#I need clear concise instructions

[theshadowrealmitself]

What am I actually supposed to say in office hours? I’m failing this one class and the only way I’m passing (with a C) is if I somehow get 100% on the next two quizzes and then an 80% minimum on the final, and everyone keeps telling me to go to the professor’s office hours

Which I’m down with doing since I really really don’t wanna fail but…what am I supposed to do in those hours? Cry?

I mean, I’ve gone to other people’s office hours, but it was always with a clear request like “can you clarify this assignment’s instructions” or “can you please tell me why I got this grade?”

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[tizeline]

Family Secrets: Part 3

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I rewatched the season 2 finale to see how Karai explains what Ninpo is and how it works, and the instructions were pretty vague, so vague instructions it is! We know that it's a manifisation of the Hamatos connection to each other and all that, but Donnie is definitely the type of guy that needs a clear and concise step-by-step tutorial, not non-specific guidence about being in tune with your emotions lmao wish him luck guys

[thoughtfulfiction]

People Watcher

Author’s Note: Poll winner, anon requested protective Joe!

Joe wasn’t one to hover. He never tried to control you or tell you what to do. That wasn’t his style. You were smart, independent and more than capable of navigating life’s challenges on your own. But that didn’t stop him from looking out for you in his own way, subtle, steady, always intentional.

Like on game days.

“You sure you’re good sitting in the suite?” Joe asked, tugging a hoodie over his head as he walked out of his office Wednesday evening after a long film session. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the question, one you knew well by now.

“You know I don’t mind,” you smiled, adjusting her earrings in the mirror. “Your mom’s fun. She gets loud when you’re winning and she’s always super proud of you. Both of your parents are.”

That earned you a quiet chuckle from Joe. “Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just…you know. It’s easier that way.”

He didn’t have to say what that way meant. You knew he wanted you away from the chaos of the stands, where emotions could run high and things could turn ugly fast. It wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself. Joe knew better than anyone that you could. But the idea of you being out there alone, surrounded by strangers who didn’t always know when to stop, didn’t sit right with him. In fact, it made his skin crawl a little bit.

“I know,” you said softly, stepping over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll even text you when I get there.”

Joe’s hand covered yours, holding it still for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Do that.”

He usually didn’t respond to pregame texts, locking himself away in the depths of his mind and replacing his usual nonchalant self with a stone cold killer, the mentality he had to maintain while on the field to perform at his best. And yet, it eased his mind getting that text from you when he checked his phone one last time beforehand. A reminder of what he was coming home to.

Joe never asked for much, he rarely actually said be careful or stay safe, but that simple request had always been his way of saying both.

It was like that all the time with him. Tiny acts of service that didn’t seem big until you put them all together. How he always asked you to text him when you got somewhere, even though he had your location. How he’d casually mention alternate routes home if traffic was bad or if he heard about an accident nearby. How he never asked you not to go out with your friends but would always remind you to call him if you needed anything, no matter what time it was.

He wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate in public. The man wasn’t one for big grand gestures, preferring to show his love in quieter ways. In the extra hoodie he always left in your car because he knew you got cold easily. In the way he’d ask if you had someone to walk with you to your car if you were staying at the office late.

It was thoughtful without being overbearing, protective without being possessive, just Joe, in that calm, steady way that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

“You know I’m okay, right?” you asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I know,” Joe said. His lips quirked slightly, just the faintest smile. “But humor me anyway.”

Funny thing is, the trip was supposed to be for the girls. Your best friend Rachel’s requests were concise and clear, a drunken weekend in miami that you’d either never remember OR you’d have memories that would last a lifetime. With those instructions you started figuring out an itinerary. You looked at places to stay, how long the trip would be and where exactly you’d be spending way too much money on green tea shots every night.

“We could do the Gale for a week?” You suggested one evening, your laptop open comparing prices and amenities for you, Rachel and a few other girls that had let you know they would be joining.

“I like that place,” she smiles, tossing a jalapeño chip in her mouth. “The beds are super nice and we could stay in those two bedroom suites.”

Joe pops into the conversation, grabbing his keys that were previously resting next to your computer. “Wait…you’re gonna be gone for days? I thought we all were gonna do something together, you know, to make sure Rachel doesn’t do anything illegal. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re above the law,” he gives her a pointed look, “this isn’t The Purge.”

“I mean…you can come if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “But I know Miami’s not really your thing.”

Joe, who was halfway through tying his sneakers, paused and gave you a look—one eyebrow raised just enough to tell you he wasn’t buying your nonchalant tone.

“You want me to come with you to Rachel’s birthday trip?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We wanna go for a few days. Just some beach time, clubs, you know… typical Miami stuff.” She shrugged. “We’d just all be one big group and we can all hang out. It’d be fun.”

“I would’ve asked earlier if I knew you were interested. Figured you’d probably rather stay home.” You added in.

Joe nodded slowly, like he was considering it. Truthfully, a loud week in Miami didn’t exactly sound like his idea of a good time. Crowded clubs, overpriced drinks, endless social energy? Not really his scene. But before he could answer, his best friend Zacciah’s voice chimed in from the living room.

“Wait, we’re talking Miami?” Zacciah grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “That sounds like a good time to me.”

“I’m in,” Trae added from the couch, like this was already a done deal.

Joe shot them both a flat look. “I didn’t say I was going.”

“Yeah, but you are,” Zacciah smirked. “Come on, man. It’ll be fun. Beach, clubs, a big group of us—it’s not just her friends.”

“Yeah,” Trae added with a grin. “We’ll make it a whole thing.”

Joe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I’m going, we’re doing it right.”

The next thing you knew, Joe had chartered a private flight and rented a sprawling beach house with enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own space.

“You know this was originally supposed to be a casually chaotic weekend with the girls, right? Now you’ve turned it into an episode of Selling Sunset.” You teased when he showed her the house listing.

He paused, furrowing his brows. “Isn’t that set in California?”

“Right, so you do pay attention when I watch?” You ask suspicious of him since he always said the show was stupid and that you were losing brain cells every episode.

“Anyway, you’ll still get your chaotic girl time,” Joe said with a shrug, moving on from the previous topic of discussion. That alone answered your question. “I just didn’t want you stuck in some overpriced shoebox with no A/C.”

You smiled, shaking your head. He wasn’t loud about it, no grand speeches about taking care of you, but this was Joe in his element. Quietly looking out for you in the most thoughtful ways.

And honestly? You weren’t mad about the upgrade.

As the group filtered into the spacious Miami beach house, everyone was buzzing with excitement. The huge windows opened up to an expansive view of the ocean, and the pool out back practically screamed “boujee vacation.” Rachel played soft music, curating her perfect birthday week playlist in the background as everyone started to claim rooms, tossing bags on beds and getting settled in.

Joe, ever the planner, wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. He’d seen this kind of trip before—a group of people letting loose, and inevitably, a few hangovers in the morning. He wasn’t about to be unprepared.

He was already on his phone, tapping away.

“Alright,” Joe called out to the group, his voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re doing a grocery run online. Everyone needs to add in whatever they want. Let me know if there’s anything specific you need.”

He wasn’t asking for suggestions, he was in charge of this, and everyone knew it. They scattered, pulling out their phones to check in. But Joe had already begun filling in his list.

“Got your Gatorade, your ibuprofen…” he muttered to himself, typing rapidly. “Liquid IVs. Don’t forget the snacks. Chips, candy, all that crap you’re going to want after a night out.”

He shot a glance over at you, raising an eyebrow as you rummaged through your suitcase. “I’m putting all of your favorites on the list. I know you’ll need ‘em. We just won’t mention the Gatorade purchase to my Body Armour people.”

You rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “You know me too well.”

Joe didn’t respond. He just kept typing, making sure he’d covered everything he was sent. He added a few extra things, more water, some fruit for the mornings, and whatever random drink Zacciah had requested. The usual crew was already bouncing ideas off each other, but Joe remained methodical.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, placing his phone on the counter. “List is done. Should be here in a couple hours.”

It was a small thing, but it wasn’t surprising. Joe took care of the details in ways people didn’t always notice. The Gatorade, the medicine, and the snacks weren’t just for the group; they were specifically for you. He knew what you liked, what you’d need after a long night of dancing and drinking. It wasn’t a huge deal, just another way he quietly looked out for you.

“Thanks,” you said, walking up to him. You brushed your hand against his arm. “You always think of everything.”

Joe just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone has to,” he said, his tone steady and matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’d rather be prepared than have to force Trae to run out and grab things in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” you replied, smiling up at him.

For Joe, it wasn’t about making a show of things. It was just how he was, always looking out, always a step ahead. The house was amazing, the trip was going to be fun, but as always, his focus was on making sure everything ran smoothly. Even down to the little things.

The club’s bass thrummed low and steady the next night, vibrating through the floor as Joe slid into a booth near the back. It was his kind of spot—dim lighting, tucked away from the chaos of the dance floor but still with a clear view of everything. The sunglasses he wore inside weren’t just for show; they made it easier to watch without being watched.

His arm draped loosely over the back of the seat, and when the server stopped by, Joe kept it simple.

“Gin and tonic,” he said, then glanced at you. “And whatever she’s having.”

“I’m doing shots with the girls,” you grinned, your hand resting on his thigh for a second. “Don’t wait up.”

Joe’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched as you weaved through the crowd toward the bar, easily finding your friends. The way you laughed, tossing your hair back as you all clinked your shot glasses together, made something warm settle in his chest. You were in your element—carefree, glowing and just having a good time.

You caught his eye from across the room, your smile lingering when you found him watching. Joe nodded with a side smirk as a silent ‘I see you’. Your grin widened before you turned back to your friends, vanishing into the crowd.

Joe leaned back, taking a slow sip of his drink. He trusted you with every fiber of his being and wasn’t worried in the slightest about your safety in public settings because he knew that you’d take care of yourself. That confidence that you could handle things on your own and your own self assurance was one of the things he loved most about you. But still, whenever you were out, Joe couldn’t help but keep an eye on things because he knew what could happen when guys didn’t take no for an answer.

His gaze followed you out to the dance floor, where you moved effortlessly with your friends. The lights flickered across your face, and Joe couldn’t help but smirk to himself. You looked good —too good—and judging by the attention you were getting, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

But what Joe cared about most was the way you kept sneaking glances back at him—not for reassurance or for permission, but just to check in. A quiet confirmation that he was still there, still watching out for you in that calm, steady way you appreciated.

