypnosis to fully control his mind has his heart racing. his mind submitting and his cock hardening faster than ever before. sometimes he remembers every single thing you did to him, and made him do. other times, he won’t remember a thing and will wake up knowing nothing other than the fact that you used him to satisfy yourself in every way. he eventually sees the appeal in it and suggests that he be the one to control you this time. and he is oh–so–cruel.

he treats you like a pet, something that is meant to comfort him. he’ll be at his desk doing paperwork and you’ll be under the desk, slowly sucking on his cock for hours. every now and then, he’ll stroke your hair and your cheek, growing impossibly harder every time he looks into your mindless eyes. “you’re such a good pet for me. suck slowly, angel.” and oh god, sometimes he’ll flaunt you on his arm around the devildom while hypnotised. “act perfect now, my love. so many people are going to see you today.”

he loves seeing how perfect you are even when he isn’t telling you what to do. but what he loves even more is snapping his fingers and breaking the spell, causing you to wake up and realise how needy you are from all the things he made you do. but no worries, he can fix that right away.

[lovebugism]

hi babe hope this isn’t too personal but not having the greatest time right now. therapist did not answer any of my calls today so im kinda a mess 🥲🥲 if you’re willing to write any kind of comfort fic with any character that would be the best 💗💗💗

hi anon! i hope things are going better now! take this eddie munson comfort fic as my attempts to make you feel a wee bit better ily mwah <3

You were pretty good at taking care of yourself most of the time. Eddie always thought your innate sense of responsibility was extremely hot — mostly because it meant that you were even better at taking care of him.

He said it was a perk of being your boyfriend — “one of many,” he’d say, just before smacking a kiss to your cheek.

You were the yin to his yang in that way. Peace in all his chaos.

Eddie, himself, was a being who thrived on mayhem. There wasn’t a single thing he loved more than unpredictability — well, you, of course. Then maybe DnD. But spontaneity was a close third.

He isn’t quite sure how to live his life without the company of total disarray. He isn’t sure he would want to if he had the chance either. The unexpected makes things fun. At least, that’s what he always tells you. You’re not so sure.

When he makes you late to things because of his horrible time management skills, or he can’t find his keys because they’re hidden somewhere underneath a pile of clothes in the corner of his room, it feels a little like the end of the world.

And not just in the oh no, this thing is really stressing me out; good thing I know it’s illogical sort of way. But in the oh fuck, we’re gonna be ten minutes late to this get-together where there are zero consequences whether we show up or not, but it’s inducing so much panic that I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to function properly.

You’ve gotten pretty good at hiding your fear over the years. It’s just that Eddie’s so damn attuned to everything going on in your head that it makes it insanely difficult to wallow in your dread alone.

He knows when you start pacing and talking a million miles a minute that something’s working you up. He knows when you start getting snappy and don’t think his jokes are funny anymore that you’re close to your breaking point. He knows when you stop talking altogether that your entire world is caving in around you.

So Eddie takes great care in getting to things on time and tidying up his room when you're around. He doesn’t even care that he finds it all a bit irrational, he just wants to make things easier for you. Even if it means getting to Steve’s house an hour before everyone else or actually folding his clothes before putting them in drawers.

Eddie knows you use structure like a weapon rather than a shield. Organization isn't a way to keep your life together, it’s to keep it from falling apart. When something is out of order, when there’s one piece out of place, it’s not an easy fix — not for you. It’s more like a ticking tomb. 

You’re the ticking time bomb. And the faintest scent of disorder is bound to make you explode.

But maybe calling it a bomb isn’t the most accurate way to describe it. The way Eddie sees it, it’s a lot more like an avalanche.

It starts off small, a little rumble of uncertainty that jostles the comfort of your routine. You blink and suddenly the snowball weighs two tons and you’ve spiraled into a full-blown crisis that threatens to swallow you whole.

You don’t let anyone see any of it. Not even Eddie a lot of the time. You just bury yourself in the landslide until the heavy snow melts and you can function normally again — it may last a couple hours, maybe weeks.

So it’s a good thing Eddie can see all the warning signs before they start.

It’s all the little shit he notices first — the not showering as often, the not keeping things as tidy as usual, the closing yourself off. Eddie Munson knows a depression room when he sees one. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know you’re slipping.

