#they've got the parts and the skill

[victorluvsalice]

Anyway, Smiler got the latest batch of eggs (one regular, two hatchable -- I just sold the latter as the coop is full anyway), then moved onto Moory, who came out of her shed in rather a state, poor girl! I had Smiler brush her clean, tell her some jokes, then milk her to make her feel better. :) Don’t worry, Moory -- it may have taken me a a good long while to actually get to having a cow, but now that you’re here, I’m determined to give you a good life on the Valicer farm!

With the farm animals taken care of, Smiler went upstairs to chat with Kelly for a moment (gotta make sure the cat has enough attention too!), then FINALLY got into the greenhouse and set up their drone to take a video of them making some Soothing Skin Balm while Victor evolved a bunch of his plants and did the harvesting. It wasn’t a very LONG video -- the drone powered down before it was done -- but it was something! I guess Smiler’s gonna have to update the drone to make sure it gets the whole process. *shrug* Well, I want them to become more handy anyway. . . Once they actually finished their balm, they put it and their drone away before heading into Moory’s shed to clean it (needing a clean themselves afterward), and then finally back up to the room to get the video and start editing it. Gotta get that content out for the masses!

As for Victor and Alice -- Alice finished up her book (hitting Writing 9 in the process!), had some lunch (a BLT), and went to chat with the chickens to make sure they were appropriately socialized, and Victor finished up his gardening, also had some lunch (fruit pie), cleaned up all the dishes around the lot, and Repairioed a bunch of wind turbines. Because, you know, they were almost all broken again. *shakehead* I swear, once you get past the initial “my Sim fails spells a lot and this particular spell causes a fire whenever it fails” stage, this spell is easily one of the most useful in the game if you have a lot of stuff that breaks often! I would highly recommend it and Scruberoo as must-have spells for any spellcaster!

[bluebellplayinggames]

allow me to ramble for a second. just finished playing resident evil revelations 2 and i have some Thoughts

i think a lot of this game was what re6 wanted to be. i like the progression of the plot and the fact that the story is told from two perspectives at two different points in time.

i REALLY liked claire's campaign over barry's tbh. barry felt like more of a flat character, although i may be a little biased from playing through re2 remake many many times.

i also am not a huge fan of how claire kinda felt like she was just. there? like i would say that the two protagonists are claire and barry, but barry felt like he was more important to the narrative than claire was. i think it's a similar problem that the original version of re4 had, where leon felt like the guy you played as and less like the main character. the remake fixed this a LOT though, and i hope if they do remake revelations 2, they integrate claire into the narrative more

[eggbagelz]

Urius is so liked in camp this is so wonderful

[theblehthatbloos]

I might elaborate more another time(I'm teaching them art and character design) I explained to a very small group of Middle schoolers what the prohibition was before moving on to watching Lackadaisy. They were not only shocked about it being a thing in history before we all watched it but also when talking about how it impacted society after.

One of them said they'd become a furry that sang sometimes too if they couldn't enjoy things even when they're an adult.

"That's whyyyyy they're all cats!!!" Was not what I narratively wanted them to pick up on or even something I expected, but our art class is improving alot with practice, let alone ideas.

Along with the tutorials and showing them as many skills as I can, while I am proud of them, I have now seen an extremely detailed Bill Cipher with cat ears and a coat that belongs to someone else.

They're getting really good and improving at quick rates but I didn't know what they'd cut with the precision and mastery I have given them. May what is left after the Gods help us all.

[cipheramnesia]

One funny piece of media criticism floating around Tumblr dot hellsite dot com is talking about making movies that are just fun, The Mummy with Brendan Frasier being a premiere example. Generally the way it goes is, "they don't have to be good, just fun." Thing is, making a fun movie like The Mummy is a lot of work. Exciting adventure stories don't just happen by accident, and part of the immense skill of such movies is making it all look easy.

I'm sometimes taken off guard by a movie that's better than expected - usually because they seem low budget and the summary sounds boring. Sometimes it's because it looks like another boring and cliche action movie. Plenty of those exist too, it's not like thousands of creators are falling ass backwards into brilliant filmmaking, Venom is an outlier. But it's really common to experience the surprise of audiences about some kind of big dumb action movie, and I think that's because so many action movies are big and dumb, few people understand that good action movies are smart.

You know what's good about the Mummy? Why it's good? Because it's a movie that knows every genre cliche the audience is waiting for, and chooses its moments to break those cliches with great care for maximum impact. It's good because it's direction knows how to build up great tension with the plot, through foreshadowing, through audience awareness, through genre standards. And the release is beautifully controlled. The "wrong side of the river" line is funny under any circumstances but it drops as a capstone on a very intense escape scene which makes it KILL, every time. When John Hannah's character turns out to be, against all the pre-loaded genre expectations and foreshadowing, actually a generally honest stand up guy, it's so much fun! Not by accident though. It's on purpose. It's a big dumb action movie but it's a big dumb action movie made by people who are very very good at making big dumb action movies.

That's really the thing of it all. There's now a hundred MCU movies that just turned The Mummy into a formula, they've carved out all the one liners and twists and turns mechanically, but they're not big dumb movies, because they're not allowed to be made with the kind of adoration of the genre that you get in smaller films, films that aren't locked into a three year product rollout plan. But you can still get big exciting movies if you look around for em. They didn't go away, they just got pushed out to the edge.

But I gotta beg again - take the time to recognize that when those movies that seem made without a thought or a care somehow manage to hit with you, give you a great big grin and a sense of excitement, remember that's not an accident or luck, someone probably plotted that out and made it fun on purpose, with care.

[nerdygirlramblings]

continued adventures of omegaverse!141

previous

an: the idea of separate task force and pack comes directly from @dragonnarrative-writes and their amazing 'Autumn Embers' series

You leave breakfast feeling both lighter and heavier. An invitation to join the 141 is a dream come true, and the idea that someone other than Captain Price was speaking favorably about your skills is intoxicating. You only know the members of the 141 by reputation, so you don't know who'd seen you on the shooting range. You wish you knew so you could properly thank them.

When he'd made the offer, Price said he'd like to speak to you more formally at 1600. You've never been anything but basic infantry, so you wonder what needs to happen to ensure your transfer into the 141. To keep yourself circling around things you can't control, you focus on leading your squad through basic land nav maneuvers.

After land nav and lunch, it's sparring and workouts in the gym. The room is busier than you like, especially as you aren't here for yourself. The constant eyes on you and your squad throw them off, but you use it to remind them all how important it is to focus despite the pressure. It certainly isn't an active battlefield, but the fight - flight - freeze reaction can help train them out of that headspace.

When it's finally time to meet Price, you dismiss your squad for the day and head to the base office complex. He told you where to find him, and you're knocking at the door a few minutes early.

"Punctual," he rumbles when he opens the door. "'s a good sign." He gestures you into his office and you notice it's spartan nature. There are only a few items in the wall: mostly awards and commendations. There's a single photo frame on the desk but positioned so only Price, or someone on his side of the desk, can see it. You wonder what it is. It must be special to be one of the few personal items in the room.

The space is dominated by a large walnut desk meant to intimidate. As if his leading 141 isn't enough. As though being an alpha, and a large one at that, wasn't already nerve-wracking for anyone sitting across from him.

He must know how the optics of the space works because he comes and sits in the chair left open next to you. He has a thin folder in his hand as he sits.

"I wanna clear the air 'bout something first. I'm sure ya know the 141's an elite task force. But we're also a pack. I know lots 'a military packs form 'cause 'a proximity: always stationed tahgether or 'round one another all the time without really bein' compatible. But that ain't us. We're compatible as a task force an' a pack. But, and I wanna stress this, being pack ain't necessary to be on the task force. Task force wan's yer skill. 'owever, if ya do join the task force, we've already decided we're open at courtin' ya, if yer open ta bein' courted."

You reel, feeling like the ground has opened underneath you. Price must notice the panic in your eyes because he forges on.