He takes his glasses off while looking at you, just enough for you to notice and he puts them back on. You smiled softly, your expression saying ‘I know you’ve got me’.

And of course he did. He always did.

Joe’s fingers tap idly against the side of his glass, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. Outwardly, he’s the picture of calm —shoulders relaxed, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. But beneath that stillness, his patience is wearing thin.

The guy’s been circling for a while now—too long. Joe’s watched him linger near your group, pretending to bump into you once, then again. Each time, your smile tightens a little more, your body language shifting from relaxed to guarded. You’re handling it. Joe can see that. But the guy’s persistence is starting to cross a line.

Joe exhales slowly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. He leans over to Zacciah, voice low and steady.

“Hold this for me,” Joe says, sliding his glass toward him.

Zacciah barely reacts, just takes the drink with a small nod—like this isn’t the first time he’s seen Joe move like this. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

Joe rises from his seat, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand before weaving through the crowd. He doesn’t move quickly— no chest-puffing or bravado—just slow, purposeful strides. He’s not here to start a scene; he’s here to end one.

Your friends were still on the dance floor, their laughter and cheers echoing across the room.

“You look like you could use another one,” a voice said beside her.

You turned your head and found a guy standing there—possibly late twenties or early thirties, well-dressed, with a confident smile that leaned a little too far into cocky.

“I’m Xavier,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around tonight. Just had to say…” His eyes dragged down and back up again. “You look amazing.”

You gave a polite smile, shaking his hand briefly before tucking yours back around your clutch. “Thanks,” you said. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning closer like he already knew what your answer would be.

“Oh,” you said with an awkward laugh. “That’s sweet, but I’m actually here with my boyfriend, so I’m gonna pass.”

Xavier’s smile barely faltered. “Boyfriend?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the crowd. “Haven’t seen you with any guys tonight, just your friends.”

“He’s here,” you said, your voice still friendly but firmer this time. “I promise.”

Xavier chuckled under his breath like you’d made a joke. “C’mon,” he said with a grin, motioning toward the bartender. “One drink won’t hurt.”

“I’m good,” you repeated, shifting slightly to put a little more space between the two of you. “But thanks.”

The bartender set your drink down on the counter, and you grabbed it quickly, hoping the conversation was over. But Xavier stayed put, his smile lingering like he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he added with a lazy shrug, “if he’s letting you stand here alone, maybe he’s not paying enough attention.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass, frustration flaring in your chest. “Trust me,” you said, meeting his eyes directly, your patience thinning. “He’s paying plenty of attention.”

A shadow shifted behind Xavier, solid and unmistakable and suddenly the air felt heavier.

Joe was there now, standing just behind him. Close enough that Xavier could probably feel the shift in space before he even turned around.

Xavier paused, some instinct telling him something was off. Then he turned and stopped cold.

Joe didn’t say a word at first. He just stood there—calm, unmoving, looking profoundly unimpressed. His sunglasses were still on, but the message was crystal clear: You know exactly what you’re doing, and you need to stop.

“Whoa…” Xavier blurted, half-laughing. “No way, you’re Joe Burrow!” He grinned like he’d just bumped into his favorite celebrity at a steakhouse, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off Joe. “Man, I’m a huge fan! Bro, this is crazy! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Joe didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just turned to the bartender and said, “Two waters.” His voice was calm—too calm—and he stayed exactly where he was, comfortably crowding Xavier’s space.

“So… what were we talking about?” Xavier asked, turning back to you with a grin like he’d just won some imaginary game of charm.

You stifled a laugh. “Um—oh you were saying something about how my boyfriend isn’t paying enough attention?”

Xavier snapped his fingers, clearly feeling bold again. “Yeah! I don’t know where ol’ dude is or if he’s even real, but he’s messing up right now. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Or, you know… someone better to spend your time with?”

Joe’s eyebrows lifted behind his sunglasses, and his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Someone better, huh?” His voice was mild, almost amused. “Yeah…wonder where she could find that.”

It took a second for Xavier to connect the dots. His face dropped like a cartoon character realizing they’re halfway off a cliff.

“Oh…shit,” he muttered, suddenly a lot less confident. “Listen, man, I didn’t know she was with you. No hard feelings, right?”

Joe leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t matter who she’s with,” he said quietly, the steady calm in his tone somehow more unsettling than if he’d been angry. “If a woman says no, you leave her alone. Whether her boyfriend’s a pro athlete or not.”

Xavier’s smile flickered and died. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” he stammered, already backing away. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My bad, man.”

Joe watched him disappear into the crowd like he was making sure he wouldn’t change his mind. Only once Xavier was out of sight did he turn back to you, sunglasses sliding down just enough for you to see his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you sighed, tension draining from your shoulders. “He was just…persistent.”

Joe exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Persistent gets people embarrassed.”

You laughed quietly, leaning into his side. “You know, you’re kinda scary when you’re calm.”

Joe shrugged, completely unaffected. “It’s efficient.”

You smiled, slipping your arm around his waist. “And hot. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Always,” Joe said simply. Then he grabbed the two waters from the bar, handing one to you. “Now drink this,” he added, “I know you’re not ready to head out yet so I need you to hydrate.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” You respond, taking a sip and leaning into him.

The night out had been a blast—the club buzzing with energy, the lights flashing in time with the music. But as the group made their way back to the house, you felt the familiar weight of exhaustion and the ache in your head from the drinks. You weren’t too far gone, but you were definitely feeling the effects of a good time.

Joe had kept a watchful eye the entire night, noticing the subtle shift in your mood as the evening wound down. When you all got back to the house, it was clear you were ready to crash. Your energy was starting to dip, and he was already prepared.

“Hey, let’s get you upstairs,” Joe said gently, his hand finding your back as they walked toward the stairs. You slipped your arm around his waist, leaning into him just a bit more than usual.

“You’re carrying my shoes? How sweet.” You said, a sleepy grin tugging at your lips.

Joe smirked, his expression cool but with a hint of affection. “Wouldn’t want you to break your ankle on the stairs.”

“I think I can manage,” you teased, though you didn’t fight him when he practically carried you up the last few steps.

Once you reached the top, Joe pushed the door open to your shared room, making sure you were settled before heading to the bathroom.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Joe said, heading downstairs.

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for the journey of getting ready for bed. He returned shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, handing them to you with a quiet, “take these.”

You took the pills, downing the water quickly, before letting out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second. “I’m gonna need this for tomorrow…”

“You’re gonna need more than that,” Joe said, grabbing the Gatorade from the nightstand. “Drink some of this too.”

You shot him a half-smile, letting him help you sit up a little more as you sipped the Gatorade. “Thank you for always taking care of me. Not just tonight but…every night.”

“It’s my second job. And it arguably pays better” Joe said, his tone still calm, his voice laced with affection. It was just who he was, always looking out for you.

After you finished the drink, he handed you a soft towel. “Come on, let’s get that makeup off.”

You scooted over, pulling herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. Joe stood beside you, a steady presence as he gently started wiping off your mascara. His movements were slow and careful, making sure he wasn’t too rough, his focus entirely on you.

“Okay, now you’re all set,” he said softly, tossing the wipes in the trash before turning toward the closet. “Pajamas. You good with just something comfy?”

“No,” you said, grinning. “I’m on vacation, I need something cute. You’re picking.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at you, a little surprised, but he didn’t argue. He walked to the closet, searching for something cute, but simple enough that you’d be comfortable. He picked out a soft set of matching shorts and a loose, flowy top.

“Here,” he said, holding them up. “This good?”

You made a small sound of approval. “Perfect.”

Joe turned to let you change, standing by the door to give you space but still staying close, like he always did. When you were done, you crawled into bed, and he helped pull the covers up over you.

He stood next to the bed for a moment, just looking at you. There was something about you —about how you trusted him, how you let him take care of you. His heart softened, but he didn’t show it.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know that?” You said, your voice a little sleepy but filled with sincerity. “You’re gonna be a really good husband one day.”

Joe felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say at first, because in that moment, it hit him harder than ever: he could see it. The future. With you. The ring that sat waiting for him in his desk drawer in Cincinnati wasn’t just a thing he’d bought on a whim. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, and your words just made it that much more real.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion rolling around in his chest. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You smiled up at him sleepily. “You always are.”

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, thinking about how you’d touched parts of his heart and soul he didn’t even know existed. He didn’t need to say anything more. His actions spoke louder than anything he could put into words.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, your eyes fluttering closed.

And as he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the blankets, Joe’s thoughts drifted to the future. He didn’t know how he could possibly put how you make him feel into a few meaningful sentences. He didn’t know exactly what day he’d ask you, but he knew he would. And when the time came, he’d be ready.

[aesethewitch]

And you know what, I'd be so bold as to say that a lot of witches need to learn how to advertise ethically and effectively! Even folks whose services are 100% legit and genuine can be (or come off as) extremely shady. It's a problem! You don't have to be an expert or anything, but understanding what makes a good product listing and how to ethically advertise your goods and services is absolutely critical.

Having done marketing and advertising work for a Major Company with Many Advertising Regulations, these are the extremely basic hallmarks I look for in a good advertisement or product/service listing:

Language is clear and concise, focusing on the specific product or service in question *

Language is engaging but not inflammatory **

No typos, misspellings, or grammatical mistakes

All products and services are clearly described, and the consumer knows exactly what they would receive if they were to purchase from you

If applicable or possible, at least one quality photo of the product is provided (more than one from multiple angles is preferred, but one very good photo is sometimes enough)

Provided images appear legitimate (not AI, not stolen from the internet, etc.) and product descriptions appear to have been written by a real person ***

Prices are clearly stated and appear fair when compared to other sellers offering similar products and services, or which are otherwise explained (for example, if prices are unusually high, it may be because the seller only has limited stock or is providing a unique, high-effort service; this should be clearly stated in the listing in a simple, matter-of-fact tone)

The method of delivery is clearly described, including delivery timelines and whether tracking will be provided

If not provided elsewhere, or if it's a long list of available products/services, contact information and instructions are provided somewhere obvious and easy to access for questions and concerns

Disclaimers are clearly marked, and the consumer's rights are clearly explained (for example, if it's a commission for a custom spell, could the consumer publish the spell instructions on their blog, or is it for private use only?)