But rather than acknowledge that boogeyman, he pretends like it isn’t there at all. He thinks if he acts like it doesn’t scare him, then it doesn’t have the power to hurt him. That’s exactly how he treats the funks you get into. He knows they’re there but doesn’t let them take over completely.

Eddie comes around whenever he gets the chance and helps you do your self-care routine — even though all you do is complain that you don’t need his help the entire time.

He coaxes you into the bath and tidies up your bedroom while you’re gone. He does all the steps of your skincare for you after because he knows you can’t do it yourself. You’re too tired to, but you feel like shit when you don’t. That’s the same bitter cycle that started this whole mess.

He doesn’t do anything crazy. He just takes care of the little things to make you feel less consumed by it all.

You’re a pouting mess in the middle of your bed after, freshly cleaned and drowning in a too big shirt that smells like the musk of Eddie’s cologne with a towel twisted up in your hair. It’s almost cartoonish, the way you cross your arms over your chest and scrunch your face in displeasure.

“I don’t want you to do all this stuff for me, Eds,” you gripe. “I’m a big girl, okay? I can do it myself.”

The boy shrugs from where he stands at the foot of your bed. “I know I don’t have to. I want to, though. I like doing this stuff for you.”

“You hate cleaning, Eddie.”

“Yeah. I do,” he affirms with a nod, all but flopping onto the mattress beside you. He rests his head on his fist and blinks up at you with wide, twinkling button eyes. A grin pulls at his pink lips as he asks you, “But you know what I don’t hate?”

You huff but entertain him anyway. “…What?”

“You,” he beams and taps the tip of your nose with his pointer finger.

You meet his smile with a grimace.

“Actually, I sort of love you, as it turns out,” he corrects himself in a lilt. “And when you love someone, you do the shit you hate to make them happy, right? Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

You don’t answer him, just shrug.

“Well, either way, I’m happy to do all the boring shit if it means there’s a chance I get to make you feel even a little bit better,” Eddie tells you, pinching his thumb and forefinger together and leaving just an inch or more of space to squint his eye through.

That hand flops down and lands on your thigh. His thumb absentmindedly rubs over the skin there. His smile turns sheepish.

“I will happily fold laundry and do taxes and wash dishes and… all that stupid, boring shit for you for the rest of my life, as long as I can look over and see you next to me…”

Your heart swells with a distant happiness you haven’t felt in weeks.

Eddie helps you until you feel better enough to do it yourself.

Needless to say, when he stops by your place and finds it completely spotless, he doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. He rushes to your room and finds you in bed, flipping through a book. The small radio on your bedside table plays something synth-y.

He realizes you’ve traded in The Smiths for The Psychedelic Furs and that your lavender candle is burning on your desk and that you’ve spritzed yourself in your vanilla perfume.

Those are all staples in your little routine that you borderline can’t live without. You always missed out on them when you got into your funks, but here they are again…

Eddie tries not to smile too wide.

“How’s it hangin’?” he sing-songs when he waltzes into your room.

“Fine...” you murmur, half-distracted by your novel. After a few long seconds, your eyes finally flit up to his. He’s doing a terrible job of hiding a grin. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Eddie shrugs as he takes off his leather jacket. He neatly lays the thing over the back of your desk chair and smooths out the wrinkles.

“‘Cause I love the shit out of you,” he answers like it’s nothing, like the words don’t mean everything to you. “And I’m really fucking proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” you echo in a scoff.

Because, to you, crawling out of a three week long funk is hardly something to be proud of. You don’t feel like you should be rewarded for being human, but Eddie knows that getting through the hard shit is a part of being human. And he’s so goddamn proud of you for it.

“Yep,” he nods with pink cheeks and a hopeful grin. “I’ve never been prouder of you, babe. And, like, I’m always proud of you, so that’s saying something.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath. Your attention flits back to your book rather than focusing on the intense gaze Eddie looks at you with. You don’t get through a single sentence before he rips the thing from your hands. “Eddie!—”

You look at him again and find that he’s sterner now, but still so tender — chocolate eyes hardened but soft around the edges. There’s a kind grin on his and an air about him that tells you he’s serious. 

Eddie rounds your bed and plants himself at the edge of it. He keeps your book hostage in one hand and holds onto your calf with the other, running his thumb over the soft skin of your knee.