"What I got 'ere," he lifts the slim folder, " is transfer orders. Effective immediately, or as immediately as I submit 'em. They've already got my signature. Once ya sign, if yer interested in bein' on the 141, ya'd train wi' us, run drills an' simulations wi' us. Like squads, we eat tahgether an' have the same R&R. Only thing ya wouldn' do is move inta the barracks wi' us. Not unless ya decided ya wanted to be part 'a the pack. Ya'd still work wi' recruits, but ya wouldn' 'ave a specific squad."

"Wait," you interrupt, "what happens to my soldiers then, if I don't have a squad?"

Price smiles wide at that. "Lookin' out fer 'em's good. Important to the unity of the task force ta look out fer one another. But no task force sergeant has their own squad 'cause we could be sent out at any time. Tha' lack 'a consistency would be worse fer 'em. So, yeah, someone'd take yer squad."

He watches you contemplate all it would mean to become part of his task force. It's a lot, and he hopes you're still up for the challenge, because the more time he spends with you, the more he wants you on the task force and in his pack.

You finally shake off the fog in your head and ask Price for some time to think about it before fully committing. "An' I'm sorry, sir. Because I know I said yes just this morning, but I never thought I'd lose my squad." You pause for a moment before quietly adding, "An' I never imagined the offer included being part of a pack."

He catches your eye and reminds you, "Ya'd only be pack if ya wanted to be. And we'd court ya the right way. If ya wanted."

In the end he gives you the folder and says there's no official deadline for the offer, but he would appreciate a firm answer - either with signed or voided papers - within two days.

You nod, already thinking through who you wanted to consult about this when Price pulls you from your thoughts again.

"Can I make one small request?" he asks politely.

You nod, adding, "If it's reasonable, sir, absolutely."

He gifts you another smile as he leans forward and says, "Join us in the mess tonight? I'd like to officially introduce you to the lads before you make your decision."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 6)

Bruce was enjoying a quiet day in the manor with the kids when the nature documentary they'd been watching (courtesy of Damian) got interrupted.

"We interrupt this broadcast to tell you some breaking news, and I do mean breaking," the newscaster announced. "Bruce Wayne's child, Y/N Wayne, was kidnapped by crime lord and night club owner Oswald Cobblepot, AKA the Penguin."

"What?!" Dick spluttered. Tim choked on his evening coffee.

"Not only is he claiming that he has had Y/N Wayne in his custody for over fourteen days via kidnapping, he is now refusing to give them back and claims that Y/N will now be his adopted child."

"That can't be right! You don't kidnap someone and claim that they're a part of your family after an inconsequential amount of time has passed! Squatter's rights do not apply to people!" Tim yelled.

"He . . . kidnapped Y/N?" Steph asked the air.

"We now show the video that has made global headlines." The newscaster disappeared as Cobblepot's cackling form took over.

"Hello, Mr Wayne," he cackled. "Noticed any changes in your household? Perhaps a missing child?" The Wayne household could only watch as the Joker, the literal Joker, held your hand as he escorted you into the view of the camera. Your outfit was a smaller, form-fitting version of Cobblepot's three-piece suit, and someone had slicked your hair back and given you an umbrella. You had everything except for the monocle. Not your style.

"They're really come into their own since the . . . surprise adoption," Joker grinned. "They've already become a Cobblepot copy, how cute! Not sure how Riddler's going to take losing the bet."

"What bet?" you asked.

"Riddler and I had a bet that your family would ignore everything regarding a ransom for two weeks straight." Penguin's smile was large and full of sharp teeth. "And I was right. They gave me the go-ahead to keep you with their silence. You're all mine now, Y/N."

"Is this brainwashing? This has to be brainwashing, right?" Dick was talking to himself at a mile a minute just so he wouldn't go completely crazy right then and there.

"I have to give a little credit to you, Wayne, with very little doing on your part, you managed to create a wonderful, sweet, and intelligent child." The video quality was clear, so they could see the smile that stretched across your face when he complimented you. "Originally, all I'd wanted was a small payout (small for you) of three million dollars, but when I learned of your utter carelessness and your child's incredible skills, I decided that an heir would be worth more than what your putrid money could buy me. I'm just telling you this so you can turn their bedroom into a guest bedroom."

"My bedroom was always a guest bedroom," they heard you say. "Nobody ever got around to decorating it, and I was just waiting until I could leave legally."

"Well, you can decorate this bedroom anyway you like," Penguin promised.

"Really, Dad? Thank you, you're the best!" Y/N hugged Penguin tightly. Bile rose in their throats.

Y/N called Penguin Dad.

"You really are sweet," Penguin said. "Now, since your birth father's already rather clueless, I guess we can take you to the courthouse and have you legally named as my child. How does Y/N Cobblepot sound?"

"It sounds amazing!" you cheered. And then the video ended.

"Well, I guess that's that. Bruce Wayne's least-seen child will now be Oswald Cobblepot's pride and joy. We'll update you as soon as we learn more about this hidden Wayne and their new life."

The nature documentary resumed, but nobody was paying attention. "Y/N was . . . taken? And we didn't know?" Tim's voice cracked. He was supposed to know. He was your big brother and trained by Batman, not to mention the information guy. He should have known about this.

"How long will it take before we get to the Iceberg Lounge? We need to get them, save them!" Jason grabbed his stuff. "I'm going."

"No, Jason. This should be a cohesive family effort. Clearly, Y/N is being heavily guarded and Cobblepot will not give them up easily." Bruce motioned for his son to sit down. "We should plan this properly if we want them back."

"How do we even lose track of them?" Stephanie asked. "We really had them get away from us? For two weeks straight?"

"Well, we never see them around here. They hole themselves up in their room," Barbara pointed out. "Wait, where is their room?"

A silence gagged them as they tried to think about where in the manor your room was. Nobody could think of a place where it could be.

"How did we not notice that there were so many ransom demands being sent?" Barbara asked.

"There were letters, but I disposed of them," Damian shamefully admitted. "I thought it was a hoax. How was I supposed to believe that Y/N was genuinely kidnapped? Who would even want them?"

"Penguin does, you little brat, and they're being brainwashed into being his little puppet right now!" Jason screamed.

Damian unsheathed his katana. "It was an honest mistake!"

"If you'd told someone about this, all of it could have been prevented!" Jason screamed. "Y/N was holding hands with the Joker!"

Barbara put herself in the middle of the boys. "Stop fighting! The more we fight, the longer we are kept away from Y/N."

"Barbara's right. We need a plan, lots of them. Plans to get Y/N away from those monsters, and back with their real family." Bruce took charge, as the angry and heartbroken father of a kidnapped child.

"And something to get them to love us and trust us again," Damian said. "We cannot cut corners here. We have to go all out. Y/N needs to be home with their real family." He paused, not wanting them to see him cry. Damian Wayne did not cry. "Even if they don't know what that truly looks like."

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 <- You are here

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, @heather-hutchcroft, @angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger, @omgfangirlland, @jaybunsblog, @iwannaflyaway

[seat-safety-switch]

The news gets all upset about "leftism." All the editorialists are mad about it, because the people who buy them gifts and make them feel important told them to be mad about it. I'm not much of a politics guy, but I do know that I'm right-handed. Even though I benefit from this privilege, I think it's terrible that we discriminate against the sinister-handed folks in this way.

To understand the leftist movement in my country, I joined a commune. These folks have been so oppressed by right-makes-right civilization that they've fled to the desert, where they set up an equitable, people-powered organization dedicated to meeting one anothers' needs. Pretty cool thing, honestly. I wish there was a name for it. Anyway, I asked them how being left-handed was an obstacle in our society, and a bunch of them looked at me with confusion. One guy, though, one guy got me the line I needed for my big piece.

His name was Roderick (not his real name,) and he was a left-handed elevator repairman. This skill is not in great demand at the leftist commune, where there are no elevators and even the hierarchy is flat. Even though he could not ply his trade, he said, life was better here. In the outside world, he was discriminated against, refused work because of his way of life. And it didn't stop there. All of his wrenches had to be bent into funny shapes so he could use them. Tightened nuts backward, I think. I didn't really pay too much attention to that part when he was showing me: his story was amazing, and also his husband brought over some delicious madeleines, the recipe of which I stole and then submitted to the newspaper as my article.

