we really devolved as a society when we stopped using fully painted pictures on romance novels and started using cheap photoshop instead
case in point
this is a Hell of a downgrade
worst crime capitalism ever committed was eliminating Horny Oil Painter as a viable career option.
No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS
Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Shepard, Anderson; referenced Shepard/Vega
Warning(s): blood, character death
Summary: A father-daughter moment after they open the arms of the Citadel. [part of Alder]
cross-posted to ao3 [eventually]
There was a soft grunt of pain behind her. Harper turned. Anderson slid his way backwards along the floor until he could prop up against a raised portion of the floor. Shepard walked toward him, her footsteps soft and uneven as she tried to stay upright. It felt like the weight of the galaxy was still bearing down on her. She sank to the floor beside him, reaching out to grasp his hand, and the sheer relief at the sight before her eyes didn’t fade.
She let out a breath that was probably supposed to be a laugh. It sounded too much like a disbelieving sigh, and so she moved past it. “We did it.”
“Yes, we did.” His fingers twitched. “It’s… quite a view.”
Hell, it was quite a view. Shepard looked out from the Citadel at Earth, brilliant blue undiminished by the bits of wreckage that floated past. She fought past the pain in her chest to speak. “Best seats in the house.”
For a moment, Anderson was quiet. Then, “You ever wonder how thing would have been different… how our lives would have been different if this… hadn’t happened?”
“Sure.” And she had. She wondered what it would have been like to be a Spectre in a time of true peace. How it would have been to train one candidate after another for the special tactics. What it would have been like to meet the people as close to her as her own family without the threat of the reapers always looming.
Anderson exhaled, and it echoed through the chamber and her thoughts. “I had a family, Shepard.” She held his hand just a little tighter. “I wasn’t there for you.”
“There’ll be time enough for that now,” she protested. And there would be. They’d won. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet; she still felt like there was Something looming. She ignored it. He had all the time in the galaxy for her with the reapers gone.
He chuckled. “You’re all grown up now. I… I think that ship has sailed.” Before she could argue, he continued. “What about you, Shepard? Ever think about settling down?”
She… hadn’t, and that worried her. But she could imagine it now: coming home from a long day at C-Sec. James home on leave. The smell of poblanos in the oven. A daughter in his arms, hair tumbling from hasty pigtails. A son giggling beside them on the couch, with a warm laugh just like his dad’s. A dog, old and lazy and content to sleep by the door. Maybe they’d name her Lola. She wanted it so suddenly and so fiercely that she could feel the tears pricking at her eyes.
“Yeah, I think I like the sound of that.” Funny, that a woman trusted with the lives of everyone in the galaxy would feel a nervous worry about ones that didn’t even exist yet. Yet got her stomach doing all sorts of flip-flops. “Not sure I’d be any good at it, though.”
“Sure you would.” He sounded almost indignant that that was where she would doubt herself.
She swallowed. “I’m a soldier, Anderson.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke. If she doubted herself, he had to doubt himself. “Like you.”
He shifted their hands just enough that he could grip her fingers back. “I don’t know, Shepard,” and they might be bleeding out, stranded on an alien station, waiting for a war to end, but he still sounded like that perfect balance between teasing and sincere that was her dad. “I think you’d make a great mother.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t know that for sure, not yet, but she could certainly try.
“Think how proud your kids would be,” he suggested. Harper wondered if he knew how proud she was of him. He wasn’t done, though. “Telling everyone their… their mom is Spectre Shepard.”
She wouldn’t cry. They were alive and the arms of the Citadel were opening. Her dad was here, with her, in their triumph. But, even still, “I don’t know about that. Not everything I’ve done is something to be proud of.”
“Nobody does everything perfectly, Harper.” He chuckled and she tried not to think about how wet it sounded. “You always were your own biggest critic. Sometimes you’ve got to sit down and just… let people remind you that you are incredible.” He exhaled again, a long slow breath too tired to be just a sigh. “God… it feels like years since I just sat down.”
His fingers were losing the strength of their grip. Shepard just held them a little tighter. “I think you earned a rest.” He muffled a groan, but not well enough. “Stay with me,” she ordered. It wasn’t quite begging. Her eyes burned and she focused on the window. “We’re almost through this.”
“You did good, child,” he said instead of trying to breathe. “You did good.” His fingers felt limp, lifeless. Shepard held back a sob. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir.” He was proud of her. He was proud of her. It took her a moment after it sank in to realize that the chamber was too quiet. He wasn’t breathing. “Anderson?” She looked over at him, letting her eyes confirm what she already knew. “Dad?” Her voice was quiet, quieter than it had been in what felt like years. She glanced down at her hand clutching her side, blood slowly leaking from around it, to the one still tangled in his.
They were so close to both making it through. She’d wanted him to meet his grandchildren.
She was so goddamn tired. Harper let her eyes close, let go of her dad’s hand. Somehow, she doubted she was going to make it out of this one. “Sorry, mi corazón,” she murmured. For a long moment, she let herself mourn the life she could have had with him. She exhaled, and her strength left her body with her breath. “I think I need a rest.” Time slowed to a crawl. She felt heavy. She felt weightless. She breathed, and thought of nothing.
No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD…
Migraine | Concussion | Blindness
Character(s): Kakashi, Sakura, Naruto
Warning(s): dismemberment ment
Summary: Kakashi knows that power comes with a price.