“I’m serious,” he tells you. “Like, I know shit gets hard for you sometimes, but... I don't know, watching you get through it is… really fucking cool, babe.”

He laughs when it makes you laugh.

“Seriously. It’s like you get stronger every day, and… not to be a total sap or whatever, but I feel really lucky that I get to see it.”

You’re not sure whether to duck away from his gaze or revel in its warmth. You manage somehow to do both with a distant pout on your face. 

Eddie’s grin widens until the dimple in his right cheek reveals itself.  “What?” he laughs. “What’s that look for?”

“‘Cause you’re nice to me,” you mumble like the cutest little storm cloud. “And it’s gross… And also I love you.”

“Well, get ready, babe. You got a whole lifetime of me being nice to you coming your way, so… Be prepared to be sick of me by the time we’re all old and wrinkly, alright? ‘Cause I’m still gonna love the shit outta you then.”

You grumble when he smacks a kiss to your knee.

You hope he keeps his promise.

[compassionatereminders]

Hi! I wanted to answer the anon who was asking about what ADHD meds do & don’t help with as someone who was late-diagnosed and started meds this year. However, the effect of ADHD meds and even experience of ADHD itself varies heavily from person to person, so do keep that in mind!

DO:

- Actually hearing and retaining what people are saying. I was never able to fully experience a college lecture without panic because of only hearing bits and bobs of the lecture, going in one ear and out the other. I can truly focus and actually respond to what people are saying in a single line of thought without desperately trying to stimulate myself as much as possible to maybe get 1/2 of the detail to stick in my brain.

- Time blindness!! At first starting meds it felt like the day went for 500 years. I felt so much slower and mentally calmer, and I was able to complete “simple” tasks in under 15-20 minutes that could normally take me up to 3 hours due to distractions.

- Memory! Off my meds I have an enormously hard time remembering anything I’m trying to accomplish. I bounce from task to task without ever finishing it. On meds I’m able to think “I need to do laundry” and I just. Do the fucking laundry. It’s magical and I’ve cried more than once thinking about how much I’ve spent my life thinking I’m stupid or lazy for not being able to “just do the thing” like everyone else.

- Shutting down/fearful procrastination— I would be stuck doing nothing for days and days because I would want to do a task so badly but overly think about it and essentially paralyze myself in the decision making/getting started process. When I’m on my meds I can just do the fucking thing! Even if I don’t really feel like it! When before I practically had to have the exact perfect circumstance and could never create them, I can just plop myself somewhere and do the fucking thing. Just like I’ve been told all my life— “Even if you don’t want to, do it anyways” except now I have the actual ability to do that like everyone else. Before it was like everyone else was telling me to turn on a light, but I had no switch.

DON’T:

- Help with hyperfixation. Sometimes I can fixate even worse when I’m on my meds, just because my mind is so single stream that I’m able to do things for even more excessive periods. I burn myself out accidentally a lot quicker if I don’t provide myself with manual distractions to take breaks from daily/academic tasks.

- Immediately fix you. It was hard to start meds because I had to unlearn a lot of habits I had developed to cope with my undiagnosed ADHD— such as constantly moving, stimulating myself, having candy, etc. Just because the day became longer didn’t mean my time management became awesome either. I’m still working on tools that help ADHD with my meds!

- Not really a don’t but more so an unexpected side effect was becoming very intensely angry or upset when the medicine wears off. I struggle with emotional dysfunction already but the anger was so severe and I didn’t know that ADHD meds wearing off can cause that.

- Work 100% all of the time. Some days things like stress, poor sleep, poor diet, etc, can alter the way the same dose of meds works for you. Especially if you are nicotine dependent or a regular caffeine consumer, the way your meds work can change on a day by day basis. Some days I feel like the meds aren’t working at all, but more often than not there’s still a difference between myself being unmedicated and medicated.

- Instantly make you better at studying/task completion. Apparently having ADHD for years made me so extremely avoidant of many things that I just don’t have the skill set to do them well yet. Like studying, for example. I still struggle with extreme perfectionism that impedes me outside of ADHD paralysis.