The refund policy is clearly described either in the listing itself, in the sales terms, or elsewhere on the page (so long as it's easily found)

It isn't explicitly about listings, but one other big thing I look for is whether the seller has a presence other than their shop or marketing space(s). This could be social media, a physical location, or a personal website. Basically, I want to see that they're obviously a real person doing real work in the field they're selling in, not just a grifter cashing in on what's popular.

I wouldn't buy cakes from someone who isn't obviously making cakes. Why the hell would I buy a tarot reading from someone who, as far as I can tell, has never done a tarot reading except in closed DMs when paid to do so?

* If you're advertising a specific product or service, the post, listing, or whatever else should be focused ENTIRELY on that specific product or service. Avoid extolling your virtues in excess.

What I mean is, your listing should not be 65% sucking your own dick about how long you've been doing the thing you're doing and how great you are. It should be about the product or service, not you. The place for that (and it does have a place, imo) is in a masterpost of services, a pinned post about yourself on your blog, and/or in the "about" section on your website/sales page.

** I mean inflammatory in the way of pushing the reader into a heightened state of emotion. These listings are purposefully manipulative, intending to take advantage of particular types of people. It's not an uncommon tactic, but it is a pretty scummy one, especially in spiritual circles, which attract non-experts who are desperate for relief, comfort, and results. Consider this example:

A listing for a tarot reading about future love saying, "Discover the future of your love life!" would be generally fine. A listing saying "Your love life DEFINED!! Once in a lifetime LOVE!!! SOULMATE CONNECTION? Is HE the ONE? Don't be fooled by NARCISSIST SOCIOPATHS!!" is inflammatory, intent on targeting a specific type of person who is likely to fall for the urgency and the particular language used here. You see the difference, no?

*** There are always cases of folks who aren't so good at words or taking pictures or who aren't using their first language and so forth, and it's important to take that into consideration. But for the most part, even those cases stand out from the bullshit artists, whose only goal is to take your money and run.

[remy-lupin]

Theme: non-sexual Dominance

- Saying, "No," in a stern but caring voice, leaving no room for argument, yet showing that their refusal is grounded in concern for the other person’s well-being.

- Standing tall and making direct eye contact during a conversation, their unwavering gaze silently commanding attention and respect.

- Calmly instructing, "Come here," with just the right balance of authority and gentleness, making it clear that obedience is expected, but not demanded with harshness.

- Speaking with a calm, steady voice that never wavers, effortlessly controlling the tone of the conversation without needing to raise their volume.

- When someone hesitates, saying, "Don’t worry, I’ve got this," with such confidence and assurance that it instantly alleviates doubts and compels others to step back and let them handle the situation.

- Casually placing a hand on someone’s shoulder or back during a discussion, a subtle but clear indication of their influence in the room.

- In a moment of tension, softly but firmly saying, "Look at me," drawing the person’s attention and focus, and grounding them in the dominant person’s steady presence.

- Leaning back in their chair with an air of confidence, effortlessly exuding authority even in moments of stillness, as if the space around them bends to their will.

- Responding to indecision with, "We’re doing it this way," said with unwavering certainty, making it clear that their choice is final, yet leaving others feeling relieved by the decisiveness.

- Offering a firm handshake with a steady grip, leaving a lasting impression of control and confidence from the very first interaction.

- When faced with resistance, calmly stating, "You’ll thank me later," in a way that conveys not arrogance but confidence in their wisdom and the certainty that they know what’s best.

- Listening intently while others speak but offering concise, decisive responses that shift the direction of the conversation to where they want it to go.

- Saying, "Trust me," with a steady, commanding tone that instantly dissolves any lingering doubts, making it impossible for others not to follow their lead.

- Standing at the front of a room during a presentation or meeting, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone present with their mere presence.

- When someone begins to argue, interrupting gently but decisively with, "Enough," their voice firm yet devoid of anger, communicating that the conversation is over without causing resentment.

- Giving a single nod or a slight smile to acknowledge others’ contributions, subtly reinforcing their position as the one in charge without the need for grand gestures.

- Offering reassurance with, "I’ll handle this," spoken in such a way that even those who are usually independent find themselves willingly stepping aside, trusting in their leadership.

- Casually but deliberately positioning themselves in the center of a group, naturally becoming the focal point around which conversations and decisions revolve.

- Softly but authoritatively stating, "You’re going to do exactly what I say," in a moment of crisis, their calm yet commanding tone compelling others to follow their instructions without question.

- Using silence effectively in conversations, making others fill the gaps and react to their pauses, which keeps them in control of the dialogue.

- When asked for their opinion, replying with, "This is how it’s going to be," their voice leaving no room for alternative suggestions, yet delivered with enough calm that it feels like guidance, not control.

- Making decisions quickly and confidently, without hesitation, which leaves no room for doubt or challenges to their authority.

- In a tense moment, quietly but firmly saying, "Breathe. I’m here," their words grounding the other person while simultaneously asserting control over the situation with gentle authority.

- Using small, deliberate gestures, like tapping a pen or adjusting their sleeves, to maintain a sense of control in situations where others may feel tense or uncertain.

- During a decision-making process, saying, "Listen to me," in a voice that is neither raised nor harsh, but so full of quiet conviction that everyone immediately falls silent, waiting for their guidance.

- Smiling in a way that’s both reassuring and authoritative, instantly putting others at ease while reinforcing their role as a leader.

- When someone expresses doubt, simply responding with, "Do you trust me?" The way they say it leaves no room for hesitation, making it clear that trusting them is the only logical course of action.

- Guiding the flow of conversation with pointed questions or comments that subtly steer the discussion in their desired direction.

- Saying, "That’s enough," with a tone that is both final and protective, a clear signal that the conversation or situation needs to end, but done with care to ensure everyone feels safe under their watch.

- Taking the lead in physical movement, such as walking ahead or guiding someone through a space, demonstrating a quiet dominance over the environment.

- In a moment of chaos, stating calmly, "Follow me," their voice cutting through the noise and commanding attention, guiding others to fall into step behind them without question.

- Offering calm, decisive solutions in moments of crisis, effortlessly becoming the person others look to for guidance and leadership.

- When someone is overwhelmed, quietly but firmly saying, "I need you to focus," their tone drawing the other person back to the present and re-centering their attention on what needs to be done.

- Maintaining impeccable posture, exuding confidence and control through the way they carry themselves, leaving no doubt as to who holds the authority.

- Responding to conflict with, "Stop. Now." The command is firm, but not aggressive, signaling that they are stepping in to take control and resolve the situation with authority and care.

- Setting the pace of interactions, whether in conversation or in action, dictating the speed at which things move without seeming rushed or pressured.

- When emotions run high, calmly but decisively stating, "You’re going to be okay," their voice full of assurance, grounding others in their certainty and making it clear that they will lead them through the storm.

- Giving instructions with clarity and confidence, their voice leaving no room for misinterpretation or question, naturally taking charge.

- Standing in close proximity to someone while talking, without crossing into discomfort, subtly establishing a sense of presence and control in the space between them.

[lassieposting]

So on the back of my headcanon about the Prototype more or less raising CatNap, I've been watching someone play Project Playtime for the first time, and I'm fucking yelling

If you play as the monster, the Prototype literally teaches you (as Huggy Wuggy) how to hunt. He's the one giving the tutorial instructions.

And honestly? The vibe I got from that "interaction" is that Prototype likes children. More than that: Prototype is good with children.

Project Playtime takes place in the intervening decade between the Hour of Joy massacre and the start of the main game. Based on the fact that Huggy needs the Prototype's guidance, it's probably fairly early in that period - he's not used to hunting for himself yet. So Huggy here is a monster with limited intelligence - he's the most 'animal' experiment we've seen, though he is still able to write - and the soul of a child.

And the Prototype tailors his lessons appropriately. Like, I trained to work with kids, and he uses essentially the same approach I would to teach a young or special needs child a new skill.

Simple Instructions: what Prototype is teaching Huggy here is, at its core, strategy and tactical thinking, and that's a subject he seems to understand well and know a lot about. A more intelligent experiment - like, say, young CatNap - might ask a lot of questions, and Prototype could probably give them long, in-depth explanations of why doing X thing prompts Y response or why Z tactic is useful. But Huggy isn't on that level, so Prototype keeps his instructions and explanations short, concise and easy to understand.

No Guesswork: Huggy, described as having only "sufficient" intelligence post-transformation, likely has limited capacity for complex thought. Where CatNap might be encouraged to think ahead for himself and suggest problems that could arise, Huggy would struggle. So Prototype gives him all the information he needs: here are the ways the humans will try to avoid or harm or mislead you, and here are the ways you can fight back. He even points out little tips that might seem obvious, like listening for the breathing of a hiding worker, because he knows that might not occur independently to Huggy.

Positive Reinforcement: When Huggy successfully incapacitates a human player, Prototype laughs and praises him, treating a potentially upsetting conflict like a fun game. Once Huggy has gotten rid of all the human players and won the match, Prototype tells him he did a good job and that he can rest now.

The Bad News Sandwich: One technique I was taught for dealing with young children is that when you have to give them upsetting or disappointing news, sandwiching it between two good things limits the distress it will cause. And Prototype does this twice with Huggy:

[Praises Huggy for catching a player and putting him in the food chute] [warns Huggy that the other players could try to rescue their friend] [offers a way to stop them doing that]

[Praises Huggy for clearing out the factory] [tells Huggy that more humans will return] [reassures Huggy that for now, he can rest and relax]

Anyway. Prototype taught at least one child-aged experiment to fend for itself and defend the factory: confirmed. And so, scenarios I'm now picturing with Prototype and little CatNap: this

I'm also 👀👀👀 at the fact that like. While it's directly stated that while his main motive for having the experiments attack the Project Playtime workers is to stop them making more creatures, he's got a secondary motive in that he's using the Bigger Bodies mascots *to gather food for the smaller toys*. The larger toys may have become hostile towards the smaller, weaker, "prey" toys, but the Prototype seems to be at least trying to provide for them, albeit in the only fucked-up way available to him.

Anyway I just think that's really interesting considering he's been implied to be the game's ultimate Big Bad. I think there's more to him than we've been told

[rogueshadow1124]

TRAINING DAY

[Task force 141 x reader]

Summary: New recruit Y/N is assigned tasks with different members of task force 141.

Word count: 1122

Warning: none?