The world will continue to stand in the way of leftist progress, but they must never give up. I myself am travelling to a large city outside my hometown, because I've heard there are centrists there. It must be very hard for them to live with an arm growing right out of the middle of their chests, and my editor really wants a picture of the freakshow.

[glitter-stained]

Thinking about how some modern comics writers (Tom Taylor) write the batfam and why it doesn't sit right (this post centers around the robins because of their training but some of that reflexion would definitely fit for Barbara and Cass as well.)

The thing with writing a team of people with similar training and strength is you can't take the easy route of "well this one is the smart one! And this one is the flexible one! And this one is the strong one!" .... which is obviously reductive to all of their characters. Obviously, they have interpersonal differences; Dick, being raised as an acrobat, is the most flexible, but that doesn't mean that every single one of these little fuckers doesn't like to bend, twist and somersault to dodge bullets like an annoying worm on a string being flung around in the sky. They're Robins. Obviously, Jason is the bulkiest, but that doesn't mean they don't all go through hardcore conditioning -Tim is only considered "frail" when you put him between Bruce and Jason, this guy would bench-press you any day, come on. (And DC editorial can lie to us about the girls' weights and heights and make them at the limit of ed-territory even though they're doing parkour and hardcore martial arts every day but I know the truth, Steph's strong as hell, homegirl's got bazooka-level guns). Obviously Damian was raised in the League and is proficient in a bunch of martial arts, but they all received training from a bunch of different experts, including, for all of them, the same guy (that they are all so normal and chill about.) Obviously, Tim is the one who used detective work to figure out everyone's identity but you're kidding yourself if you think he's the only intelligent/detective one amongst the robins. Being smart and a detective is a defining part of all of their characterization, and so is being a leader and a strategist. And then of course with that kind of simplified characterization we end up with Steph being "the girl robin" and Damian "the assassin one/stabby one" and Duke "the meta one" (yes this post counts Duke as a Robin. They trained him and also just cause I wanted to. I love him.)

And even if we make an effort and try to dissect it "this one is the detective smart one! And this one is the strategist! and this one is smart in a more techy-way! And this one is the leader! And this one- hey what kind of intelligence do we have left..." obviously doesn't work either. Duke was a exhilarating strategist in WaR already, Jason's strategic work in UTH and detective in Lost Days is thrilling, Damian is a fucking child surgeon (do I need to develop how intelligent that kid is), Dick was the first leader of the Titans and is always doing detective work like, that's an inherent part of his character, Duke was a cute-ass baby doing puzzles and planning to defeat the Riddler himself, Steph literally became Spoiler to stop Cluemaster (girl knows to solve riddles that would make Nygma shit his pants), they've almost all lead a team at some point, etc, etc. All of this is great and cool and a character being great doesn't take away from the skills of another character! Stark contrasts cannot possibly be the only interesting team dynamics, especially since they already have their own teams of contrasting skillset and personalities.

Imo, best robin team-up dynamics is them stepping on eachother's toes with their plans, getting into rapid-fire brainstorming sessions where they're all finishing eachother's sentences, reaching a conclusion and saying it out loud at the same time, one of them having a crazy ass plan and suggesting it to the other and the other saying "i like the way you think" to that person who thinks exactly like them, getting mad at eachother for being stubborn while also being a stubborn little shit, pulling complicated acrobatics together, and just thriving solving a good old complicated mystery with other people who are just as competent and enthusiastic about detective work as them but not a carbon copy, with extremely specific strength and weaknesses and quirks (like Dick's ability to recognise heroin by putting it in his mouth, Damian's uncanny voice imitation ability, etc.)

Of course, this doesn't even begin to touch the family drama, but honestly we get so much family drama angst with no real consequence rn, I'd really love just a robin team-up, relatively low-stakes (aka nothing taking over the city, the world, no past traumas unearthed to haunt them or parental abuse or secret cults etc etc.) Just a very elaborate murder mystery and a good excuse for all the robins to be there and a story that works with their similarities and their potential (both comedic and in terms of plot) rather than erasing it. It would be so much fun!

[talekinesis]

I need Stan and Ford to see their mom again

Like let's say she's still alive and in her 80s, she's in a wheelchair (ambulatory, she has customized canes) she still lives in their old home because a part of her hoped Stanford would come back, and she didn't want to leave their home, so he'd know where to go back to.

She wanted to stay put in case Ford came back.

So imagine her shock when both her boys come back home to her

Obviously Stan immediately starts apologizing for faking his death, putting her through grief, her arranging and attending his funeral, but she stops him like "I'd much rather it be fake than real." That's her baby boy, back from the dead, something most people don't get, so to her it's a miracle.

Her Jersey accent is thick, and it actually brings out the twins' accents that had faded over time (Stan's sounds natural to him since he always retained it a little, but everyone finds it funny when Ford's accent comes back because he just doesn't seem like the type to speak like that)

THEY MOVE HER INTO THE SHACK

The boys wanna take care of their mama and keep her around since it's been so long, and Caryn is delighted to be moved out of a loud city with rough memories and into a quiet little town where the people are odd but nice. Ford and Stan both work together to make the Shack accessible for her. Ford actually sat in her wheelchair to test everything and make sure she could get around on her own.

They catch her up on everything, and at first they don't think she'll fully believe them but she's like "Stanford built an international portal and got lost for 30 years? Stanley took his place and turned his home into tourist trap? Yeah, that seems like something my boys would do."

When she learns Stan taught himself engineering to re-build the portal, she's obviously very proud of him. "You were never dumb, Stanley, ya just learned different. Honestly, I always thought ya had A-D-H-D but Pa never wanted ya tested. But look how smart and creative ya turned out, son! I think ya did good." And Stan is definitely not crying.

Personal headcanon: Caryn was also really smart and picked up on things quick. The boys had to have gotten it from somewhere, and it wasn't Filbrick. He just took the credit because 1) he was the worst, and 2) times were different back then and no one would have really taken her seriously. But she's the one who would fix things around the house since she taught herself how to keep the place together and running since Filbrick wouldn't pay anyone to come and repair anything.

Imagine little Stan standing behind her with a flashlight while she fixes the wiring in the wall because an outlet stopped working. Both of the boys helping her while she fixes the car for the third time that week because it keeps breaking down. Mama Pines taught herself how to keep things up and running because no one else would or could.

Caryn meets Mabel and Dipper when they come back in the summer, and Mabel is THRILLED

She's technically met them before but they were still newborns at the time so they don't remember her, and she hadn't gotten a chance to see who they'd become

Mabel makes her a sweater and she wears it with pride. And I really think it would go like that scene from Elemental

Caryn: You made this?

Mabel: Oh, yeah, it's nothing-

Caryn: Nothin? Babygirl, my designer dresses were made by 'nothin.' Oh sweetie, you have got to do somethin' with this skill. And to think, I have an original 'Mabel Pines.'

And don't think I'm leaving Dipper out of this, he gets his great-grandma's attention too. She loves talking to him and listening to him tell stories about the monsters they've encountered in the past. She sees a lot of Ford in him, but she also sees a lot of Stan in him in other ways.

I think Dipper's love for "girly" music is something Stan used to share before Filbrick "disciplined" him for it. Child Stan used to sit in the kitchen with his Ma and sing along to the radio, usually listening to whatever she had put on.

Now all three of them sit in the kitchen and listen to the radio while Stan cooks.

Ford feeling like a failure for putting everyone in danger, and Caryn just goes, "Come talk to your mama." And he does. He goes and talks to his mama, like he always has in the past. She's in her 80s and they're grown men in their late 50s, but she's still their mom, and you never really quit being a mom.

I might actually write a short fic about this, I love it so much.

[alexaloraetheris]

Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.

We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.

But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.

The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?

They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.

And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.

Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.

So what to do with that shitfuck situation?

I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.

You need to learn how to sew.

I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.

Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.

I recommend getting this little guy.

It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.

Here's a tutorial how it operates:

Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.

The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.

You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.

Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.

