#OP I hope you don’t mind

[knightfire]

I had to do a doodle of Husk with this expression after seeing a post with a cat making this face 😼 It came out well and so I threw some color on it too!

Here’s the OG ⬇��

[timethehobo]

Inspired by this post here and had to doodle them in it cos damn, what a visual. 🙈

[johhans]

Hair braiding at camp

Inspired by @actual-lea’s post! Thank you for the idea 🫶

[10piecechickenmcnugget]

homosexuality reblog if you agree (from this post by @thehappyromeo)

[luckhaver]

Man, and I have an art degree. I’ve studied art. I was a professional graphic artist for a long time. I also have visual aphantasia, meaning I can’t conjure images in my head. Drawing and art cannot exist for me without lots and lots of constant reference material. I know fellow artists that can just draw from their head, perfectly. They can see an image before it’s drawn. I can’t really see an imagine until it’s on paper.

It’s a difference way of working. But with AI tools? I can create 1000 different rough executions of a concept, staging, or references before I ever put pen to paper. All the material I could ever need to be on equal-ish footing, conjured from scratch and stolen from no one.

Yet those same artist tell me I shouldn’t? When they can watch full animations in 3D in their head? Get bent.

There’s a lot of unethical implications of AI art that I don’t want to dismiss. Helping people become artists faster and easier isn’t one of them.

I wish the introduction of (sometimes admittedly very bad) new technology didn't always seem to unleash a wave of ableism from everyone, lmao

[oshiawaseni]

Japan’s concept of confession and why Ochaco might not confess

“Confession” is a big deal in a country as subtle as Japan. Not all people have the courage to confess, but when starting official relationships confessions are often expected. This is what I know confessions to be like in the world of manga: Person A talks alone with Person B and shares with them the secrets of their heart. “I like you please accept my feelings.” This usually ends either with them going out or A being rejected by B. The usual reason for the rejection is “I like someone else.”

I’ve been having some more ideas about the day Izuku fell into Kacchan’s arms and how what Kacchan did for him was almost confessional in a way. He told Izuku what was in his heart, why he bullied him and that no matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t escape him. He called him “Izuku” and we saw the impact this had on Izuku’s face. 

Izuku just couldn’t believe that Kacchan was calling his name properly for the first time in 12 years, it completely shocked him, and after apologising for everything, he told Izuku, “Come home, let’s do this together. We need to help each other in this fight against AFO.” 

The conclusion of this confession was that Izuku acquiesced to 1-A’s request for him to return, but it was only really possible because his attachment to Kacchan triumphed over his motivations to stay away. It was Kacchan who broke down his walls with his apology. It was Kacchan who filled him with hope that things would be better, and Kacchan who finally hammered into Izuku how important it was for him to be part of the collective. That his inclusion was very wanted and needed, and that he in turn can rely more on everyone as well. That together, they can push forward, trusting in and helping each other.

I think what hurt Izuku the most during his solo arc was being away from his friends, but especially Kacchan. Because that day in the rain, he literally gave up on his solo vigilante mindset for him. After hearing Kacchan’s unbelievable words he had patiently longed to hear for years, it was impossible for Izuku to stay away from him any longer. As he passed out, he stumbled a few steps towards Kacchan who, without missing a beat, caught him in his arms and gently held him. This embrace told us “From now on it’ll be different. I’m gonna be here for you, Izuku.”

So to recap all of that... Kacchan became vulnerable and spilled what was in his heart, Izuku accepted his desires, with it all culminating in them becoming closer. Which is just like a successful romantic confession!?

I think after watching this all go down, something inside Ochaco clicked. A lot of the class are rushing over to Izuku when Kacchan catches him because they’re just so worried about him, but a few of them, Ochaco included, stay standing back. It doesn’t make much sense at all. But we’re given a zoom in of her without knowing any of the thoughts going through her mind.

They got Izuku back, but she doesn’t really seem all that happy. Momo says to her “this is just the first obstacle we aren’t done yet” and she agrees. Ochaco knows that there’s still more they as a group need to do for Izuku to make his return happen. But the fact that there’s a few panels dedicated to zooming in on her staying put, her almost emotionless face (mirroring Shoto’s) while she’s��watching Kacchan save Izuku and his new unbridled intimacy he has with him - could be telling us that there’s something else she’s processing.