The sprawling training facility was alive with the hum of machinery and the sharp clatter of boots against concrete. The space was vast, purpose-built to simulate everything from urban warfare to hostile environments. It was here that Task Force 141 was about to put their newest recruit—Y/N—through the paces.

Y/N stood in the center of the room, her stance relaxed but her eyes sharp. Dressed in tactical gear, she looked every bit the part of a seasoned operative. However, her reputation for sarcasm and a no-nonsense attitude had preceded her. She cracked a grin as Captain Price strode up to her, his expression a mixture of amusement and sternness.

“Morning, Captain,” Y/N said with a smirk. “I hope you’re ready for a workout, because I’ve been told I’m a bit of a handful.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard,” he said, his tone even. “But let’s see if your skills match your bravado. Today’s drills will push you hard. You’ll be working with each member of the team in various scenarios. Let’s get started.”

Price led Y/N to the first section of the training area, where a series of obstacles and mock enemy positions were set up. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and adrenaline.

“Alright, Y/N, you’re up first with me,” Price said, gesturing towards a simulated hostage rescue scenario. “You’ll need to secure the hostages and eliminate any threats without causing collateral damage.”

Y/N nodded, her expression turning serious. “Got it. Time to show you why I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”

As the simulation started, Price observed closely while Y/N navigated the environment with impressive skill. She moved with precision, taking out enemies with calculated shots and avoiding unnecessary risks. Her commentary, however, was a mix of humor and grit.

“You know, Captain, for someone who’s seen as a legend, you sure do know how to pick the worst spots for a rescue. It’s like you’re trying to give me a headache.”

Price chuckled. “Just keep moving and focus. We don’t have all day.”

Despite her banter, Y/N completed the task efficiently, securing the hostages and neutralizing the threats with minimal fuss. Price gave a nod of approval.

“Not bad. You’ve got a knack for this. Next up, Ghost.”

Ghost, ever the enigmatic figure with his skull mask and silent demeanor, awaited Y/N for the next exercise. The task with Ghost focused on stealth and reconnaissance.

“In this exercise, you’ll need to infiltrate an enemy compound and retrieve classified documents,” Ghost instructed through his comms. “Avoid detection at all costs. Ready?”

Y/N smirked. “Stealthy and deadly—that’s my middle name.”

As the simulation began, Y/N slinked through shadows, using every inch of cover to her advantage. Ghost’s occasional instructions were concise and to the point, guiding her through the compound. Despite the intense focus required, Y/N couldn’t help but crack a few jokes.

“If I had a dime for every time I had to dodge a laser sensor, I’d be able to retire by now. Wait, are we done yet?”

Ghost’s response was a silent nod as Y/N successfully extracted the documents without setting off any alarms.

“Impressive,” Ghost said, his voice carrying a hint of approval. “You’re stealthier than a cat on a prowl. Let’s see how you fare with Soap.”

Soap’s exercise was a combination of tactical maneuvers and combat scenarios. The environment was a chaotic battlefield, with simulated enemies and objectives to complete.

“Alright, lass,” Soap said, flashing a grin. “In this one, we’re gonna be in the thick of it. We need to clear these positions and hold them against enemy forces. Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty.”

The firefight began, and Soap’s energy was infectious. He moved with a blend of aggression and precision, pushing forward while coordinating with Y/N.

“Soap, if you keep yelling like that, I might just mistake you for one of the enemy,” Y/N quipped as she fired her weapon. “And I have to say, you’ve got quite the flair for dramatic entrances.”

Soap laughed, his enthusiasm unabated. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Just make sure you keep up!”

The exercise tested Y/N’s ability to handle high-pressure situations while working as part of a team. Her quick thinking and combat skills shone through as she and Soap cleared the positions and secured their objectives.

“Nice work, rookie,” Soap said, clapping her on the back. “You’ve got some serious chops. Now, let’s wrap it up with Roach.”

Roach’s scenario focused on marksmanship and precision under varying conditions. The targets were set up at different distances, and the challenge was to hit them all within a strict time limit.

“In this one, it’s all about accuracy,” Roach explained. “You’ve got to hit all the targets quickly and efficiently. No pressure.”

Y/N’s response was a smirk as she took her position. “Pressure is my middle name. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Roach watched closely as Y/N lined up her shots. Her focus was intense, and she hit each target with impressive accuracy. The time limit was tight, but Y/N managed to complete the drill with seconds to spare.

“Good shooting,” Roach said, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve got a solid shot. That’s it for today.”

As the training session concluded, the members of Task Force 141 gathered around Y/N. They exchanged looks of mutual respect and approval.

“You’ve done well,” Price said, a hint of pride in his voice. “You’ve proven you’ve got both the skills and the attitude to make it with us. Keep up the good work, and remember, this is just the beginning.”

Y/N nodded, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Thanks, Captain. And don’t worry—I’ll be sure to keep you all on your toes.”

The team chuckled, and Y/N felt a sense of camaraderie with the elite group. The training had been intense, but it had also been a chance to prove herself and bond with some of the best operatives in the field.

As she walked out of the facility, Y/N knew that she had earned her place among Task Force 141. The blend of sarcasm and skill had served her well, and she was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

In the world of high-stakes missions and dangerous operations, Y/N had found her footing. With the support and guidance of Task Force 141, she was poised to make a significant impact. The training grounds had been the proving ground, and she had emerged stronger, sharper, and more determined than ever.

[bluejayblueskies]

Do you have any advice/suggestions for getting into bookbinding? What is the process like if you don't mind sharing?

Hello! Very happy to share bookbinding advice/resources 💜 it's a wonderful and delightfully rewarding hobby, and while it can be complicated and easy to get stuck in the weeds with it, you can also get started with some really simple binds with materials you may already have around your living space.

Info below the cut:

First off, there are a lot of instructional videos and guides out there for bookbinding. My favorite YouTube channel for those just starting out bookbinding is Sea Lemon, who has a ton of instructional videos for various styles of bookbinding. Her method of explaining things is clear and concise, and she tends to work with simpler tools and materials that don't cost much and that you may already have on hand. She is not a professional bookbinder with professional tools (afaik) but in my opinion, that's perfect for a beginner because it's not as overwhelming and has a much lower barrier to entry. Perusing her channel and watching a bunch of videos was where I started before even picking up tools to start my first bind.

Another guide I highly recommend is How to Make A Book, by ArmoredSuperHeavy. This is a wonderful step-by-step guide for taking a fic from AO3 and turning it into a book. The most helpful part of this guide, for me, was the typesetting instructions. Typesetting is the act of taking a piece of text (eg. a fic on AO3) and formatting it in the correct way for printing and binding into a book. Note that this guide is specifically for MS Word, though you can also typeset in Google Docs, Libre Office, Affinity Publisher, InDesign, and other programs (even LaTex!).

(Pro tip: save yourself the headache of trying to use Word's bookfold option and just set your document page size to the page size of your finished book (if you're printing on letter paper, this is 5.5" x 8.5") and then use this software to put your pages in the correct order: https://momijizukamori.github.io/bookbinder-js/)

A final resource that I recommend, but that can also get a bit overwhelming, is the Renegade Guild Bookbinding Discord. It's a space specifically for people doing fanbinding, and there are a ton of resources within it, including typesetting guides for various softwares, guides for where to get the tools you need and which tools are best, and people who can answer any questions you may have along the way. It's gotten quite big since I joined, and it can be overwhelming since there's so much information available and so many people who have been binding for a while and thus often offer up solutions or advice that's hard for beginners to understand, but it has never failed me when I've had a tricky question that I needed answered that I couldn't find information on anywhere else.

All that said, here's some more advice from me when just starting out!

Start with a simple bind. A single-section pamphlet bind is easy, cheap, and quick. Here's a Sea Lemon video for how to put together a pamphlet bind.

If typesetting seems intimidating, you can bind blank notebooks. This is also a good way to practice new binding styles if you don't want to go through the hassle of typesetting, imposing, and printing for something you worry you might mess up.

A good word count range for fics when you're learning how to bind case-bound books (ie, the typical hardcover books you see in stores) is 25-50k. Shorter than that, and your books will be thin and a bit fiddly to work with. Longer than that is probably fine, but it will be a quicker process for a thinner book, which is nice when you're just starting out. (And then you don't have to worry about rounding and/or backing, which can be complicated.)

There are very, very few tools that you absolutely need to make a book. There are quite a few tools that will make your life easier, or that will make your book look nicer, or that will make your book last longer, but when you're just starting out (especially if you're trying to minimize cost or deal with space constraints), you can forgo a lot of "required" tools. I'll include a list below of the general bookbinding tools you'll want and some substitutions for them.

You might hear talk about the grain direction of paper or bookboard. When you're just getting started, don't worry about this. Once you get more comfortable with the bookbinding process, then you can start ensuring that your bookboard has the correct grain direction (parallel to the spine) to reduce the warping of your covers. The grain direction of your textblock paper matters the least, and I didn't start using "proper" textblock paper (ie short grain) until about 2.5 years after I started binding.

Bind something you like! Pick one of your favorite fics and bind it, even if it's your first bind and you're worried about it turning out ugly. The excited feeling of having bound your first book will be that much more exhilarating when you're able to put a story that you love on your shelf for the first time.

So you're ready to bind a hardcover book! Here are the tools you will want/need:

An awl, for punching holes in your signatures (groups of paper). You can use a thumbtack for this, or even a strong needle if you have something to cushion the end of it that you'll be holding, like an eraser. Awls are typically pretty cheap, though. You'll want a thinner one so you don't make huge holes in your paper. I have this one and it's worked just fine for me.

A bone folder, for creasing the pages. Historically, these are made out of actual bone, and the reason for using one is to get sharp creases in your paper without tearing or damaging it. You can also use basically anything else in your house that can accomplish this task. When I'm feeling lazy and just need to crease one piece of paper, I use my thumbnail. Bone folders are also cheap, though--I have this one. (As a tangent--when you're making your signatures for your book, you're going to be folding and slotting together usually between 4-6 sheets of paper. Fold the paper normally without creasing with the bone folder, slot them together, and then use the bone folder to sharply crease them all together. Trust me on this--the pages will fit together much better if you crease after putting the signature together.)