[bat-boys]

a healer's touch

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: mentions of injury and blood, a small amount of angst, lots of fluff

summary: as a healer you meet many people as part of your profession but when you are asked to heal a certain spymaster you are unprepared for the connection that comes with it.

a/n: hello, I'm new here! I had this in my head so needed to write to down. I hope you enjoy.

It had been a regular, if somewhat busy, morning at the healer's centre in Velaris. There had been a steady queue of people coming in and out to collect medicine, ask about a rash that concerned them or even pop in to express their thanks for healing a family member. You hummed a soft, familiar tune as you mixed herbs to create a salve for one of your regular patients whose old, aching bones continuously bothered them. 

It was days like this that reminded you of why you loved being a healer so much.

"Girl! Come with me. We're needed at the House of Wind." The calmness that had settled over the room was banished as Madja, the head healer, your mentor and distant aunt on your mother's side, bustled into the workroom to grab her box of salves, potions and herbs she kept on hand for moments like this.

"T-the House of Wind?" You squeaked as you set down your mortar and pestle, absentmindedly brushing your suddenly sweaty hands on your apron. 

"Yes," Madja sighed, "I curse the day I gave Rhysand permission to call for me personally anytime any of his friends get themselves into trouble." The words may have been harsh, but there was a warm fondness to her tone, and you knew she fussed over the Inner Circle like they were her own children.

"But me? Are you sure?" You may have been apprenticing under Madja for nearly a century at this point, but she, your peers, and the people of Velaris consider you a skilled healer in your own right. However, this was new and somewhat scary. You had never set foot into the House of Wind and barely interacted with the Inner Circle, whom you revered and respected for the future they were building across Prythian. You knew it was irrational, but you were terrified of attending to them and your healer skills fleeing at the very moment you needed them most. 

Madja stopped fussing and turned towards you, understanding flickering across her features as she took in your hands, wringing nervously in front of you. 

"Y/N, you are my best student, my successor - you are ready for this." Her voice was firm in her conviction, but her smile was soft as she fondly brushed a stray strand of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, "Now come, get your things; I dread to think what they've gotten up to up there!"

The following five minutes passed in a blur as you shucked off your apron, grabbed your bag similar to the one Madja carried and met the two Illyrian lieutenants who bundled you up in their arms and flew you to the House. 

From the entryway alone, you knew the House of Wind was the most beautiful home you had ever stepped foot in. Madja chuckled beside you and didn't give you time to appreciate the room's beauty before she walked ahead of you and gestured for you to follow. Your heart was thumping rapidly in your chest as you swung your head from left to right and walked through the lovely hallways, trying to capture every ornate detail that decorated the walls. You must have been staring wide-eyed because Madja gently bumped her shoulder into yours, reminding you to remain professional. 

It wasn't long before she led you up a series of stairs and stepped outside into the sun's warm rays. For a moment, you let your head tip back slightly, closing your eyes to let the rays dance along your face. Down in the city, you very rarely got to feel the sun on your skin like this. There was always the long shadow of a building to obscure the sun, or you were simply too busy rushing from patient to patient to fully enjoy it. 

You used the moment to centre yourself, reminding yourself of your extensive training and ability and capability to heal almost any wound. You were the head healer-in-training, and you could do this.  You let your eyes adjust to the scene before you as you took in the outside training centre. The floor was covered in what you assumed was red dust, coating the hem of your dress and clinging to the brown leather of your slippers. Racks of weapons lined the walls, a ring was set up in the centre clearly for sparring, and ropes and punch bags were littered across the space, too. You could see that the training session was still ongoing, and you could hear people shouting suggestions to each other over the sound of swords clashing, but your attention snagged on the two males you saw grumbling next to each other. You knew who they were immediately and swallowed thickly as you realised it was them you had been summoned to heal. 

"What trouble have you two found yourself in now?" Madja called as she walked towards the pair of them. 

"It isn't our fault!" The one you immediately recognised as Cassian exclaimed.

"It never is." Madja teased back.

"We saw the guards in the Summer Court using a new training technique, and we decided to try it out…it didn't go well." 

"Evidently not. You tend to Azriel, I'll take this one." Madja sighed, already moving away from you to deal with Cassian. 

You faintly heard Cassian make a witty comment behind you before it was cut off with a hiss as Madja laid a hand on the cut slicing his chest. However, you were distracted as you turned to face the other Illyrian sporting a nasty injury, and made direct eye contact with those beautiful, disconcerting, ice-cold hazel eyes. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you made your way over to him, your heart slamming into your chest.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You cursed yourself for sounding breathless and for the blush that no doubt was creeping up your neck.

"I'm Azriel." His deep baritone voice sent a shiver of delight down your spine and knocked the rest of your breath from you. 

"I know." You smiled at him, and he smiled very faintly back, a soft huff leaving his lips as you set your bag down and reached out your hand to him, "May I take a look?"

Early on in your training, you discovered that if your patient was conscious and capable of answering questions, you would ask consent to touch them and walk them through anything you were about to do. You found this calmed them down and created a sense of trust.

Azriel blinked at the question, not used to someone with such a soft demeanour looking after him. He didn't respond but simply extended his arm towards you. Gently, like he could bolt at any moment, you held his wrist in your hand and slowly tilted his arm to get a look at the gash you could see through his leathers. 

A soft hum escaped your lips as you saw the slash in his leathers and the blood leaking through the cut to his skin. It didn't look too deep but would undoubtedly need healing if he needed to use any of his weapons anytime soon. 

"I'm going to remove your leathers. Is that ok?" You asked, forcing yourself to make eye contact with him again, ready for the way his gaze knocked the breath out of you again. He simply nodded, and you smiled at him before you bent your head back to the task at hand. 

Azriel barely breathed as he watched you unbuckle the strap at his wrists and then push the leathers off his arm. He had never experienced such softness from a healer or anyone before. He allowed himself to look at you, to let his eyes roam over your beautiful face. His eyes snagged on that strand of hair that had fallen from the bun that rested above the nape of your neck, and he had to physically stop himself from reaching out and discovering how soft your hair felt between his scarred fingers. He almost gasped when your fingers finally touched his bare skin, and a jolt of electricity zipped through his body at the contact. 

"Oh, this doesn't look too deep; that's good!" you mumbled as you gently sponged away the blood from around the cut to get a better look at it. "Ok, I'm going to close the cut. You probably know this, but it may tingle." 

The shadowsinger watched as your brows furrowed, and the hand that wasn't clutching his wrist hovered above the cut on his arm. Warmth spread down that cut, turning into a delightful tingle reverberating around his body. He had always hated this moment of being healed, cringing at the way his skin would knit together before him, almost against his will. However, he didn't feel anything as he watched the cut on his arm disappear and marvelled at the almost pleasant way your magic brushed against his. 

"Thank you." Azriel sounded breathless.

"You are most welcome." He watched, unable to move, as your hands slipped from his forearm to gently trace the scars around his hand. Azriel was often jumpy around his hands, hating the way they looked, but he couldn't help marvelling at the way you touched them as if you weren't afraid or sad—merely curious: "Do your hands get stiff at all?"

"Sometimes after a long day of training or when it's cold." You could feel his eyes on you as you continued to examine his hands. You had noticed them when you had first looked at his injury, having heard of them through various whispers and rumours that filtered through Velaris. What you hadn't been prepared for was how beautiful they were. To you, the scars that had been left behind, were a testament to his strength. 

"Hmmm, I thought as much," you said, looking up from his hands to meet his gaze. "I have a salve that will help if you would like it?"

"I would like that very much." His answer was very soft, and it caused the breath to escape your lungs once again. 

"Pop down to the clinic when you're next in the city. I'll have it ready to collect from tomorrow. Or just send word, and I will ask a courier to deliver it to you. I know how busy you are!" You could tell you were rambling now, and from the quirk of his lips, you were also blushing furiously. 

"I'll collect it myself, Y/N, I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble at all." You whispered. 

"Y/N! Can you also check over this Valkyrie once you're done with the spymaster, please?" Madja's voice broke through the peaceful silence you and the spymaster were enjoying—both of you shocked but not displeased by this steady connection you seemed to have. 