The kamui fades, their enemy’s legs ripped off by the jutsu. Kakashi feels a sharp pain, like something piercing his eye. He puts a hand up and presses it to his face instinctively. His breath hisses in through his teeth.
Sakura spins his direction, hands already alight with medical chakra. Naruto freezes, his fist still thrown in the air in celebration. “Sensei?”
“Move your hand,” Sakura says, holding her own up to his eye. At the gentle wash of her chakra, the pain subsides back down to a semi-normal level. She keeps her hand by his eye for a few more seconds. With his sharingan, he can see the minute crease of her lips into a frown, the slight purpling under her eyes from lack of sleep, the furrow of her brow as she scans him. “Your pain, when you use the mangekyou… it’s been getting worse, hasn’t it?”
Behind her, Naruto’s lowered his arm and is standing nearby, pretending to keep an eye on their quarry while eavesdropping on them. Kakashi smiles. “Ah, Sakura, it’s not-”
“Don’t lie to me, sensei.”
Kakashi sighs. “… it is.”
This is your reminder that the man described in the prophecy as “The Lover” was completely alone for twelve years. No partner, no family, no friends, chased by someone he’d trusted, hated by people he loved.
hey quick question op
what the fuck
OP here with the fuck that I’m whating:
Barry Fucking Bluejeans is frequently reduced to a denim meme and a mulleted joke. But this man went through a truly miserable dozen years in which he literally couldn’t break down or he’d risk ceasing to exist. But despite everything, despite being thrown into the role of the villain, despite not knowing if he’d ever see any of them again much less the woman he’d loved for 100 years, he worked constantly despite so many setbacks and was instrumental in saving his family and the fucking whole of existence. So like.. the fuck that I’m whating is: fucking recognize and respect Barry Bluejeans, the man is more than a silly name.
In this house we love and respect Barry Bluejeans
Thinkin about how as kids parents told us to clean our rooms without having ever shown us how to themselves, taught us any organizational skills, spatial management, or any other knowledge necessary to know how to efficiently tackle a mess without getting overwhelmed and then got exasperated when we as ten year olds didn’t just……figure it out
This is not a dunk on my parents for the record. I had wonderful parents growing up and still have an amazing mom. I think this is just one of those smaller and common things of parenthood that I think addressing would be monumental in reducing a very common household stressor. If parents led their children in cleanups and helped them reason out plans to manage their time and stuff, especially neurodivergent kids, the entire household would be a lot more calm, streamlined, and overall happy I think!!!
I’ve got one 7 year old perfectionist (possible ADHD) and one sweet 5 year old hurricane (DEFINITE ADHD) and me (also brain full of cats, despises prolonged supervisory things). Here’s some things I’ve learned specific to that that are also generally good for teaching kids to clean. (Or yourself.)
1. If you want a kid to clean, first you have to teach them to even see mess. They don’t! But it does stress them out.
“Okay, let’s look for something out of its place. If it’s on the floor, it’s out of place. If it’s on your bed and it’s not a blanket, it’s out of place.”
2. Go by category, it’s easier to find stuff to put away if your search engine has a specific target, and it’s more satisfying and efficient to put away a big chunk of mess at once.
“Got something? Ok, are there other things like it? Let’s find all the BOOKS. I will HELP YOU.”
3. Important!! Don’t walk away from a kid with focus issues expecting them to instantly learn a task and finish it! You are setting them up to fail! The first several times you need to be there for the whole process and demonstrate by helping. That motivates them. They feel less panic that you’ll bail and they’ll be stuck alone not knowing what to do next. Narrate what you’re doing, too. Help and supervise less as they seem to need you less.
“I’ll get the books on the floor, can you help me get the ones under your bed? I can’t fit!”
4. In my experience most kids, but especially kids with ADHD would walk to the fucking moon to help you, they just need a clear plan, keep the criticism light, short, and to the point, and ffs PRAISE THEM when they do things right, cause we’ve all (I hope) seen the statistics on how much more negative interaction they get compared to other kids (and rejection sensitive dysphoria is a motherfucker). But more than praise you need to show them how what they did was good for THEM. Do nooooooooot take this opportunity for an ‘I told you so’ or a ‘finally’ or you will suck out all their accomplishment.
“Hey, great job, you found that horse you were missing because you cleaned! And your room looks so nice! It’s really comfortable to play in now, and you did that.”
5. Emphasize it does not have to be perfect or complete to be worth doing. I don’t want to will my kids my paralysis of inaction because I can’t start part of something unless I can do all of it.
“We don’t have time to do the whole room, but let’s pick up the legos before bed so you don’t hurt your feet. And then it’ll already be done tomorrow!”
Other small but important things: make sure everyone is fed and not cranky when you start, including you. Do what YOU need to be in the right patient headspace for this. Put on music. Get coffee. Take breaks! Take dance breaks, tickle breaks, whatever. Make em short, set a timer, keep it consistent. Stop completely if they’re getting overwhelmed or stressed and be prepared to finish another day. They may complain and flop around a lot the first few times. Stay tooth grindingly positive and keep at it, it WILL get better. If you mess up, start again. It’s ok. It’s never too late.
I’m an adult with ADHD who finds cleaning their room a STRUGGLE, so I APPRECIATE THE HELL OUT OF THIS