PVA glue, for all aspects of gluing involved when making the book. You can, I've heard, use Elmer’s glue for this in a pinch, but I've never tried it. PVA will dry flexible, which is what you need for your book, especially when gluing the spine. For things like attaching decorative paper to your covers, this is less important. If you're making a book that doesn't require gluing the spine (like a pamphlet or coptic stitch book), you may not need PVA. There are also lots of other glue mixtures you can use when bookbinding (paste is a popular one) but I've been a straight PVA guy for over three years now and I can't offer any advice when it comes to other types of adhesives. One note about PVA is it dries quick, so once you've stuck something to it, that's that. Prepare yourself for some crooked books until you get the hang of it.

Gluebrush/paintbrush, for applying glue. I recommend something with bristles; the foam brushes technically work but will absorb most of the glue and will probably cause you a headache. Silicone brushes are wonderful, as you can just wait for the PVA to dry and then peel it off, but a regular glue brush will also work; just be sure to put it in water immediately once you're done with it, otherwise the PVA will dry on it and ruin your brush.

Ruler + pencil, for measuring. Any kind of ruler will do, but if you have access to a quilting square or something similar, this will help you get nice and even right angles.

Needle and thread, for sewing the signatures together. You can use regular sewing needles and sewing thread (doubled up for more strength) if you don't want to buy anything specific for this. An easy step up from this that I recommend is buying a block of beeswax (I got mine for like $4 from a farmer's market) and waxing your thread (running the thread along the block a few times). This will keep your thread from tangling and make it easier to work with. You can also use embroidery thread, especially if you're doing a pamphlet or coptic stitch bind and want some color. I recently upgraded to linen thread (thread weight 35/3), which is the standard for archival-quality books, but you absolutely can use cotton thread and it will be fine.

Paper, for the textblock. You can use your standard white copy paper for this and all will be well. Or, if you want to get a bit fancier, you can use cream-colored paper; 8.5 x 11 hammermill 20lb cream colored paper is easy to find and relatively cheap and will make your books look better, as plain white paper can look almost blue in a book. (That said, I also have some actual published books that use white paper, and I've never noticed anything off about them.) If you decide you want to get really into the proper grain direction, I get my short-grain cream-colored paper from Church Paper. They have both 20lb (typical copy paper weight) and 24lb (slightly heavier) weight. I have both and I actually really like the 24lb; it has a luxurious feel to it, with less bleed from my inkjet printer. If you feel like springing for nice paper, check out their site!

Book press, for pressing your book while it dries and pressing your folded pages before sewing. There are a lot of different kinds of book presses out there, many of which are very very expensive. You can usually make do with some heavy books to weigh down your book while it dries, or thin boards and C-clamps if you have those on hand. If you have access to basic power tools, it's also super easy to make your own press with carriage bolts and cutting boards (this is what I did). There's a lot of videos out there with instructions; here's one from Sea Lemon.

Printer and ink, or a printing service/print shop like Staples. Print shops can get expensive in the long run, and it's nice to have your own printer so you can do test prints of your typesets. If you're going out and buying a printer, I highly recommend either a black and white laser printer (if you're not planning on printing in color; Brother is a good brand) or a tank inkjet printer (like the Epson Ecotank). Do NOT get a new HP if you can help it; their ink subscriptions are brutal. I'm upgrading to a black and white laser this year, but I've been using a very old, cheap HP inkjet that I got off Facebook marketplace for the past few years and it's been reliable (if a bit restrictive). If you do have an inkjet currently that takes cartridges, I highly recommend looking up how to refill your own cartridges. Buying one set of genuine HP cartridges and then refilling them with generic brand ink until they die has saved me probably hundreds of dollars by this point.

Book board, for the covers. Otherwise known as chipboard, which is easy to find on Amazon or at craft stores. This is NOT the same as corrugated cardboard; that will not work. You can cannibalize old three-ring folders, which have chipboard inside them, or even old hardcover books/textbooks. Don't bother with genuine bookbinding chipboard; imo, it's overpriced and unnecessary. You can find chipboard on Amazon for relatively cheap; I recommend the 12x12, as you can get a front and back cover out of one sheet with the correct grain direction. You can use chipboard for your book spine, if you're making a flatback, or you can use a thinner material that you can bend if you're making a rounded book (or for flatbacks as well). For this, thin cardboard (eg. old cereal boxes) or thicker cardstock will work just fine; you don't have to go out and buy genuine bristol board, and I've never bothered with it.

Exacto knife, for cutting things. You could also use a boxcutter, but a craft knife will be easier to handle. You will probably need to frequently change the blade, as cutting chipboard will dull it quickly, so get one that comes with a bunch of replacement blades.

Bookcloth and/or decorative paper, for covering your book board. Bookcloth is basically fabric with a paper backing on it. You can make your own using heat and bond, tissue paper (I use white tissue paper), and fabric; iron the fabric so it doesn't have any wrinkles in it, then iron the heat and bond onto the fabric, then iron the tissue paper onto the heat and bond. There are other methods out there that you may find easier/better, but this is the one I use. The purpose of the paper backing is to prevent glue from striking through the fabric; if you use a thicker fabric or paper, this is not necessary. For your first books, you may find it easiest to just use paper, or to go out and buy some premade bookcloth.

That's a lot of information, but I hope it was helpful! I'm more than happy to answer any more questions you (or anybody else) might have, and happy binding!

[ponyosmom35]

trust

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Liability chapter nine!

synopsis: after things go wrong on a mission, there are several soldiers in desperate need of treatment, and on the brink of death. Reader is ready to help and Ghost is hesitant.

warnings: blood, injuries, gore

Liability masterlist

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Ghost grunts as the helicopter lands roughly on base. He quickly opens the door and pulls the soldier closer to him, he sets him on his feet, ignoring the loud screams of pain from him. “Alright mate you’re good, let’s get you to medical” he says taking the soldier’s arm and putting it around his shoulder, taking the grunt of his weight as they hobble past the other injured men being treated. 

Ghost had been with 141 leading a team for a simple extraction, however it’d gone horribly wrong when their heli was shot down from the sky. They were forced to stay and fight as their position was compromised. There were three confirmed KIA and seven injured. He’d been lucky to escape with just a bullet wound graze on his left arm. No biggie, he’d had much worse. Ghost notices the soldier’s body give out and he grunts, carrying all of his weight, essentially dragging him to an empty bed. He sets him down as gently as he could and looks up for anyone to help. “Medic!” he calls 

The soldier’s eyes open and he looks around wildly, he begins to scream in pain as blood leaks past Simon’s hands and onto the floor. His screams of agony blend into the others around the base and Ghost keeps pressure on the wound. “I need a Medic right now!” 

She could hear Ghost’s calls, she looked over to the medic on her right “you good here?” 

“go help who you can” 

She takes off her gloves and hurriedly washes her arms. She dries off and grabs a fresh pair. She could hear the screaming before she entered the room and takes a deep breath. 

“What’s the status?” she asks walking into the room, she instantly begins prepping an IV for him. 

“No get somebody else” Ghost snaps 

“I need you to get out of my way” she says walking over to him, ready to start an IV

“Get another medic!” he exclaims

“There is nobody else Ghost! Step out of my way so I can save his life” she yells

“You better save him” he warns, moving out of her way. 

“What’s his status?” she asks quickly inserting the IV into him. 

“Shot three times, two bullets straight through, third in the chest cavity. Blood pressure is low and dropping” 

“He’s going into shock, I need you to help me cut his clothes off” she instructs 

The two of them quickly get the soldier’s armour off of him and toss it carelessly to the side. “Lift his legs” she says 

Ghost does as told as she moves as though it was second nature. She hooks him up to a machine to measure his heart rate and blood pressure. “Higher Ghost”

Ghost does as told and watches her work to save his life, she did not hesitate. She instructed him to help her and gave clear and concise instructions. She was able to bring him off the brink of death and put him to sleep as she worked on getting the bullet out. She was able to do so quickly and efficiently, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. After a while she informed him that he wasn’t needed any longer, but he refused to leave, he wanted to see it through. Ensure the soldier was okay. 

After several hours she had stitched him up and he was asleep in the med bay with the other patients. They were able to save 6/7 men injured. Ghost was impressed, he imagined she would choke, unable to handle it. But he’d never been more wrong, She saved this man’s life. He understood now that he’d been too hard on her in the past, she was good at her job, great even. She deserved to be here. She was needed. 

She had left to finish helping the others over an hour ago for clean up, Ghost had stayed in the bay. He observed his soldiers solemnly. Missions like these were always rough, he never wanted to see a good man in a hospital bed. 

“are you hurt?” she asks, surprising him. 

“No” he lies, ignoring the pain in his arm.

“Don’t lie to me, I can see the blood” she says walking over to him and placing her hand just above his wound. 

“I said I'm fine. There are others who need help” he says 

“nobody is in critical condition, they're just fine with the others. now are you going to let me do my job or are you going to make It more difficult?” she asks 

“Fine” he agrees, sitting down on the table as she puts on clean gloves. He sighs and let her tend to his wound. She looks at him with a concerned expression and begins cleaning the gash. The pain is bearable, but it still stings quite a bit. He watches as she works with the precision and skill of a veteran medic, and can't help but notice how attractive she is. His frame was still taller than her, despite sitting down. Her glasses sat perfectly on her nose, her small mouth and gorgeous green eyes. Her long hair was tucked in a bun with a cap overtop of it. He noticed that she’d changed out of her previous scrubs, this pair fresh, without the blood stains. Even in the scrubs, she was beautiful. He frowns at his thoughts, trying to ignore them. 

“you did good today” he comments, breaking the silence.

“I just did my job” she responds, slightly annoyed. 

“Just take the compliment”

“wow ghost that is the nicest thing you've ever said to me! I'll cherish those words forever” she jokes, her entire demeanor changing. She speaks to him in a tone he’d never heard before. A happy one. 

“Funny” he snorts 

“Did I just make you laugh? oh my god, look at me, I always knew medicine was the wrong choice for me, should've pursued comedy” 

“don't push it” he retorts, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as well. She smiles and he feels his heart racing. She was starting to grow on him. Despite his best efforts, the longer she was around, the harder it was getting to ignore. 

She jokingly holds her hands up in defense at his comment before wrapping his wound. He is surprised how quickly she was able to finish. Normally they would take too long and he would lose his patience, preferring to just do it himself. She takes off her gloves and throws them into the hazard waste basket before washing her hands thoroughly. She then picks up his file and begins to write her notes in it. 

“okay now that you're all stitched up I'm gonna need to keep an eye on it for the next week or so to make sure there's no infection. stop by my office daily, until I clear you, you're gonna be on light duty” she instructs, looking up from his file and staring at him. He nods and moves towards the door. 