- I’m gonna say it twice but they DONT FIX YOU ON THEIR OWN. Yes, they make your life fucking way better than before especially if you’re an adult with undiagnosed ADHD, but you have to learn how to use tools and learn skills to support yourself for the medication to help you to the max capability! I will definitely say that being on meds helped overhaul my mindset when I’m off meds and improved my perception of myself, but again, the meds can only get me so far!

I hope this helped anon!!!

Thank you for taking the time to share this! I hope anon sees it 💕

[olderthannetfic]

The one thing I dislike about AO3 is that it does take a very long time for them to implement promised features. I can't really complain about that when I know it's entirely volunteer labor and donated funds, but what could a random user do to help them do things faster?

--

Not a ton, to be honest.

Obviously, consistently donating is helpful overall, but one's individual donation isn't going to kickstart things significantly.

Suggestions aren't a bad thing, but they've often been thought of already. Still, if you have a really creative lateral thinking idea for how to solve some ongoing issue, it might be worth proposing it.

If one has high level programming skills, one could try to get involved and take on some specific item.

--

I suppose one of the more helpful things can be to be extremely clear about exactly what feature changes are desired. Not just "fix this general issue" but "Here's my proposed solution and the pros and cons I see for the various alternatives".

Things like "AO3 shouldn't still be in beta, hur hur" are obviously way less helpful than "The filtering doesn't do exactly X and here's why I think that matters".

If nothing else, highly specific requests can be better evaluated for technical complexity, and if there's a third party or alternate solution, people might know and mention it.

--

But overall, I expect a general atmosphere of bureaucratic inefficiency to remain long term, and if people want something really radical and they want it soon, I think that's a good reason to build a whole new site, using the social and technical lessons from AO3.

[your-nanas-house]

people (me) needs more one shots of neil lewis and raymond leon to stay alive. Anything will be received with total appreciation n.n

For real! Such good characters, love them so much 🍓

In my neighbour's pool

◇ Pairing: Neil Lewis X gn!reader

◇ Warnings: smut, handjob, friends to lovers kind of, illegality, hate

◇ Summary: You're fed up with your neighbor and Neil knows it, so he makes a plan to get back at them and spend the evening with you.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

It was a summer evening, it was hot and your best friend Neil had come to your house to tell you about his day.

He often came to visit you to steal things from your fridge and complain about his love life and the terrible orgasms he could only have while watching porn or sometimes movies.

You didnt mind most of the time, you loved Neil even though he could be quite nerdy and boring sometimes but you appreciate his company— not that evening though.

Your usual focus on him wasnt there, your eyes were glued on the house of your neighbour as you sipped your coke.

"Has Mrs. Bailey still bothered you?" Neil's voice interrupted your thoughts of hate and annoyance; he noticed that you werent actually listen to him since you were doing that humming and short replies that you always did when you werent really following something.

"Yeah, she's been a pain the the ass again. I swear I cant take it anymore, that lady needs to take some calming meds—" you scoffed, gritting slightly your teeth as you remembered what happened that morning

"She even got a fucking new pool in her backyard—" you murmured in anger, glancing at Neil when you noticed the silence.

His light blue eyes were focused on the house as well, his hands on his hip as he thought almost posing

"Why dont we go use that pool of hers? We could do something to take reveage" he suggested before listing options that he saw in a few recent movies he saw at the shop with his coworkers.

You honestly didn't mind the idea but you didn't want to cross the line too much, as not to get in too much troubles. If he would have suggested that a few weeks earlier you wouldn't have agreed but now that you were still extremely pissed at her, you went along with Neil.

Thats how you found yourself in the warm water of your neighbour's pool, wearing your swimsuit just like Neil, your hand stuck in his as you lowered it to free his hard cock.

His tongue kept exploring your mouth as your hand explored his length, squeezing his heavy balls to earn a whimper from his pretty swollen lips.

"You are pretty long, man" you murmured, kissing and nibbling at the tender skin of his neck, focusing on his adam's apple

"And-so-fucking-hard" your murmured as you stroked his cock a few times, taking a small pause at every word.

Neil's face was covered of a soft blush, his eyes were rolling back as his hips kept moving forewards, meeting your movements to fuck your hand faster— he was nearly meowing, letting soft moans and whimpers leave his mouth.

You could feel that he was getting closer and closer to his peak, his muscles flexing against your body, which was pressed against his, his cock throbbing and twitching at every movement of your skilled hand.