Is this moment somber for her because she realised the person Izuku needs the most is none other than the person he has openly admired since she first met him? The very same person who always bared his fangs at Izuku because he was scared him getting close?

Was Ochaco witnessing the beginning of something new between them and suddenly finding herself sidelined as a contender for Izuku’s affections?

Somehow… this could be what it was all about. And that’s why I think there’s a good chance Ochaco gave up her crush on Izuku for good when she witnessed Katsuki return his love and embrace him after that emotionally-charged apology. After this, a more defined distance between her and Izuku appears visible in their next scene together. A respectful distance of Izuku’s own choosing.

It was like a definitive line had been drawn out that can’t and perhaps shouldn’t be crossed. Maybe they both understood that the person Izuku wanted close by his side has always been Katsuki. That desire wasn’t simply a pipe dream to Izuku anymore, it had become reality. And who is Ochaco to get in the way of that?

And then it’s almost like she is bookending Katsuki’s confession to Izuku with a confession of her own about Toga, putting a close to the Izuocha chapter and she makes a comment which feels double in meaning. “I guess that means we are the same.” or You love a boy, just like I might love a girl. (To put it bluntly)

And Izuku remembers this line again after he gets separated from Kacchan and Ochaco is telling him to go. Go back to Tenko. Go back to your Kacchan.

The concept of “knowing how someone feels because you love them and always watch over them” comes up from time to time in manga. In a way, that’s also a reason why Kacchan and Izuku understand each other as deeply as they do and they aren’t afraid of showing it off. They were always watching each other from a safe distance and learning things about each other in this way. I think during chapter 322, this concept is what was happening to cause such a realisation in Ochaco. (And it’s also for this reason Tsuyu, who never had feelings for Izuku, still doesn’t get it.)

It was hard for her, knowing everything she does about Izuku’s deep attachment to Kacchan, to learn that Izuku’s affections for him weren’t one-sided and they were now closer than ever before… That’s why I don’t think she’ll want to get in the way by confessing anymore. If Kacchan’s apology was intended to be compared with a romantic confession, then Ochaco is probably aware that Izuku already “has someone he likes”… and that person isn’t her.

[menhera-info-archieve]

Is menhera similar to pastel gore? I hope I’m not being insensitive

For the most part menhera has no connection to pastel gore. Menhera is about using art to portray mental health struggles, so it’s actually frowned upon to draw/wear over the top gore in most cases. This is because it can be triggering and, in the case of the fashion, it makes menhera look like a costume rather than a representation of the wearer’s real struggles. I think people get confused because sometimes menhera art can feature self harm or some blood, but this is only the case when it’s necessary to get a point across.

Basically, pastel gore is mostly about physical horror/body horror, but menhera is about mental health! The only time they would overlap is if some moderate blood or something is necessary as a metaphor when doing art about a mental issue.

If you’re looking into menhera and wanna learn more I recommend reading the intro articles on menheratic (1, 2, and 3) ! You can also peruse the menhera.txt tag of this blog, which contains any information on menhera I’ve been able to find since making this blog.

[vegetable-soup-wizard]

I’m in love with @paintbrushnebula ‘s Spider-verse x Tangled AU and it inspired me to make these doodles

Look at their original post here

[age-of-moonknight]

“Under the Same Moon,” Vengeance of the Moon Knight (Vol. 2/2024), #6.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Devmalya Pramanik; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

So we know Blanche is many generations American, but is Rose's family several generations in the country too? St Olaf is clearly an enclave of Norwegian (? Scandinavian?) Americans and still steeped in that culture. Dorothy is canonically a child of immigrants. IK this stuff is unimportant its just interesting to me. Like how Rose and Dorothy are canonically bilingual (or at least Rose is, I can't remember if Dorothy only understands Italian or if she speaks it too).