“Thank you, for all of your work today. You saved lives, you should be proud” 

“Thank you Ghost” she says softly 

“Get some rest, you’ve had a long day” he says before leaving her alone in the exam room in shock.

a/n: I have zero knowledge about the medical field FYI

[lavenderlemonade47]

Shev'la Verd

Relationship: Fenn Rau x Autistic!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: You were used to the abuse you suffered at your peers' hands, both overt and unspoken. So you assumed it would continue for the duration of your time in the Rebellion. The Protector of Concord Dawn, however, will have none of it.

Rating: G

Warnings: Bullying, ableism, reader has low self-esteem and a bit of learned helplessness

Word Count: 1.7k

You wished you had your helmet right now. 

If you did, you wouldn’t have to gnash your teeth at the way the fluorescent lights of the mess hall glared above you. Or the clatter of silverware and the grating chatter of your fellow rebels at the surrounding tables.

Noises that, thankfully, fell away when you hopped into your safe space—the pilot’s seat of an A-wing.

It should have been ironic. Flying wasn’t something that came naturally to you. There were too many things to keep track of: airspeed, altitude, atmospheric conditions, and engine performance, to name a few. All of which could change in an instant.

And that doesn’t even cover combat maneuvers. Had it not been for your instructor, you’re not sure you would have ever got the hang of it.

You quickly learned why Fenn Rau had such a name among the clones on Kamino. He was unlike any mentor you’ve had before. Rau was more than strict; he pushed students to their limits, testing their mettle in grueling sessions performing corkscrews and barrel rolls that would make even the strongest stomachs churn. He accepted no excuses and didn’t mince words with his criticism. It was little wonder there was such a high turnover rate among the greenhorns that trained with him in their first month.

Yet with his toughness came fairness. His instructions were clear and concise. With every lesson, he carefully noted your approach to learning and revised his methods accordingly. Sometimes, it was a change of wording—others, a different routine. His praise, though given sparingly, was sincere. Through the occasional affirming nod or solid hand on your shoulder, you were sure that he approved of, or at least tolerated, your efforts in the air.

You weren’t on such good terms with the other pilots; you stuck out like a sore thumb among the hot headed teenagers that comprised most of the cadets that Rau taught. Save for a few friendly faces like Wedge and Hobbie, your interactions with the others were marked by cautious curiosity at best and bitter judgment at worst. All hidden beneath the thin veneer of protocol.

You knew why. You were painfully aware that your difficulty in understanding social cues made you suspect among the gregarious, upstart types that seemed so drawn to the Rebellion. Knew that your tendency to take things literally made you an object of ridicule. That, and your aversion to the sensory hell that was Chopper Base in full swing during the day.

Laughter.

You were certain it was about you before you even turned your head. You didn’t even need to see him to single out the braying roar at the center of it all. Chet, a burly rookie with a smile like a rancor that joined your ranks only three weeks ago.

A face you dreaded in any proximity to you.

“I don’t know why they’re still here,” he sneered at his cadre. “They’re slower than a bantha!”

“More like a Hutt!” came Rana’s jab. The girl flicked a blonde pigtail over her shoulder. “As dumb as one, too.”

Your grip was a vise on the edge of the table. Your frantic pulse screamed at you to do something, anything , so you wouldn’t feel their mocking eyes burning into you. Escaping to the hangar sounded like a good idea. It would mean you’d get to work on your fighter. Maybe check the engine oil while you were at it. But that would mean running the gauntlet past Chet’s bench, a move that was sure to end in an outstretched foot breaking your stride and your lunch spilled all over the floor.

So you could only stay rooted in place and hope that your silence would make them relent.

Just as you always did before.

But that didn’t stop Chet’s words from hurting like they did the first time. “Do you think they’re retar—”

“Enough!”

Gloved hands slammed against the table, making you all jump in your seats. You looked up from counting grains in the laminate to the source of the sound. It was none other than Fenn Rau, visor gleaming dangerously as he appraised the now-cowering pilots in front of you.

His voice was precise and measured when he spoke next. “What is the meaning of this, cadets?”

Chet's grin faltered. A nervous chuckle escaped him. “Sir, we were just joking around–”

“I see only two of you laughing,” Rau interrupted. His gaze landed on Rana, who had taken on a striking pallor. “Would you care to explain to me the nature of your little display?”

Now it was Rana’s turn to sputter. “It was nothing, really! We do it all the time and they never say anything!”

She fell silent as Rau bristled, eyes wide as his helmeted face hovered inches from hers. His red sigil caught the light for a moment, and you were struck by the realization that he was not just a stern teacher chastising his student. He was a Mandalorian . “I asked nothing about your fellow pilot’s behavior. Only yours.”

Rau received a response in the form of silence. Neither of them dared utter a word, remaining glued to their seats as if their lives depended on it.

“I will not tolerate this. Ever.” he said fiercely. “You are part of a squad. A Rebellion. You are not to belittle your comrades on or off the battlefield. Do you understand me?”

Rana nodded vigorously. Chet opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was silenced by the look Rau gave him.

“There are a dozen ships in this fleet that need the carbon scoring scrubbed off of them,” he hissed. “I will return in one hour, and if they are not clean enough for flight, I will see to it myself that you never fly with Phoenix Squadron again.”

Chet gulped, eyes bulging like a scalefish. “Y-yes, sir.”

The two of them nearly tripped over themselves as they scrambled to the hangar. The confrontation weighed on you like a boulder until you stood at the sound of your name.

All the ferocity in Rau’s tone was gone. “I’d like a word with you,” he added gently. “Come with me.”

You followed him to a secluded corner of the mess where the lights were dimmer and the raucous din of the crowd quieted to a hum. You exhaled slowly and allowed your fists to uncurl.

Rau set his helmet down beside you and sighed. His brow furrowed when he spoke again.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

You stiffened. Even if you couldn’t say it outright, the answer was heavy in the back of your mind. It lay in the distant memory of grade school teachers that shrugged their shoulders and looked the other way when you complained of your classmates’ insults or your belongings thrown into the dirt. 

Your years at the Imperial Academy were no better. The Empire did not look kindly upon those who deviated from its rigid model of what constituted acceptable human behavior. Bureaucrats in crisp gray suits laughed in your face when you asked for accommodations. Your instructors left you to flounder while the rest of your peers earned accolades and honors.

How could you explain that every authority figure in your life had chosen convenience over consequences, time and time again?

“I wasn’t sure if you would do anything,” you managed.

Rau frowned. “You thought I would stand by while your squadmates ridiculed you?”

“It’s different than that,” you protested. “Everything they said—it’s true! I am slow. And weird. I’ve always known it.” Your eyes burned hot with unshed tears as you continued. 

As achingly as pulling thorns from your skin, you told him about the long hours spent in a clinic when you were young. The bespectacled doctors with datapads that prattled over this reason or that which disqualified you from their help. It took years of exhausting standstills before you finally received a diagnosis—one that guaranteed no aid except in name only. 

By the time you finished, it felt as though all the air had left your lungs. "It's because I'm on the spectrum."

You could have cut a vibroblade through the silence that followed.

Rau’s expression was inscrutable.

“There is a phrase for that on Mandalore,” he began. “ Shev’la verd. ”

Your eyes widened. You looked at him, then, and really looked. Not just at the brow or hairline like you did with most people. In his eyes.

The conviction you saw in them made you feel something you couldn’t describe.

“You are not lesser because of your differences. They are your strength.”

His words felt foreign. Unlike anything you’ve heard before.

Instinctively, you objected. “It took me twice as long to learn the control panel. I am slow—” 

But Rau would not be dissuaded. “You are thorough ,” he corrected. “And deliberate. Those are admirable qualities in a pilot. 

“You memorize the schematics of a starship down to the smallest details. Not only that, you apply what you learn in ways your peers could only dream of.”

He leaned in. 

“You are one of the best pilots I’ve had the honor of training,” he insisted. “And I will not allow you to diminish your own talents.”

You couldn’t hide your incredulity even if you tried.

Never had anyone demonstrated such an unwavering belief in you for years. Something loosened in your chest, and you took a shuddering breath. “You mean that?”

Rau smiled. “I am certain of it.”

That day, you felt lighter as you took to the skies.

You were under no impression that your struggles were over. You would meet many more people who didn’t understand you, either out of a lack of knowledge or willful ignorance. There would be those that would underestimate your abilities and denigrate your differences no matter how you shone on the ground or in the air.

For the longest time, that terrified you.

By and large, it still did. But now, your fear didn’t paralyze you. 

You would persevere and hone your strengths with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be facing this alone.

You would fight your battles with a sure ally at your side.

[lu-is-not-ok]

horrid thought i had: if your theory on k corp hong lu being semi-conscious during stasis is right, does that not mirror carmen during lobotomy corporation?

...

Wait. Hold on. Wait. Wait hold on.

Ok, so here's the thing: For a while now I've already had a suspicion that Hong Lu's deal is like, way more important than he lets on.

This might sound like a conspiracy Game Theory Matpat rant, but here me out.

First of all, Hong Lu has this weird tendency to break patterns in much less obvious ways than the other suspicious Sinners, to the point it's been driving me insane?

Like.

Okay.

First.

Remember those promo PVs of each Sinner? And how each of them ended on a glimpse of their trauma and All of them either directly referenced a potentially traumatic event or had the Sinner sound distraught? Except for Hong Lu, who doesn't sound in any way distressed like the others did, and then after the game logo is revealed he asks if something he said was weird.

Like, sure, it does make sense for him to say that in context of what he says during that video, but isn't it so fucking weird that the one Sinner with a section in his promo that seems slightly off is also the one who asks if anything he said during that section was weird?

Second.

You know those intro segments during the prologue, that are also on the official limbuscompany.com website? The ones that offer managerial instructions for each Sinner?

Pay close attention to those. For every Sinner, these instructions specify how to deal with that specific Sinner's eccentricities.

Don't show Gregor your disgust. Wait for Rodya's bad mood to pass. Give Sinclair positive reinforcement. Wait patiently for Yi Sang to finish thinking. Look Ishmael's way for sound advice, but don't break her trust. Understand Heathcliff is simple-minded and contact HR if he causes problems. Play along with Don's Fixer act. Don't make Ryoshu breed personal resentment towards you. Give clear and concise commands to Meursault. Give Outis short replies of agreement but keep an eye on her. Simply nod and get it over with when conversing with Faust.