Neil came hard, letting out a meowing noise before catching his breath, his icy blue eyes now back open and focused on you

"Fuck that was—" he murmured, ready to praise your hidden skills and kiss you when a noise interrupted the both of you.

A shiver run down your spine when your neighbour walked out in her backyard, holding a bowl of milk and another one with cat's food

"Petunia, my lovely kitty, is that you? Mommy had your food—" the old annoying lady asked, making you hold back a laugh as you fixes quickly Neil's swim trucks— leading him quickly away from there as soon as you realized that the woman had probably heard your best friend's pathetic moans, mistaking them for the whining of one of her 8 cats.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

[flameraven]

Very thoughtful commentary about artists, Neil Gaiman in particular, and parasocial relationships more generally. Excerpt:

1. Stop Idolizing Creative People. Creative people are easy to idolize because they create the art you love, and that gives you permission to feel things, and to see yourself and your desires reflected in that art. That is a powerful thing, and from the outside, it can feel like magic, and that the people who do it are tapped into something otherworldly and admirable. Plus, they often get to have cool lives and get to know other cool creative people. They do things that are removed from the day-to-day aspect of a “normal” life, and they’ll even post about them on social media where you can see them. Sometimes, independent of their art directly, they’ll speak about their life, or life in general, and they’ll seem wise and considered and kind. I mean, what’s not to like?

But please consider that this is all an extremely mediated experience of this person. The art is the edited and massaged result of hours and days and weeks and months of work, into which the work of many others is also added. My novels originate from me, but it’s not just me in there, nor is the final form of the novel an accurate statement of who I am as a person, not least of all for the simple reason that I am not trying to tell my story in my novels. I’m creating fictional characters, and the world in which they make sense, for the purpose of the story.

Despite how it might look from the outside, this is not sorcery. It’s years of experience at a craft. It’s not magic, just work. A completed novel (or any other piece of art) won’t tell you much about the specific, day-to-day life and inclinations of the individual who made it, other than a general nod toward their competence, and the competence of their collaborators. Likewise what you see of their lives, even from the illusorily close vantage of social media, is deeply mediated. Lives always look admirable at a distance, when you can only see the lofty peaks and not the rubble at the base — especially when your attention by design is pointed at those lofty peaks. There’s much you don’t see and that you’re not meant to see. The vast majority of what you’re not meant to see isn’t nefarious. It’s just not your business.

Now, before I was a professional creative person, I was an entertainment journalist who spent years interviewing writers, directors, movie stars, musicians, authors and other creative folks. Since I’ve been on the other side of the rope, I’ve likewise met a huge range of creative people from all walks of life. Please believe me when I assure you that creative people are just people. Richer and/or more famous? Sometimes (less often than you might think, though). Prettier and/or more charismatic? Especially if they’re actors or pop stars, often yes! But at the end of the day they are just folks, and they run the whole range of how people are. By and large, the day-to-day experience of getting through their life is the same as yours. Outside of their own specific field of work, they don’t know any more about life, have no more facility for dealing with the world, and have just as few clues about what’s going on in their own head, as anyone else.

They’re just people. Whose work is making the stuff you like! And that’s great, but that’s not a substantive basis for idolizing them. It makes no more sense to idolize them than to idolize a baker who makes cookies you like, or the guy who comes and trims your hedges the way you want them to be trimmed, or the plumber who fixes your clogged drain. You can appreciate what they do, and even admire the skill they have. But holding them up as a life model might be a bit much. Which is the point! If you’re not willing to idolize a plumber, then you shouldn’t idolize a creative person.

(“But a plumber doesn’t make me feel like a creative person does,” you say, to which I say, are you sure about that? Because I will tell you what, when my sump pump stopped working and the plumber got in there, replaced the pump and started draining out my basement which had an inch of standing water in it, that man was the focus of all my emotions and was my goddamned hero that day. My plumber that day did more for me than easily 90% of the great art I’ve ever experienced.)

Enjoy the art creative people do. Enjoy the experience of them in the mediated version of them you get online and elsewhere, if such is your joy. But remember that the art is from the artist, not the artist themselves, and the version of their life you see is usually just the version they choose to show. There is so much you don’t see, and so much you’re not meant to see. At the end of the day, you don’t have all the information about who they are that you would need to make them your idol, or someone you might choose to, in some significant way, pattern some fraction of your life on. And anyway creative people aren’t any better at life than anyone else.