"Of course, I'll be right there!" You turned back to Azriel with an apologetic smile, "I'd best go; it was lovely to meet you, Azriel."

He watched as you gathered your supplies, brushing that strand of hair behind your ears, "And you, Y/N. I'll see you in the clinic."

As you walked away to tend to one of the young females who was smiling sheepishly at you, you couldn't help the butterflies that flew about in your stomach at the thought of seeing Azriel again. 

…

You hadn't expected to see him walking through the door to the healer's centre the next day. So when you heard the soft tinkle of the bell above the door and turned around to greet whoever had walked through, your heart leapt into your throat, and your breath left your lungs as you beheld the Illyrian warrior who had wandered into your sanctum. 

"Azriel." You whispered, similar shy smiles falling on both of your lips. 

"I hope this is a good time? I wasn't sure when would be best to pop in."

"Oh no! This is great. I finished your salve an hour ago, so it's ready for you to take home." You grabbed the small bottle you had filled not long ago off the counter and passed it over to him, "Rub this liberally over your hands when they are stiff. You can also use it as a preventative measure on days you know you might need it. Let me know if you need any more and how you get on, and we can adjust some of the ingredients."

"Thank you again, Y/N," You had to hold your body incredibly still to avoid the shiver that wanted to wander down your spine at the sound of your name rolling off Azriel's tongue. 

The pair of you stared at each other as silence once again settled over the room—a comfortable silence, one you didn't feel the need to fill. It was refreshing to feel that with someone, not having to say something to fill an awkward void. It was peaceful, and it surprised you to feel that with someone like Azriel, someone who was feared in every Court across Prythian, whose stories were used by parents to get their children to behave. 

"When do you finish your shift?" He finally asked, breaking that comfortable silence. 

"Oh! I actually finished ten minutes ago - you caught me as I was closing up." 

"In that case, can I get you dinner? To say thank you for the healing yesterday and the salve." Azriel looked almost shy as he shifted on his feet, having to clear his throat a couple of times. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that!" You were sure a vibrant blush was sweeping up your neck, and along your cheeks, at the soft smile the spymaster was giving you. 

"I'd like to." His soft voice made your heart melt, and in that moment, you knew you'd give anything to spend even a second more in his presence. 

"I would like that. I know a restaurant just a few minutes away that I've been meaning to try?"

His lips turned up into a broad smile, "Perfect. Lead the way."

…

If you had told yourself when you had joined the healer's centre all those years ago that it would lead to a friendship with your High Lord's spymaster, you would have laughed till you were hoarse. But that lovely meal you shared with Azriel in that charming restaurant along the Sidra was not the last. 

Azriel had taken it upon himself a couple of times a week to drop by the centre - either just as you were about to take your lunch break or just as you were finishing up for the evening - to take you out for a meal. Together, you had explored almost every cafe, restaurant, and picnic spot on this side of the city, and each time, you had left beaming ear to ear.

He had also taken it upon himself to either call down to the centre or request you come to the House of Wind to personally attend to the injuries he received from training or whilst away on missions. You had started to suspect that he called you even for injuries he could heal himself, and you blushed furiously every time you thought about it but refused to call him out on it, even jokingly. You lived every day for those visits, for those moments between the two of you, the times after the healing when you would sit together and talk, and the easy companionship you found in Azriel. 

Madja and Cassian had caught on to it, and both just smiled knowing looks when you told them you were off to the House of Wind or when you passed them in the hallway. Your frequent visits also meant that you had been introduced to Azriel's family, the Inner Circle of the Night Court. Slowly, over the months, you and Azriel developed your friendship, and you also began to cultivate friendships with the others, particularly Feyre, Rhys, and Cassian. 

Cassian made you laugh with his jokes, Rhys and you bonded over your shared ambition for the future you both so desperately wanted to create, and Feyre had become a dear friend who sometimes winnowed into your small apartment in the city to have girls' nights. 

You couldn't believe your luck at how your life had pivoted in the last couple of months, the happiness you now felt. All thanks to one person.

And one evening, after healing a nasty gash on Az's leg, you sat on the sofa next to him with the rest of his family scattered around you, a glass of wine in your hand and Az's wing hovering behind you to block out the cool breeze coming in through the open window you realised just much you loved him. 

…

"How many times a day do I use it?" the elderly patient in front of you asked again. You gave them a soft smile before reaching for a scrap of paper and pen beside you and scribbling the instructions down for them.

"Twice a day, once when you wake up and then again before you go to bed," you handed the piece of paper over to them, and they offered you a very grateful smile. "If you see no improvements within three days, come back, and we'll try something else."

"Thank you, Y/N, truly thank you." You waved them off with a fond smile as they shuffled out of the centre.

You were just turning to offer a smile and welcome to the next person who stood in line at the large counter in the centre of the room when the main door to the centre burst open, and Cassian stood in the doorway. Immediately, you knew something was wrong. His body was heaving, and he was out of breath as if he had rushed to find you.

"It's Azriel," he thundered. Your blood ran cold, and your heart stopped dead in your chest before starting up at a thunderous pace. Immediately, you allowed your calm healer's mind to take over, silencing the roaring in your ears and the panic clawing up your throat.

"Marta! I need you to take over at the counter. If it's urgent and you can't help, call for Sara. If it's something that can wait, take note of their name and where they live, and I will personally visit them in the next couple of days. Is that ok?" You didn't wait for a reply, throwing the apron off your body and grabbing the box of supplies you always kept by your feet when on counter duty in case you needed to rush off to a patient before diving around the counter towards Cassian. 

He threw an arm over your shoulder in greeting and comfort and to steer you through the crowd to a section of the street that was less occupied so he could fly you both up the House of Wind. 

"How bad is it?" You mumbled as you felt his strong hands cup underneath your knees and around your back, your arms reaching up to loop around his neck. 

"Bad," he grunted as he soared into the air. Being in Cassian's arms as he flew was so different from being in Azriel's. He was warm like the spymaster, but the desire to explore the air with the male wasn't there. The joy you often took in this short journey was missing. 

Cassian landed heavily on the tiled floor of the entryway, back where you had stood all those months ago when you had first been summoned. The House was deathly quiet as you made the familiar walk through hallways you barely acknowledged towards the bedroom Azriel always occupied. 

“Y/N.” Rhys breathed your name as you strolled towards him, and you noticed how Feyre, Mor and Nesta stood around the open door, each looking more nervous than the last. 

"Rhys," you acknowledged your High Lord, someone who had become your friend in the last couple of months, "is he in there?" You asked, his head dipping in a single nod as you slipped past him into the room. 

A sob almost wrenched itself from your throat as your eyes finally landed on Azriel. He was deathly pale, his body sprawled atop the covers of his bed, his wings flared out beneath him. You stared at him for a second, silently willing his chest to rise and fall with breath, and when it did, you almost screamed to whichever God would listen. A part of you couldn't help but acknowledge that he still looked handsome in this state, the proud line of his nose, the sensual curve of his lips - even as blood dripped from the huge wound in his chest and pooled on the bedsheets underneath him. 

"Where is Madja?" Rhys quietly asked as you stepped into the room and dropped your supplies by the side of the bed, your hands shaking as you began to raise them to assess Azriel's condition. 

"Away tending to a terminally ill family member." You tightly replied. 

"Shit." Shit, indeed, you wanted to grumble, but you were also suddenly, unspeakably angry. 

"With all due respect, Rhys, I have been trained personally by Madja for over a century, and I have been tending to this male's wounds personally for the last couple of months. I know his body and how it heals better than I know my own. I will take a look, and if it is beyond my capabilities, we will call for Madja, but I promise you now I will heal him." Everyone froze in the wake of your outburst, but you kept your eyes locked on the High Lord of the Night Court, a male you had grown increasingly fond of as you spent more time with Az and his family. He simply looked at you, a beat of understanding flashing in his eyes before he turned to his mate standing beside him, reaching out to take her hand and smiling softly at her before turning back to you.

"My apologies, Y/N. Please, do what you do best." His words were soft and apologetic, and you simply nodded at him before turning back to the male sprawled on the bed before you. 