...But then there's Hong Lu's. Which says nothing how to deal with his eccentricities, but rather to not let Other Sinners get physical with him over them. It's not about keeping him in line, it's about keeping other people's reactions to him in line.

I want to note this especially because several other Sinners break patterns in their introductions as well. Meursault's is one sentence. Ryoshu and Outis have a warning. Don Quixote's particulars include a [REDACTED] on the website. Faust's directly asks the manager to fuck around and find out. However, the way Hong Lu's intro instructions break the pattern is the most subtle out of all of them, to the point I genuinely did not realize that was the case until I had read all of them over multiple times.

Third.

Hong Lu's Base E.G.O animation. If you watch all of the Base E.G.O animations in a row, you'll notice that for all of them, the Sinners start already in frame... Except for Hong Lu, who visibly jumps into the frame from off-screen.

Now, you could argue that, technically, Don runs into her animation from off-screen as well, however I think there is a bit of a difference here. Don's animation is too quick to see her actually run in. We see she's not there for maybe a frame, before she pops with an animation that implies she had just run in and needs to break her momentum. This is unlike Hong Lu's, whom we Actively See descend from Off-Screen.

Now, I know what some of you may be thinking.

That I am coping. That these are coincidences. That I'm looking too deeply into things.

However. Here's a connection that I just recently realized, that has been Fucking Me Up.

Mild spoilers for Canto IV and like the first two chapters or so of Dream of the Red Chamber, if anyone cares.

You know how Limbus Company has this... fixation on stars? There's the whole thing with Dante following a star, stars granting wishes, people turning into weird beings from wishing to be stars, and there's this general connection to the sky and space because of Demian also doubling as a reference to The Little Prince.

And then something weird hit me.

See, Dream of the Red Chamber starts with a bit of a backstory to the jade that would later be reincarnated into Bao-yu. You see, it was one of the many stones used by a godess to create the sky. However, this one specific jadestone ended up being the only one not used in that creation, which then led to it feeling horrible about itself, which then led to a monk and a taoist deciding to have that stone reincarnate as a human and live through a human life, kickstarting the rest of the novel.

I'm like, heavily simplifying this, but that's the gist of how that whole thing starts.

Which. Made me think. A jadestone that was part of the ones meant to build the sky, but ended up being left unused. The sky. Stars. Hong Lu being seemingly named after the jade rather than Bao-yu directly.

Holy shit there's no way they won't reference this in some way, right? Right?

So, now imagine me, at my fucking wit's end, having the biggest crackpot theory brewing in my mind.

And you send this ask comparing K Corp Hong Lu to Carmen.

I am going insane.

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - The Drive Home

Masterlist So here’s the first piece of my now other new bbu story :3 this takes place at the safehous August used to live at! I am very excited about this <3

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpees

——————

They were quiet. 

The car remained silent, save for the rumble of the engine and the grumble of asphalt running under the tires. Mouths were zipped to a tight close, excluding the ever so often bump in the road that called out the faintest of a whimper. But only from one of them, the one curled inside the other. 

So absolutely quiet. Weren’t they always? This was nothing new for Isaac. They were meticulously trained to be so, quiet unless needed, because what rich, scum of the Earth asshole wants an annoying pet?

Calvin furiously typed away to Edith and Oscar in the passenger's seat, fingers flying over letters too fast to read the messages back to her. He gnawed at his chapped, fraying lips with ever so slightly crooked teeth, and a gentle overbite. Every time he typed he unconsciously held his breath, each few seconds passing by and sucking in a light gasp like a ringing to her ears.

She studied his face with little glances, inspecting his soft features. He looked almost like he could have been about the same age as the two boxies behind them, and for all Isaac knew they could have been college friends in another life.

But Isaac did her best to keep her eyes locked on the road, still wet and drying from the constant thunderstorms that they were lucky to have avoided, even if the clouds were still lingering and threatening to spill. Thunder faintly crashed from miles away, and she knew it would eventually draw near.

Whenever she felt fit, she’d steal a glance to the two boxies through the rearview mirror. There wasn’t much to see beside a twist and turn of intertwined bodies, faces concealed by grease coated mops of overgrown hair and exposed, scarred limbs.

The GPS beeped directions to her in its robotic, mechanical voice, now, take a right turn, it would instruct, and dutifully she would follow.

She was nervous. 

Her heart raced on it’s own accord, pounding increasing to a persistent throb in her head. Fingers gripping solid to the wheel, creating their own divots and knuckles turning white, Isaac swallowed, her throat bobbing along with the motion of saliva. Her belly was tied in knots, clawing it’s way to grip at her tensing insides.

Everyone was nervous. They always were with new rescues. How could they not be?

Isaac sipped in a shaky breath, lips parting in anticipation. “You guys okay back there?” Her words were tinted with a smile, although fake and forced, but she knew well how to create the appearance of realness.

“Yes, sir.” The larger of the two replied on instant, the one holding the other between his hulking arms, and only him. He spoke firm and concise, quick to supply her with the same answer he was trained to give. 

Though, his speech was inflicted with the hint of an accent, and not a Boston one. Something European, she guessed, something from nowhere near close. Already she wished she could zip open and dip a hand into his past, free his mind to everything he’s ever known, but she was plenty aware even he couldn’t do that himself. Not yet.

Unusually wary to speak, she cleared her throat with a heavy cough. “Is your friend doing okay?” She proceeded, taking a glance to them once again through the mirror. 

“Yes, sir.” He repeated, the exact same as the first time he said it. Rolling off the tongue with ease, showing her just how often he was forced to say it, over and over again. She swallowed, hard, as his embrace around the other secured.

A guard dog and a romantic. A pair, obviously locked at the hip and mind. 

The information was easily taken from them at the previous safehouse they had picked them up from, much too full to take in two more rescues. 

They hadn’t had a guard dog in a good while, the last one probably being August, and he was well living on his own in a whole other state. Isaac could only hope they could do for the new rescue what they had done for him. She knew they could.

One last heave of a turn, and the neighborhood blossomed into view. 2 minutes until home at last.

“We’re almost home,” she started, spinning the wheel with gentle ease, “You two can just go straight to bed. I bet you’re plenty tired.”

Yet again was another of the same response as he digested her every word like an order. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good idea.” Calvin muttered, almost a whisper, sending her the ghost of a grin. Her face softened back, as a thank you without words.

They soon pulled up the driveway, minivan stumbling over uneven cracks of pavement. She sighed in relief as they finally parked inside the garage, as if she’d been holding in her breath the whole ride. Calvin did the same, following her lead like always.

“You can head on home, I’ve got them from here.” She told him, “And, thanks for coming along. You were a huge help.”

His expression brightened, that twinkle in his eye returning whenever he was to receive praise. Sort of like the rescues, she thought. “You’re welcome.” He slid right out from his seat, jumping and readying to sprint off to his own home, his apartment only a block away. Before he could, he shouted back and brought a smile to her face, this time genuine. “I wish you luck!”

After a moment of settling breathing, Isaac stepped out from the car herself, stepping around and opening her new guests’ door. “Alright, you two. Ready to come on out?” 

This time, the guard turned to the man in his lap, tenderly swiping a lock of slick hair back into place. The romantic atop of him trembled, face moist with what she could only guess were terrified tears. 

He ever so carefully wrapped his arms under the other man’s knees and back, stepping out of the car with the other in a bridal carry.

Now, she could see them, just a bit clearer. The one that held the other is tall, way tall, with a hefty build. He was pudgy, skin pooling out of and folding over his boxers, but underneath she knew existed tough muscle. His face held soft features, thin lips and a round nose, flushed red from the cold. He looked to her with glittering hazel eyes, awaiting his next order.

The other’s face was still concealed by shaggy, black waves, but she could see his angular, hooked nose as it peeked out, and the shine of dark, deep eyes peeking from his shield of hair.

“Good, good.” She mumbled as she studied, taking it all in, “That’s so good. Let’s move on inside, alright?”

Isaac locked the car as they trailed behind her through the door, she always did, even when it was safely tucked inside the garage. Better to be extra safe than sorry.

Something tapped at her wrist as she did so, bringing her attention to the decoration connected to the end of her keys that twirled around with the movement of her hand. A bracelet of sorts, made up of little crosses and twists of vibrantly colorful rubber bands. She remembered well when Agnes gifted it to her, the first bracelet she’d ever made with the set Edith had given her. 

Isaac hoped that one day, no matter how far in the distance of the future because she would stick with them no matter how long, the new rescues would find themselves like August did, like how Agnes was on her journey to, and all of the other rescues who still visit from time to time. That they wouldn’t run back to whatever sick place they came from, even if they’re tempted.

Isaac held a spark of hope for these two, a fiery burning in her gut like she had for all the others, and she was not going to let go of it.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[timeslostart]

April 3rd, 2025

DO EVERYTHING WITH PURPOSE

Skills can be even more important than the idea...

So lately, I've been feeling like people who are making knitting patterns are forgetting that this is, in fact, a service industry.  What I mean by this is that as knitwear designers, it is literally our job to design a quality product to benefit the consumer in some way.  We are providing them with the instructions to make a wearable item or, at least, an item that has some sort of purpose.  We are selling them deconstructed clothing, so to speak.  (I know deconstructed dishes are still popular in the culinary world right now, and I think the analogy works well here.  Thank you, Gordon Ramsay!)  We are literally at the whims of our customers, not the other way around.  I also think that would-be designers are forgetting that just like any other skill, it takes years to hone your pattern writing craft.

As I've become more active on social media and in the online knitting groups promoting my business I've noticed a few things, mostly, knittng patterns are everywhere nowadays!  Literally anything that you want you can find online.  Hundreds of thousands of designs now plague the internet and our social media feeds, but, how many of them are actually any good?  I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've purchased a digital pattern from a self-published designer just to be disappointed by the lack of thought and care that has gone into writing it.

It seems now, that everyone and their dog is calling themselves a knitwear designer.  Younger people, especially, who only have one or two years of knitting experience are writing patterns to sell to knitters at astromnomically absurd prices just to make a quick buck.  Yes, these people know how to take a very pretty picture but very few of them truly have any idea how to write a quality knitting pattern.