Which brings up the next point:

2. Fuck idols anyway! People are complicated and contradictory and you don’t know everything about them! You don’t know everything even about your parents or siblings or best friends or your partner! People are hypocrites and liars and fail to live up to their own standards for themselves, much less yours! Your version of them in your head will always be different than the version that actually exists in the world! Because you’re not them! Stop pretending people won’t be fuck ups! They will! Always!

This sounds more pessimistic about humans than perhaps it should be. When I say, for example, that people are hypocrites and liars, I don’t mean that people take every single opportunity to be hypocrites and liars. Most people are decent in the moment. But none of us — not one! — has always lived up to our own standard of behavior, and all of us have had the moment where, when confronted with a situation that would become an immense pain in the ass if we stuck to our guns, or demanded the inconvenient truth, decided to just bail instead, because the situation wasn’t worth the drama, or we had somewhere else to be, or whatever. We all choose battles and we all make the call in the moment, and sometimes the call is, fuck this, I’m out.

Every person you’ve ever admired has fucked up, sometimes really badly. Everyone you’ve ever looked up to has secrets, and it’s possible some of those secrets would materially change how you think about them, not always for the better. Everyone you’ve ever known has things about them you don’t know, many of which aren’t even secrets, they’re just things you don’t engage with in your day-to-day experience of them. Nevertheless it’s possible if you were aware of them, it would change how you feel about them, for better or for worse. And now let’s flip that around! You have things about you that even your best friends don’t know, and might be surprised to learn! You have secrets you don’t wish to share with the class! You have fucked up, and lied, and have been a hypocrite too!

You are, in short, a human, as is everyone you know and every one you will know (pets and gregarious wild animals excepted). And all humans are, charitably, a mess. This doesn’t mean there aren’t good people or even exemplary people out there, since there are, along with the ones that are, charitably, a real shit show. What I am saying is that even the good or exemplary people out there are a mess, have been morally compromised at some point in their lives, and have not lived up to their own standards for themselves, independent of anyone else’s standard for them.

[that-one-i-think]

Menphia Religion vs Irene religion Lore

The entire Irene religion is based on the idea of saving while Menphias religion is based more on the idea of Justice.

The church of Irene believes that everyone needs to be saved and can only be saved through the grace of Irene. They have a large belief in fixing things and problem through prayer. Not just a "I pray for the medicine to help my child," but a "I pray for a million dollars" type of prayer is also common. Belief and hope will get you through all struggles, which is the ideology. A double-edged sword because it is great to have hope and belief. Hard work is important .

The savior belief is also a double-edged sword as well. The church attracts the largest amount of healers and healing magic users in the region. People who genuinely want to help and do manage to do so. Part of the reason why Scaleswind took in so many refugees was because of the churches influence over the people. These people needed to be saved, so we need to save them.

The other part of the savior belief is the existence of savior complexes, narcissism, and corruption. People who started saving others to prove their superiority and through their drive to be better got a high position in the church. Then started accepting bribes under the guise of donations to help others only to have it line their pockets. It is how Zane became the high priest, he was a devote donation.

The Temple of Menphia believes in Righteous Fury. They believe in fairness and justice while being separate from politics. Designed to fight against shadow knights and unfair treatment by lords/politicians. They are religous warriors with the premise of being judge, jury, and executioner. They produce the best combatants and debaters.

They fight for the little man but are slow to decide for major issues, say your country is at war. Individuals warriors may help, but the Temple itself will have to deliberate and see if they will help with the possibility of the decision coming too late. The war is over and the losses numbered. They seek to provide justice, not always to help.

That is not to say that the temple doesn't help. They often take in orphans and give them skills to make them functioning adults. Though a lot of the adults stick to the Temple due to it being what they know but there is no discouragement or encouragement for either option.

Both religions would ideally work in harmony, much like how the worship of Esmund and the worship of Irene go hand to hand for guards. It actually doesn't. This is because the Menphia Religion grew on a completely different continent with a completely different culture. Meaning that a lot of the religious practices that exist in the Temple are blasphemous to the Church.