Hi anon — I’m honestly right there with you because this kind of stuff is so interesting to me as well!! It’s details like these that make up good charming characters — the Girls wouldn’t be themselves without them :)

I’m not able to answer you in depth about these observations atm, so I’ll come back to this ask in a day or two, but I wanted to share it with everyone while I have a minute. Blanche’s family seems to be an old American one for sure (her Jewish ancestor might have arrived later, I’d have to check the info we have about her, but the rest of the Hollingsworth clan seem to be old Americans indeed!).

Rose is a bit more complicated. Technically speaking I guess St Olaf might be an old enclave of Norwegian immigrants who just kept very close contact with their roots? But the way she talks about the place and the people there makes it sound like there’s a certain amount of people who immigrated there recently, too. There’s also the question of her parents — iirc her mother was a St Olaf native, but I don’t remember if her father was as well! I’ll check soon and see if I can deduce anything.

As for Dorothy — she’s shown to understand some Italian in the show, but that’s mostly limited to a few words and expressions Sophia uses. I remember there was an old guy at some point who only spoke in Italian and she couldn’t understand him, so I don’t think she knows Italian all that well! At the very least, she’s not fluent in it. Sophia is also interesting to consider under this pov: she should be fluent in Italian, considering she left the old country when she was already 20 or so, but she has some difficulties understanding it at times, so I’m not sure what the deal is there. Or, well, actually I have a hypothesis for why that is — but I need some more time to articulate it properly, so you’ll need to wait to read it. :)

(Oh, I’d like to point out that Dorothy is still bilingual, even if she doesn’t know Italian! She’s said to know French, because she studied it in school.)

[russilton]

There’s nothing I enjoy more than sharing ship charts that are gonna annoy my friends

Original post + Template created by @foo1ishheart554

[swanconcerto]

I'm curious to see what you'd assign me if you want to! 👀

hello!! oh goodness i will try to do my best! simply take these as recommendations of pieces i like if you feel as though they don’t represent your personality so well.

for some reason faure sticks out a lot to me for you! which is great i love faure. especially the cello arrangement of some of his vocal works- check out the cello arrangements of aprés un rêve and les berceaux! i also really like his requiem- the last three movements especially. it’s my favourite requiem!

i think you could also go with chopin- im always going to recommend his ballade no.1 in g minor especially for people who are new to classical. depending on your music taste you may also like his nocturnes and/or the op.28 preludes! depending on your concentration span, i’d also recommend the concertos- they’re usually timed at 20-30mins or so, and orchestral players aren’t the biggest fans, but as a pianist i simply love them!! chopin is the prince of piano for a reason lol

and because i’m me and i’m allowing myself to give you recommendations from my heart and not my brain, im going to tell you finally to try scriabin’s op 8 no 12 etude! scriabin is my favourite composer but he’s not easily digestible even to classical fans because he can come across as very atonal and crazy. but his early era stuff, especially the most famous op 8 no 12 is the most accessible i think, and if you can induct yourself into scriabin enjoying it will open up an entire world for you!! no worries if not though because the majority of scriabin youtube comment sections are like “he is insane and i hate this”

[ursamajori]

hi friend idk if you particularly super mind about these things but the op of the “survived the barbenheimer” post is very very transphobic. just to let you know

hi! i do very much mind abt these things--i primarily use mobile, and my way of being aware of blogs like that is just. filtering a bunch of tags they use so when its a random meme i usually have. no idea lol. so thanks for letting me know

idk the best way to like. word this? but in the future when yall warn me about these kind of people (which i very much do appreciate) could you give more...idk i dont wanna say proof bc it sounds dismissive, i guess elaboration? like if its i dunno tumblr user "i-hate-trans-people" and i just somehow fuckin missed that (not this exact thing but smth similar has happened before. sometimes i am not very perceptive.) like. obv u dont need to but i know people will send these kinds of asks abt people they have drama with and i dont always have time to yknow. go and find the post and check the blog

normally i dont post asks like this but i figured it would be a good sorta. way to ask this bc ive never brought it up to yall and it would be unfair to expect smth without saying anything

i wanna be clear abt as well this isnt like. trying to single you out anon and i tend to ask this of people who send similar asks off anon privately as well theres just no way to do that with you since yknow. anon. but seriously, thank you for letting me know!