Your heart broke to see him in such a state, the man you had grown to love. 

"What do you need?" Feyre softly asked behind you. Suddenly, you were incredibly grateful that Az had friends who cared about him so deeply and honoured that he had introduced you to them, too, and brought you into the lovely warmth of friendship. 

"Two bowls of water—one warm and the other cool—and some rags, please, Fey. I also need someone to help me get him out of his leathers. Can someone close all of the curtains and drapes in this room and get some faelights in here, please?" Immediately, Cassian was in front of you, starting at the buckles on his wrists, ankles, and chest. 

"Why?" Someone asked behind you, you thought it was Mor. 

"His shadows. They'll help heal him, but we need to create the environment in which they thrive best: darkness." Both you and Az had tested the theory over the last couple of months and you had found he was stronger and healed quicker when his shadows were around. It was something you so desperately wanted to study further but didn't want to overstep a boundary. 

Finally, between you and his best friend, you managed to wrangle Azriel out of his leathers, careful not to jostle him too much to not irritate his wound. 

"How bad is it?" Cassian asked, parroting back to you the question you had asked him not ten minutes ago but what felt like hours. You ignored him for a second, taking a look at the hole in Az's chest, punched just above his heart and cutting through those beautiful Illriyan tattoos before reaching your hand out to hover over the wound to get a better feel of it.

"Bad," you mumbled, "but easily enough to heal." A series of sighs cut through the tension in the room as every member of the Inner Circle let out a breath they had all been collectively holding. "He was stabbed from the front with a blade tipped with an ash arrow, I believe. He pulled the blade from his body, but it has left some splinters behind, draining his powers and stopping him from healing. Infection has set in so I think this happened a couple of days ago, he must have gained enough strength to winnow back here before passing out."

"Do what you need to, Y/N." Rhys's voice was soft but had the undercurrent of a High Lord's command—heal my friend, he commanded. You nodded once before rolling up your sleeves and turning back to Azriel.

For hours, you worked at healing Az, praying to the Mother throughout it all that he would pull through - if only so you could tell him how much you loved him.

…

There was nothing gentle about the way Azriel surfaced to consciousness. One moment he was swimming in darkness, and the next, his eyes shot open, and he sucked in a huge faltering breath. After years of meticulous training, his senses immediately began to take in his surroundings, and his brain was already calculating his escape route. It was only when he took in the soft bed beneath him, the familiar decorations in the room, and the female sat curled up in a chair beside him that he could recognise that he was home. That he was safe.

Safe.

He felt the twinge in his chest. He knew the moment he moved, a biting pain would radiate throughout his body, so for the moment, he just lay there. His eyes stayed focused on you, on the way you had clearly pushed a chair as close as you could to his bedside. Your hair piled up in a messy bun on the top of your head—tendrils escaping and framing your beautiful face—and a damp rag hung limply from your hand.

His shadows flitted around him, whispering your name to him in a fond way he had never heard them speak of another before. They told him how you had rushed to his side, commanded the room, and stood up for yourself and your capabilities. How you had spent hours upon hours pulling splinters out of the wound and then encouraging his skin to knit together, to heal. How you had nearly spent your entire magic to save him and had then stayed and made sure he battled the infection, sponging cool water onto his skin, talking to him as if he was conscious. 

“Y/N.” He whispered, his voice hoarse from misuse and lack of water. Immediately, your eyelashes fluttered and opened, scanning the room before landing on his awake form. Now that your beautiful eyes were open, he could see the smudge of purple underneath each one, and a pang vibrated through his chest at the thought of this incredible female staying by his side even when you were exhausted. 

"Az." You whispered back, tears begin to shimmer in your eyes as you took in the shadowsinger finally awake. Still pale and far from healed entirely, but awake. 

He winced slightly as he reached out and hesitated somewhat before gently cupping your jaw, stroking his thumb along your cheek and catching the tears slipping free.

"Thank you." You knew his shadows had whispered to him that you had almost depleted yourself for him and risked yourself to heal him. 

"You scared me." His face crumpled at your words as he saw in your eyes the terror you went through for those hours you weren't sure he would make it through. Guilt ate at him for not spotting the trap that had been laid for him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was ambushed." He continued to brush his thumb over your skin, and you let the feeling ground you and reassure you that he was here and alive.

"I don't need to know," he heard what you were saying, that you didn't want to know, "do you want to sit up?" 

"Yes, please." You moved swiftly and efficiently, having done this for so many patients before Az. You gently scooped under his arms and lifted his weight so he could move to a sitting position. He winced as the movement tugged on his newly stitched-together skin, but with your expert handling, he wasn't in too much pain. "How long was I out for?"

"A day and a half."

"Shit. I need to debrief with Rhys." He made to sit up further, to swing his legs over the side of his bed, but your hand was instantly there on his shoulder - softly but firmly pushing back. 

"Later. Once you've had some water and food, and I've had a chance to assess your wound again."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirked and gently took the hand that was on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and running his thumb comfortingly over your knuckles. 

Another soft silence settled over you both, and Azriel found himself glancing down at your connected hands, "That day we met was the first time someone had dared to look closely at my hands. It was also the first time I saw someone examine them and not flinch."

"Your hands are beautiful, Az." Your voice was soft, still shaky from crying. 

"You don't need to say that Y/N." 

"No, I'm serious," you frowned, "your hands are beautiful, and they are strong - just like you." You both watched as you trailed your fingers across the back of his hands, tracing the lines of scar tissue. "I was so scared when Cassian burst into the centre, but that didn't match the terror when I saw you unconscious, and I didn't know if I would get a chance to tell you how much you mean to me." He could hear the emotion building in your voice again. 

"Come here, sweetheart." His face was soft as he held his arm out and motioned for you to come closer. A sob lodged itself from your throat as you shifted, taking care of his wings and injury, to slip onto the bed and move into the warm space of Azriel's body. Immediately, you curled into his side, carefully slipping a hand around his waist to hold him closer. Az curled his arm around you, and the feeling of being in his arms, being held by him, had your heart soaring in your chest. 

"Did it snap in place for you?" he asked softly, and you knew what he was asking—he was tugging at that soft thread that now sat between you. 

"When I saw you lying there unconscious. You?" That moment when your eyes had landed on Azriel on his bed, true terror had speared through you as that bond had snapped into place, and you had realised it was your mate lying there in the space between life and death. 

"That first day, when you held my hands so gently and offered me that salve." His voice held so much emotion, and you felt warmth trickle down that thread and disperse throughout your body as you both acknowledged the bond. 

"Az." He closed his eyes at the sound of his name on your tongue, and he could never get tired of hearing the way you said it as you propped yourself up to look at him. 

"We can talk about it later, about what you want to do and how we move forward. You don't have to make any decisions now." His hand stroked the skin on your exposed arm, the other finally brushing that strand of hair out of your eyes. A frown fell on your face at his words.

"I hope you are talking about how we accept the mating bond and not whether I want to accept it in the first place. I am honoured to be your mate, Azriel, and to get the chance to love you for the rest of our lives." He was sure he had stopped breathing, convinced he was still dreaming. That you would be willing to spend the rest of your life with him, to love him the way he loved you so fiercely. 

"Are you sure?" His voice sounded small, and you couldn't help the smile that danced on your lips. 

"I have never been more sure of something in my life, Az. You deserve this type of love. Let me give it to you." You whispered as you closed the space between you two. Your eyes scanned his face, ready to pull away if he gave the signal that he wasn't ready. But as his breath fanned your lips, your eyes locked, and the hand that had brushed your hair aside cupped your jaw firmly in his large palm, as he surged forward to capture your lips in his. 

Immediately, fireworks erupted behind your eyes at the delicious feeling of his lips moving against yours, wave after wave of pleasure rolling down your spine as you tilted your head back to give him more access. A soft moan slipped past your lips when Azriel gently nibbled on your bottom lip, causing a gasp, which he swallowed expertly with his mouth. You felt Azriel's hand slip from your jaw to cup the back of your neck, holding you firmly as the kiss transformed from something sweet into something else, something more wonton, something close to fire. 