Menphia's religion involves a lot of religious tattoos, violence, and passion. Tattoos that, while enchanted to prevent them from being turned into Shadow Knights, are altering the body that Irene made for you. Violence for protection that is still violence and not forgiveness. Passion to form bonds between your siblings in arms is still the act of sex without marriage or the goal of procreation.

The Temple a lot of the times just doesn't like the Irene church goers, viewing them as prideful and arrogant. Forgiveness is not a right and justice needs to be served. Grudges exist for a reason after all. Not everyone needs nor wants to be saved.

A lot of Tu'la immigrants have had to adjust to the new culture around them making a lot of them turn to extreme modesty to hide their tattoos and meif'wa features for some. Most people who go to Ru'aun have a tendency to be hedonistic and over indulge in various pleasures.

[fernacular]

pls talk more abt the stupid art trend of only drawing neutral faced white women no matter what its something that has been eating away at me as i see the community of artists growing ever more. it frustrates me so much cause like??? is that really the extent of your creativity? some... nameless attractive woman?

I'm really not an art historian or even an extremely analytical person, so take all I'm about to say with a grain of salt, it truly is just my off-the-cuff assumptions.

First of all I wanna clarify I don't think painting a pretty girl for the sake of painting a pretty girl is inherently creatively bankrupt, I'd be a hypocrite if I said that. Plus there are many many examples of artists having a POINT when choosing that subject matter and I don't wanna be throwing them under the bus. If you know a Pretty Girl(tm) piece of art that you think actually has a message that is enhanced by the usage of that sort of face, assume I'm not talking about them.

What really bugs me is the sheer prevalence of it EVERYWHERE and how incredibly unexamined it often gets from both the artists themselves and the audience observing.

because here's the thing, I'm pretty sure I know why they're choosing a perfume-ad-type woman as their subject. Over a very very long time that specific type of face has become the Neutral Beautiful Subject in art. A: it's a human face, which our monkey brains immediately respond to. Humans see a human face, we instinctual pay attention, that's just kinda how we work. B: it's a young unblemished face with no indications of personality or personal agency or identity that could impact the viewer's attraction, and it is assumed the viewer finds the face attractive. C: It's a white feminine face/form that has an extremely long and complicated history that I won't be able to adequately layout here (again, not a historian) but is firmly entrenched in western society as being, of all the bodies, the most synonymous with beauty and art.

So from the artist's perspective, this is a very very useful subject matter because we, as an audience, have been trained not to read into it as the Neutral Beautiful Subject Matter. The assumption is that we will like looking at it, but it won't distract too much from what else the artist is doing, the technical skill they're putting in or the unusual medium or whatEVER it is they wanna flex. That specific face is visual shorthand for beauty, and we're not intended to read into it beyond that.

But that's, like.... bullshit?

It's BULLshit that we are supposed to just accept that face as the neutral symbol of beauty. It's not neutral!!!! It's EXTREMELY political!!!!!! When you make that face the subject matter of your art with NO indication that we are supposed to take ANYthing else away from it, then you, as an artist, are in fact making a statement that you are seemingly completely unaware that you are making.

All SORTS of very very heavy social things go into that seemingly passive face. The dehumanization, sexualization, and commodification of women. The deification of white femininity. The fear of age, of disability, of injury, of sexuality outside man-attracted-to-woman. The very idea that all of this could in any way, in any universe, be considered neutral.

And I don't think all the artists who create using this kind of face are rubbing their hands together going "nyehehehe, today I will support a lot of heinous cultural bullshit for profit nyehehehehe" Most of them just aren't looking at it past face value. Again, it's a useful device. It's largely popular, it will get you views and attention and as an artist myself I fucking GET IT man. I want money too. I have rent too.

But i'm just... tired. I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of how unquestioned it gets. Of how much it's rewarded.

I don't have anything else to add, I don't know how to fix any of it, just, augh.

[lavernius]

OK here’s my essay about Lopez and instruments.

By nature of being a robot I usually operate under the headcanon that he can learn basically anything with little research, with the caveat that he has no real creativity or artistic direction of his own. And I like translating this exactly into AUs where he’s human, because it’s a funny trait to give a human character. Can make anything, but only if given a blueprint.