Just because you can make something does not mean that you are a designer.  In order to be a designer you need the knowledge (measurements, construction techniques, why things are done a certain way, etc.), the skills (knowing how to manipulate the stitches to create the fabric you want, knowing the stitches in general, understanding how to write something clearly and concisely to convey your ideas into a tutortial type of format), and the practice (years of experimentation, trial and error, the actual learning of the knitting craft itself).  These things cannot and should not be rushed.  These things are ones that I have spent the last 10 years perfecting and truthfully it will probably take at least another 10 more before I will even begin to feel satisfied with my skillset.

I am just now, in the past few years, starting to refer to myself as a designer.  I have never been professionally published and I have very little formal training.  However, what does differentiate my patterns from other self-published patterns is that I am in the process of being formally trained and I actually do want to work in the fashion industry; not just dabble in it because it is trendy and might get me a handful of likes on my social feeds.  I do want to create quality, professional patterns that everyone can use for years to come and hopefully teach their children and grandchildren with.

Like I said earlier, being a knitwear designer means that you are in the service industry.  Your job is to create a design/pattern for your consumer - a fellow knitter to work from so they can replicate your design precisely.  So that means that your pattern has to be clear and concise and adhere to a certain standard.  Anyone can become a knitter but not everyone can become a knitwear designer/pattern maker without years of practice and training. 

I always tell my children to do everything with purpose; to put your whole heart into something and make it the best that it can possibly be.  Here at TLA all of our patterns are being written and rewritten multiple times until they meet our high quality standards.  Every pattern is tested by everyday, ordinary people from all over the world, walks of life and various skillsets.  This can be over the course of a few months or even a few years; all to ensure that we can achieve the highest level of professionalism and quality possible because that is what our customers deserve.  Knitting shouldn't be hard and the patterns you use should be helps and not hindrances.

Gabrielle Vansteelandt - Times Lost Art

[usafphantom2]

How An A-10 Pilot Guided His Wingman to Safety in a Hypoxia Crisis

Lt. Col. Mitchell recalls a life-or-death moment in the sky, helping his wingman fight hypoxia during a mission aboard the A-10 Warthog.

David Cenciotti

A-10 Hypoxia

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, places his hand on the iconic nose of an A-10C Thunderbolt II at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

With the plan to fully retire the type by 2029, the U.S. Air Force will decommission 42 A-10C Thunderbolt II aircraft this year, with the remaining 260 expected to be phased out in the next 5 years.

As the legendary “Warthog” approaches the twilight of its storied service, one figure stands out as a living embodiment of the grit, tenacity, and unwavering dedication that define the aircraft’s tight-knit community. That figure is U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell.

With nearly two decades of flying the A-10, Mitchell was recently recognized with a prestigious safety award, not only for his actions during a perilous night flight but for a career that epitomizes the spirit of the A-10 and the individuals who support and operate this combat-proven aircraft.

In March this year, Mitchell found himself in a situation that tested the full breadth of his experience. Alongside Capt. Dylan “Mac” Vail, an active-duty pilot from the 357th Fighter Squadron who was being trained to become an IP (instructor pilot), Mitchell embarked on what was intended to be a routine 2-ship training flight.

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, stands in front of the first A-10C Thunderbolt II he flew, tail number 9154, on the flight line at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. Mitchell has flown the A-10, often referred to as the Warthog, for nearly two decades, exemplifying the dedication and expertise that define the A-10 community. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

As an instructor pilot and flight commander for the 47th Fighter Squadron, Mitchell is no stranger to demanding situations. However, on this night, what began as a standard night sortie, would quickly transform rom routine to critical. In fact, Vail began showing the early signs of hypoxia, a dangerous condition caused by a lack of oxygen that can impair cognitive functions and motor skills.

A subtle threat

Hypoxia can be difficult to identify, especially for pilots, because its onset is often gradual and its symptoms can be subtle or easily mistaken for fatigue or stress. Symptoms like dizziness, confusion, lightheadedness, euphoria, and impaired judgment often develop slowly, which can make it challenging for pilots to recognize what is happening before it becomes severe, and increasingly difficult for a pilot to maintain control of their aircraft.

In the cockpit, Vail was struggling. His brain, starved of oxygen, couldn’t process the situation clearly. As the effects of hypoxia worsened, the situation became dire. But Mitchell’s calm and decisive leadership shone through. Years of experience kicked in, allowing him to quickly assess the situation and provide clear, concise instructions over the radio to guide Vail back to safety.

It was a night that could have ended tragically had it not been for Mitchell’s steady hand.

“I could barely think straight,” Vail recalls, his voice heavy with the memory of that critical night. A Houston native and a graduate of the Air Force Academy, Vail was in a dangerous spiral, both mentally and physically. “Mitchell was there every step of the way, simplifying everything, telling me exactly what I needed to do. It was his voice and experience that got me back on the ground safely.”

For Vail, Mitchell’s actions went beyond the role of an experienced pilot, they embodied a deeper philosophy, one ingrained in the A-10 community itself. This is a community where the mission is paramount, but equally important is the unwavering commitment to the safety and well-being of those involved.

“People always get lost and enamored about the aircraft,” Mitchell explained. A native of Lockney, Texas, and a graduate of Texas A&M, Mitchell is quick to shift the spotlight away from himself and the aircraft, instead highlighting the broader community that supports the A-10. “But the number one thing is the community that is dedicated to it.”

For Mitchell, the A-10 is not just a machine. It’s a symbol of camaraderie, a tool to defend and protect, and a centerpiece of a community bound by shared purpose and dedication. Standing next to the very first A-10 he flew, tail number 9154, Mitchell reflected on his long journey with the aircraft. His humor remained intact despite the passage of time and the wear of years spent in service.

“I’m old,” he said with a chuckle, recalling his search for some of the A-10s he had flown over the years. “I was trying to look for a couple of tails that I had my name on in the past, and I think they’re gone either to Moody AFB or the Boneyard, so here’s what it is.”

Mitchell’s reflections extend beyond the aircraft’s flight numbers and history. He shared a little-known piece of A-10 heritage, the unique artwork that adorns each of the 47th Pursuit Squadron’s aircraft. Dating back to World War II, these aircraft are emblazoned with characters from the “Dogpatch” cartoon series by Andy Capp, a tradition that the squadron continues to honor.

“The 47th Pursuit Squadron paid Andy Capp $1 for the copyright usage of his characters to put on all the airframes,” Mitchell shared, highlighting the deep historical roots that tie the squadron to the past. “Each airplane has its own character from the original Little Abner cartoons.”

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, looks on as he stands next to an A-10C Thunderbolt II at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

This rich tradition, combined with a sense of pride and duty, has been a cornerstone of Mitchell’s career since he first began flying the A-10 in January 2005. From those early days as a young lieutenant in the 47th Fighter Squadron to his current role as a seasoned commander and mentor, Mitchell’s journey has been defined by his commitment to not only the aircraft but also the people who operate and maintain it.

“Creating new fighter pilots and passing on the lessons learned—that’s our job,” Mitchell said, emphasizing the importance of mentorship within the A-10 community. “We are providers of fixing problems for people in a dynamic situation, and we’re very good at it.”

Col. Aaron “Nacho” Weedman, commander of the 924th Fighter Group, also expressed pride in Mitchell’s efforts. He highlighted the significance of Mitchell’s actions during that night flight and the profound impact of his leadership on the A-10 community.

“His actions while instructing a student during a sortie in which the student experienced a serious physiological incident saved the life of another pilot,” Weedman said. For Weedman, Mitchell’s recent safety award is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of the ethos that has guided the A-10 community for decades.

The citation for the award specifically notes Mitchell’s quick thinking during the March 2024 incident, as well as his broader contributions to the safety and training of A-10 pilots. But as Weedman pointed out, the recognition also speaks to the experience and maturity that AFRC Instructor pilot cadre like Mitchell bring to the mission of the A-10 Formal Training Unit.

“His actions that evening highlight the importance of experience and maturity that AFRC Instructor pilot cadre add to the mission of the A-10 FTU,” Weedman emphasized. “This experience is leveraged to strengthen the total force, producing combat-ready wingmen for the A-10 community.”

More than just an aircraft

For pilots like Mitchell and Vail, the A-10 is far more than just an aircraft. It symbolizes something much greater, a legacy of camaraderie, dedication to mission, and the enduring reputation of those who have flown it and those who have been saved by it.

Vail, now a certified instructor pilot himself, is keenly aware of the legacy he is inheriting. It is a legacy shaped by the seasoned pilots who came before him—pilots like Mitchell, who ensured the lessons of the past continue to guide the future.

“I love the A-10. I love the mission,” Vail shared. “But what makes it special is the people, the community of pilots who have dedicated themselves to this aircraft and what it stands for.”

As the A-10 gradually phases out of U.S. military service (with a potential future in a foreign air arm), its heritage will not fade away with its airframes. Instead, it will live on in the stories and experiences of those who flew it, those who maintained it, and those whose lives were saved by it. And in the center of that story will always be the men and women like Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, whose actions ensured that every pilot returned home safely.

A U.S. Air Force A-10C Thunderbolt II assigned to the 47th Fighter Squadron, Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Arizona, flies over Range 2 during Haboob Havoc 2024, April 24, 2024, at Barry M. Goldwater Range, Arizona. (U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Noah D. Coger)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist.com

[transgenderdoctorwhomst-old]

The Doctor gives Amy and Rory a set of, as far as he's obviously concerned, very clear and sensible instructions. A video on a DVD edited down by the TARDIS, subtitled even, on how to take care of him while he's in his temporary human-fobwatched state. Delivered to their home a day ahead of time, in a package including his sonic screwdriver, some bowties, a confusing variety of books, and several sets of "casual" "outfits." A letter with a basic description of the situation is taped to the top.

"Hello Ponds, I have an important job for you! I need to hide out as a human for a bit, and I need you to keep me out of trouble. I'll be there tomorrow. WATCH THE DVD!!!! Lots of love, the Doctor."

Amy thinks, oh for fucks sake, of course he's pulling something like this, and tries calling the Doctor, to no avail. Rory thinks, at least he bothered to warn us first, accepts his fate, and gets the spare room ready.

When they're done their self-assigned tasks, they watch the DVD with hopes the instructions will be nice, easy, and concise.

"One: don't let anyone, not even me, know who I am." "Okay, easy enough," Rory says. "Two: don't let me wear neon bowties, I have standards!" Amy groans. Rory checks the run time, and puts his face into his hands.