Far too quickly for your liking, Azriel pulled away, gasping for air. Your eyes fluttered open as he rested his forehead against yours, a soft grin dancing on both of your lips as you made eye contact and saw the emotion swimming in both of your eyes. Azriel watched, entranced, as he swiped his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. Your eyelids fluttered as a soft moan escaped again between your lips; Azriel wondered if that was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.  

"My mate. I have waited for over five hundred years for you." He whispered into the heated air between you. 

"I hope I was worth the wait." You joked. Azriel couldn't help but close the space again at your words to press his lips to yours again in a soft kiss this time.

"You definitely are." Your toes curled at his tone, and as his lips still brushed against yours as he spoke. 

"The healer and the spymaster… there's a story there, I think." You grinned as you brushed his hair back off his forehead, wanting to take in every inch of emotion that he was freely displaying on his face. 

"And we will write it together," he promised, and you couldn't help the matching grins on your faces as you leant forward again to join your lips together in another spectacular kiss—knowing that for the rest of your very long life, you would never get tired of kissing Azriel, your mate. 

[ozzgin]

Yandere School Q&A

I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.

Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous

It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.

The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.

YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil

The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."

If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous

This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.

I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous

You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.

The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.

Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."

ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous

This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.

Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.

[yanderecrazysie]

For the reader rejecting her soulmate by hiding the fact that they're soulmates drabble, can we get that with Gojo Satoru?

Coming from clan of sorcerers and being one of the most promising heirs, reader was hoping that her soulmate was just a regular human being so that she could have a reason to abandon the Jujutsu world and live a normal life. But unfortunately for her, her wishes were granted backwards. So backwards that she got someone from a prominent clan who also happened to be the strongest sorcerer known to man. Not wanting to deal what fate has given her, she hid her true mark made up a fake one and informed her clan she's leaving to keep her "soulmate" safe. They were disappointed but accepted none the less, and just like that she left for a normal life.

Despite thinking she avoided fate, what she doesn't know is that a simple faking of a mark does not sever a soulmates' connection. Especially when fate has forcibly involved her with someone like Gojo.

I love this and I love you for coming up with it. NGL I was influenced by the amazing @envy-of-the-apple and the INCREDIBLE Gojo fics they've made. Don't get your hopes up for this story, it's not nearly as good as theirs LOL

Title: I Don’t Want Love

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, swearing, violence, implied murder

“If I leave before you

And I walk out alone

Keep your hands to yourself

When you follow me home

I don't want love

I don't want love”

-From “I Don’t Want Love” by The Antlers

You would turn eighteen at exactly 1 am, on the dot. You had set up a mirror on your bed, aimed straight at your upper arms. 

12 seconds to go…

You wondered which arm it would appear on. That isn’t what really mattered, of course.

7 seconds…

You wondered if you could tell if the person was average or ordinary by just the symbol alone.

3…

2…

1…

The silence in your room suffocated you. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

It looked like a hand with the index and middle finger twisted together. You knew that symbol. You’d seen it every damn day.

Gojo Satoru. Your soulmate was Gojo Satoru.

The weight of your fate crushed you. This was even worse than the outcome you had feared the most. You had prayed for an ordinary person, someone who could whisk you away from this world of curses and responsibilities. You just wanted someone who could offer you the normal life you so desperately craved.

Instead, fate had bound you to the most powerful sorcerer alive, a man whose very existence was a magnet for danger and chaos. A man who would never, ever live an ordinary life.

“No fucking way…” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head frantically as though you could just simply deny what was seared into your right shoulder. You couldn’t accept this. You wouldn’t accept this.

You knew what you had to do. Your clan was skilled in concealment techniques and, with a bit of effort, you covered the mark on your right shoulder, and created a false mark on your left. It was a simple sun, unremarkable in every way. The perfect lie you could craft to fool your family, the world, and maybe even yourself.

The symbol could belong to anyone. Anyone but Gojo Satoru, who had been showing off his mark since his 18th birthday last year.

When the next morning came, your parents’ faces fell at the sight of the ordinary sun on your left shoulder.

“Oh, I was hoping you’d get a powerful sorcerer,” your mother had never sounded more disappointed, “Someone like that nice Satoru boy.” You hid a wince.

Your father crossed his arms, “Are you sure you want to leave our world behind for some ordinary man?”

You shrugged, acting like the decision was out of your hands. “I can’t drag an ordinary person who can’t even see curses into our world,” you replied.

Your parents agreed and, without much more resistance, you headed out to a world where everyone was oblivious to the existence of curses. 

A world you had always wanted to be a part of.

—-----------------------------------------------------

1 am on the dot for Gojo Satoru was like waking up in a bath filled with ice cubes. He shot out of his bed, panting and ready to fight whatever curse had found its way into his room. Then, he felt a warmth spreading over his soulmate’s mark and he relaxed, a smile playing across his face.

His soulmate had reached her 18th birthday!

Gojo’s smile widened as he pulled up his sleeve and studied the mark on his arm, the intertwined fingers that must match yours. For months, he had anticipated this moment- the day his soulmate would finally know of their connection!

Then, a strange, muted feeling. As if all of the warmth had been sucked out of him and his senses had been dulled. His smile sank into a frown.

His soulmate was attempting to hide their bond.

He was no stranger to concealment techniques- he was a sorcerer of unparalleled strength. But why would his beloved soulmate try to hide her mark?

It bothered him, but also piqued his curiosity. You must know who he was (everyone did), so why were you trying to hide from him?

Gojo’s frown deepened as the muted sensations got stronger. His soulmate was actively hiding from him. He couldn’t help but wonder, irritation spiking, why you would go to such lengths.

This wasn’t some simple concealment- you were rejecting the bond itself. And how dare you? He was the strongest sorcerer alive, you should be goddamned proud to be his soulmate!

He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He’d wait until the morning and find out whose birthday it was. Then, he’d approach you and figure out what you were playing at.

—------------------------------------------------------

One month had passed since your birthday, and you had already gotten yourself a job as a receptionist at a law firm. Your parents’ money would buy you an apartment for a few months, but you’d be expected to take care of yourself after that.

One of the lawyers, a tall, handsome man named Akira, was always stopping by your desk, flirting casually with you. You encouraged it full-heartedly. He was handsome, kind, intelligent and best of all…

He was normal.

Akira smiled as he stopped by your desk for the third time that day, “So, I was wondering-”

Briiiiing

“Sorry, hold that thought,” you winked up at him, picking up the desk phone, “Thank you for calling Hashimoto Law Firm, my name is (Y/n), how may I assist you today?”

There was no response, except for heavy breathing. Unnerved, you tried again, “Thank you for calling, how may I assist you?”

More heavy breathing followed and you gave it one last shot, “If you are speaking, I’m unable to hear you. Please call back again if you are in need of our services.”

You hung up, heart pounding for a reason you couldn’t place. Your right shoulder began to burn and your heart just about stopped altogether.

“What’s the matter?” Akira asked, concern in his voice.

You straightened up, avoiding his gaze, “Just a prank call.”

Akira took the answer with a nod, still looking concerned for you, “Don’t take prank calls too seriously. It’s usually just a kid on the other line.”

You swallowed thickly- you had a feeling you knew exactly who was on the other line.

Akira looked up at the clock, “Ah, it’s time to clock out for the day.” You followed his gaze and your stomach twisted unpleasantly.

“Will you walk me home?” you blurted out.

Akira’s eyebrow raised, “Did that prank call spook you that badly?”

“I’m worried it may be my ex,” you lied, “And if he knows where I work, he could be waiting outside for me.”

Akira smiled and offered you his hand, “No ex-boyfriend will get anywhere near you if I have anything to do with it.”

You smiled back.

The walk to your apartment had your heart pounding in your chest and your hands shaking. Akira’s larger, warmer hand slipped into yours and you squeezed it for reassurance.

You were nearly to your apartment complex when Akira whispered, “Someone’s following us.”

You realized there were not two but three pairs of footsteps walking down this street. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was- the burning on your right shoulder told you all you needed to know.