edit: someone pointed out how this person it’s VERY obvious once you click on the blog from the posts, i should have specified that since it. makes it more clear this was a general statement </3

[thatonesquintern13]

this felt like poetry, so i made it poetry 🤠

[jamminvroomvroom]

no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

-

whoops? lol

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[andhumanslovedstories]

Last two shifts I worked, I had the same patients but was precepting (training) different nurses. So two nights in a row, I have a patient with a post-op complication (guts not moving) that the surgeons are taking a conservative approach to (wait and see if the gut starts moving). This treatment plan makes sense for the specifics of this patient, but that means we’re doing a lot of symptom management without directly treating the thing that’s causing the symptoms. In this case, symptoms are pain and nausea so bad that the patient said if they’d known this is how they’d feel after, they’d have skipped the surgery and just rolled the dice with what that colon polyp would do if left alone.

So we’re throwing meds at this patient, we’re walking them so their bowels can get moving, we’re giving ice chips and gum and cold wash clothes, we’re giving IV fluids (which is SUPER rare in the hospital right now because due to one of the recent hurricanes, we are critically low on IV fluids), we’re doing basically all my tricks short of putting another tube in this guy. And it’s working okay. Like we’re keeping pain and nausea just below “intolerable” but not by much.

That first night I have that patient, while I’m talking to the surgeon on the phone, my preceptee is in the room talking to the patient. I don’t get any new orders because most usual meds that would help are contraindicated in this particular circumstance. I’m feeling frustrated about that—I HATE when I can’t get symptoms significantly under control—when my preceptee comes up excitedly and says that the patient says they’re feeling much better after the therapeutic intervention my preceptor did. The intervention was hanging out in the room for 15 mins and talking with the patient about their hometown in Canada.

(Which, hell yeah. Very proud of that new nurse because she said one of the biggest things she wanted to work on was being less nervous talking to patients.)

Next night, I got the same patient, still miserable, and a new preceptee. We’ve got more meds this time, but still only marginal success with managing symptoms. I tell my preceptee, “next time you’re in the room, plan on staying and chatting with the patient for like ten minutes.” Next time we’re in the room, we do just that—we talk sports, hobbies, plans, past surgeries, how much this surgery sucks, just the three of us shooting the shit for a while before we have to go give pain meds to another patient. (It was a surgical floor. That night was mostly handing out ice packs and oxy.)

Anyway, the patient tells us that this chat has been the best they’ve felt all night. My preceptee comes out of the room, and my preceptee is like “wow that really was our best intervention.” And I get to be like “yes witness the power of chit chat as nursing intervention.”

Reflecting back, I’m grateful that the patient was so expressive about what we did that was working. I told the patient at one point, in the midst of their most acute misery, that we were going to give them everything we had available, and if that didn’t work, I had backup plans in mind. Like you might spend the night miserable, but it’s not because we didn’t keep trying stuff. And after I say that, the patient goes, “that was good, I like that you said that, that comforted me.” Which was very nice and convenient because before we’d gone into the room, I’d talked to my preceptee about how to make patients feel supported and cared for, even when none of the care we do is working. When we left after that, my preceptee was like “wow, you’re right, that really worked,” and I was like, “I KNOW, that’s cool right? I mean you always hope it works, but sometimes you just can’t tell if it actually does.”

I love really open patients, they are such fantastic teaching opportunities. For example, I had another patient both night who was also very open, specifically about what a bad job the hospital was doing and how everyone should just stay the hell out of their room. Considerably less pleasant feedback, equally valuable, about essentially the exact same situation that the first patient was in. Talking through that patient with my preceptees was also very useful and very easy, because the patient had been so explicit in their feedback.

It’s always odd training nurses because you don’t want bad things to happen to your patients, but you also need to new nurses to see bad things. And sometimes you get a patient assignment that is so good for teaching, it’s like it came from a textbook. Very convenient for me personally as a preceptor. Feels weird to say that about patients who are having absolutely miserable times, that their misery is useful to me, but (as preceptors normally say about stuff like this) if it’s happening, at least it’s happening where we can learn about it. Anyway, great couple of shifts to practice therapeutic communication.