So in a hypothetical situation where he has to make music, he could pick up anything with relative ease, but he’s not a musician in any way. He doesn’t even really like music—excepting that in AUs where Lopez is a normal human man of color I like to let him embrace his culture and enjoy, like, cumbia and stuff—and prefers deafening, uncomfortable, painful silence to most genres of music.

But if you gave him sheet music for a Chopin piece and sat him at a piano, he’d be playing at average skill within, like, two hours. He can sight read while playing. He knows how to tune a guitar to drop C from standard by ear. Sarge made him try the violin and he was fine. He keeps perfect rhythm and pitch. He can’t sing, but that’s just because his voice is unnaturally flat and he hates using it unnecessarily.

Absolutely can’t make music for shit. Can’t jam, can’t riff, can’t fiddle around, can’t even hum nonsense; if it’s not sheet music he’s a lost cause. Not his problem, anyway, he hates music. But if, say, Red Team wanted to start a band, and they wouldn’t let him JUST be their tech (like he wants and prefers), what would he play? What fits him as a person, thematically and stylistically?

He would be cute as a guitarist. He’s extremely dextrous, given how much he works with small components and how quickly he can fix things. Could shred with ease and not flub a note. He doesn’t really have the stage presence for it, being as he’s stiff and monotonous, and he’d complain about damaging his hands, which are his livelihood as far as he’s concerned.

Bass guitar is a good candidate. It’s subtle, deep, heavy, but there’s a distinct feeling of support from the bass—it’s something that doesn’t need to be there, but when it is, it provides a strong foundation for the guitar to lie on. Lopez fits its sound, but the role is too romantic for him. He’s not a supportive person. He doesn’t have the luxury of being optional.

Keyboard might be fine. Electronic instruments like drum pads and synthesizers are thematically fitting, seeing as he’s a robot. It doesn’t really fit his image, though, playing something so elegant and polite in nature.

Then you get to the esoteric, funny options, but Lopez doesn’t stick out and doesn’t want to. Anything too distinctive is out of the question, because it draws attention to him.

And thus my argument: he would best fit the drums, because rhythm is nigh necessary, and drums are often aggressive, precise. Drums are audible and noticeable in songs, but they’re also extremely easy to overlook and tune out.

They carry more than they do just support—rhythm makes or breaks a performance. And the drummer is often far back, center stage, highlighted in their importance but easily overshadowed by the rest of the instruments. The frenzy of drumming fits his quiet anger, and the lack of pitch fits his monotony.

(Tapping mic) Is this thing even on. Can anyone hear me

[foxufortunes]

Also, you know, I can never quite decide if I believe Wymack subscribes to that bs age seniority thing or not and I can't quite remember the little details of the EC all the time to remember if it was made explicit or not. Like, for example, was Andrew on the bench for most of his first year because he's a little shit who didn't care? Or because both the other goalie were older? Maybe both. And we never see Neil get to a point where he's better than Seth while Seth is alive to find out who starts. And part of the Foxes being so small means it's hard to tell, but it'll be important going forward into other years. Because sometimes I get the vibe he would (and the way Nicky phrases the thing about Andrew makes it feel like he's an extra because the other two are older, but could be because he's a little shit who doesn't care, or both). And like, it wouldn't surprise me if he did. It's bs that even great coach in other ways ascribe to, the whole "oh they're older or been here longer so even if you're better for the team, they should get more chances" and the way Wymack runs the Foxes is certainly more focused on letting them have their arbitrary hierarchy than winning (and this isn't necessarily a bad thing, but consider the Foxes and Ravens the two extremes of this, there are middle grounds) but on the other hand, I don't know if he's that traditional (although, as I write this I seem to be convincing myself he would take seniority and rank over skill/good for the team, which I didn't expect). I dunno, I feel so undecided about it. Maybe I'm just having a Wymack feels day where I think through all my conflicted feeling about him and never get anywhere because I do love him but he makes some awful choices (like his whole Andrew is his favourite fox but he still treats him like shit and with suspicion even when he's clearly not the problem like the Higgins call or how he's set up this place for all these kids to get their second chances but often enables their worst habits and doesn't seem to have any actual idea how to handle them beyond giving them to Betsy and trusting they'll fix themselves) that I feel so often get glossed over in favour of Dadmack the perfect when I'm just constantly conflicted, like I am with a lot of AFTG characters because actually they're all awful no matter how much I love them I'd hate them irl.