“You keep going, I’ll tell him off,” Akira said.

You wanted to tell him to stay with you, to not risk his life over you. You wanted to tell him that the person he was going to face was infinitely stronger than him.

But you were selfish.

As soon as Akira turned around, you broke into a run. You heard the man make a confused sound, as though he had tried to punch air (or, more likely, infinity) and then a bloodcurdling scream cut off by the pained, guttural noise of someone being punched so hard that their organs were being ruptured.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, maybe that was your imagination running wild, but you didn’t turn around to see if you were right. Each time you heard that fleshy sound of a fist caving in someone’s chest, you just ran faster.

As soon as you had reached your apartment, you bolted the apartment door shut, grabbed your suitcase, and began stuffing things inside with trembling hands. 

Akira was most likely dead and all you could think about was how you had to change jobs and move right away. Were you heartless?

Maybe. But your soulmate mark wasn’t burning anymore and that was all that mattered.

—----------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you arrived at the law firm, ready to quit. You walked inside and found your boss already waiting for you. “Have you seen Akira? He was meant to be here an hour ago?”

“I haven’t,” you murmured, “Look, I have to quit-”

The door opened behind you and you spun around, hoping it was Akira, safe and sound. Instead, you were met with the sight you wanted to see least.

A tall man with white hair and a blindfold around his eyes. Gojo Satoru in the flesh.

“Oh, Mr. Gojo! Yes, you must be! Ah, why don’t you take that thing off your face?” your boss was quick to welcome the man, “Take a seat, (Y/n), you can take notes for us since Akira’s slept in.”

You remained standing, frozen in place as Gojo walked by you. Your soulmate was scalding hot, burning your skin so hotly that you let out a small hiss of pain.

“I’ll keep this on, if you don’t mind,” Gojo said, his voice carefree, “Now, about what we talked about yesterday…”

You began to inch towards the door.

“(Y/n), please take notes,” your boss said sternly. You jumped at the sharp tone of voice and found yourself helplessly obeying.

I need to quit. I need to leave!

Your thoughts didn’t match your actions. All you could do was hope that Gojo didn’t feel anything on his soulmate mark.

“So, Mr. Gojo, I understand you wanted to start a legal case about securing your soulmate?” your boss asked.

All of the blood drained from your face.

“Yes,” you couldn’t see Gojo’s stunning blue eyes but you knew they were looking directly at you, “You see, she’s a shy one. But, legally, I own her since she’s my soulmate. And she owns me, of course, too, but she’s not the one filing for an arranged marriage here.”

The two men shared a laugh as you began to feel faint. Unsteadily, you wobbled for a moment, before you collapsed to the floor.

“(Y/n)?” your boss stood up, surprised, “Should I call for medical attention?”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Gojo said, reaching out for you with a vicious grin.

“You see, I know just what she needs.”

[corviiids]

ficlet about how crow learns no healing skills but does know samerecarm (resurrect with full health)

warnings: blood, major character death but he gets better

--

Stupid, coming out here alone. No---that isn't the stupid part. Goro's been out here alone time and time again, he's been doing it for years. If anything, with Joker, he's got less to worry about than ever. That's the stupid part. They'd got cocky. Over the sound of their own laughter bouncing off the walls, both of them had missed the chains.

Joker's breathing is laboured. He's slumped into Crow's side. The next safe floor is three levels down, the previous is six up. Won't make it. Crow digs through Joker's pockets again. No Goho-Ms, no healing, just trinkets and dust. Joker's head lolls as Crow's hands rifle through his coat and trousers, body limp in Crow's arms. He's awake, though no better for it. The shelter they've found is tenuous. The Shadows are going to start respawning soon, and Crow's never going to get him out this way.

"Joker," he says. He snaps his fingers in front of Ren's face. Ren blinks. For half a moment, his eyes track Goro's hand. "Hey."

"Mm," Ren mumbles. Blood crawls sluggish and thick from a wound on the side of his head. He'll bleed out if this goes on much longer.

The way it is, that might be a mercy.

Crow can still fight, but not for two. Can still run but not with dead weight on his back. Goro snaps his fingers again. "Joker," he says more sharply. "Hey. I can't heal you. Do you understand? I haven't got any healing skills."

"Mm." Ren's eyes are starting to drift again.

"Hey." A slow death, bleeding out. Goro smacks the side of Ren's cheek, not hard, just enough to get his eyes to snap back again. Joker's mask lies discarded beside Goro's twisted knee, but there's nothing left in him to call Arsene. "I can't heal you. I've only got Samerecarm. Do you understand?"

It takes this Joker--the one who's slowly dying in Crow's arms--a little longer to understand than it would the one whose lifeblood isn't staining Crow's suit. Comprehension doesn't so much dawn as it does creep tentatively into Ren's dull eyes. He nods.

"Do you understand?" Goro asks again. Something in him suddenly needs desperately to be sure, to know Ren is sure. "If I do nothing, it'll be a moot point before long. I can't do it nice. Won't be quick. The gun's too loud and I can't waste Loki. But I'll do it quicker. That much I can promise." The pool of Ren's blood in his lap. "You get it, don't you, Joker?"

Another nod. The light is leaving Ren's eyes, but the hardness comes back. Red gloves tighten on Crow's sleeve, leaving dark smeared fingerprints.

The saber is too flashy. Crow's fingers slip into Joker's belt again, this time emerging with his dagger.

Goro pauses.

"Do you trust me?" he asks before he can think about it.

A third nod.

Crow grits his teeth.

Joker gasps as the blade plunges into his chest. His whole body seizes up. Blood pours from between his ribs, faster, more liquid than the steady ooze in his temple. Ren shakes in Goro's arms, soft noises choking out from his throat. It's not short, it's not painless. But he does slump, eventually. In less time than it would have taken his wounds unassisted. A thin line of blood creeps from the corner of his mouth; a little more bubbles and paints his lips.

Goro swallows. Letting Joker's body fall to the ground, he pulls off his mask and calls Robin Hood.

[girl-mercury]

I use a trick in my art that I don’t see people talk about often: erasable pens!

Most people seem to use pencil to make their guide lines, and then go over what they want to keep in ink or paint. I’m a watercolor painter, though, and if you go over pencil with watercolor paint, it seals it in.

If your pencil drawing is good, that works out fine, but my drawings are not. I don’t draw freehand, so I’m usually tracing a reference image. In addition to my lines, I mark out where my shading and highlights are going to be, which is all very helpful when painting, but I don't intend on keeping it in the final image.

This is where my Pilot FriXion pens come in.

They're "erasable" pens. They've got a rubbery bit on the end of them, you rub that on your pen lines, and they erase. But how it actually works is using the heat from the friction to somehow turn the ink invisible... which means you can skip rubbing the eraser on it, and just use heat directly, such as from a heat gun that a lot of crafters have (or just a hair dryer will do the trick too.)

As you can see in the video, I drew out some shapes, and then painted them with watercolor paint, using the lines to put my paint where I wanted it. Then I point the heat gun at my paper, and you can watch the lines vanish, leaving just the paint behind.

What this looks like in my process is this. As you can see, I've outlined all the lines of my subject's face, but I've also got areas that I filled in to indicate where I would need to shade more heavily, like along her jaw, on her neck, and in the inner corner of her eye; I also created directional lines for a crisscrossing pattern on her bonnet.

In the final version, once I was satisfied with all my painting, and I had gone over the lines I specifically wanted to keep in a permanent pen, I pointed the heat gun at it and watched the lines disappear. Now only the shade remains, and the pattern on the bonnet isn't as harsh; I've also used the pen to let me paint a plaid pattern on her cape.

If you look closely, you will see the shadow of lines within the shaded parts. Sometimes, the indentation of the pen tip on the paper will cause a slight relief drawing situation even after the ink disappears. You just have to remember to draw lightly.

I found the pens at Target for not too much money in the 0.5 size, and I just got some 0.38 finer line pens since I need to do more detailed work on my current piece.

Anyway these are SO easy to use, and I really enjoy being able to do art at the skill level I'm at, and doing it like this allows me to. Have fun with art!