#Bowel Management Systems

[bebsi-cola]

happy disability pride to people with feeding and swallowing conditions that affect their ability to eat orally! whether they need a modified diet to swallow food properly, like thick water, need a liquid only diet, or if they use non-oral feeding to get their nutrition!

there's a lot of types of non oral feeding tubes. nasogastric (NG) are typically short term use used where it is inserted in the nose (naso) and goes down to the stomach (gastric). there's OG tubes (orogastric) which is similar except that it's inserted in the mouth (oro). there's long term/permanently feeding tubes like G tubes (gastric) which bypass the mouth entirely and are placed directly into the stomach through a stoma (an incision in the abdomen)! and J tubes (jejunum) which are similar except they are placed into the middle of the small intestine. you get G-J tubes that go to both places. some tubes are thinner (J) and there's different ways the stoma can present. some stomas end flat against the abdomen and can be opened and closed, and connect to an extension for feeds (should be changed every 3-6 months). longer tubes can extend out of the stomach (should be changed every 12 months). there's also gravity feed bags, pump feeding, and syringe feeding to utilize the tube. some people get all their nutrition from enteral feeding (from outside directly to the stomach) and some people get part of their nutrition from enteral feeding and part from oral feeding. there's a lot of variation

there's a lot of reasons to use feeding tubes. to deliver nutrition, medication, hydration. or to remove undigested food or decompressing the stomach. there's pros and cons to different types of non oral feeding and adjusted feeding methods. a lot of conditions might cause people to need these! such as chron's disease, colitis, paralysis, bowel obstructions, head neck or gastrointestinal cancers, stroke, intestinal failure and more. chron's disease is something my sister has and it's something that can be fatal. one of the things that happen is that the way intestines squeeze to push out digested food is impaired, and it might be pushed back upwards into the body instead of outwards. this can be incredibly dangerous for the body.

people are often somewhat squeamish about food and digestion. they don't like to think about gastrointestinal issues because of the social stigma around excrement. but you know. everyone poops. it's an indicator of our health even if we have no GI issues. it's incredibly important to receive nutrition, and manage our digestive system. people also tend to be scared of things like feeding tubes, but they're pretty straightforward. and they're incredibly necessary disability aids. understanding what they are is a pretty easy way to dispell all the weird intrigue people have over them. it's a disservice to people with any feeding or swallowing issue to make no effort to include them in our society and let them talk about what and how they eat and any complicated relating to that. the rest of us talk about food like all the time

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Hello! I’ve always been curious about the “human in a space shuttle somehow ends up on a cybertronian ship and all the bots are trying to figure out what this random metal this is while the human is terrified” plot.

It would be interesting to see it played out with any character, but for the sake of direction, I’d like to request this with the Lost Light Crew?

It could be vore if that’s what you feel like wrong at the time, but I’d also go for some good ‘ol fearplay.

I apologize if this is too vague, have a good day/night and I love your writing!

Thank you for the request Glitch! I hope this is up to your expectations! I hope you don't mind that I picked specific members of the Lost Light crew to include in this story. Feedback is always appreciated! Have a great day/night as well! :D

Doctor’s (And Scientist’s) Orders

Pairing: IDW Ratchet, IDW Perceptor, and IDW First Aid x Human Reader

Word Count: 3115

Summary: You are a teacher who is being sent from Earth to a colony on Mars. A new life as an educator for the red planet’s children is on your horizon…until you are thrown terribly off course and end up in the bowels of the Lost Light. All seems lost for you when you find yourself injured and cut off from human society, at the mercy of the three Cybertronians who end up finding you and taking you in, whether you want them to or not.

The first thing you hear when you come to is the horrid screeching of your ship's alarms.

  You groan and sit up. Smoke and flickering emergency lights greet you when you open your eyes. Electricity sparks from the stasis tank you were asleep in. Gas spurts from the ceiling, and everything is strewn about with the chaotic air of a tornado that just tore through an entire town.

“Warning,” your ship’s AI urgently alerts. “Breach detected. Damage is collateral. Warning-warning-” It sputters and fizzles out.

  You rub the back of your head and feel something warm and sticky coat your palm. When you pull your hand back to take a closer look, you see blood.

  Shit. That’s not good.

  Standing up makes you feel like you are going to puke. Your head throbs and every breath you take sends piercing pain through your chest. Dragging yourself out of the stasis pod takes longer than it should while black spots dot your vision as you stumble to the dashboard and press your hands against it. “Run ship diagnostics,” you manage to rasp. The voice that struggles to exit your mouth is one you hardly recognize. It is thin and strewn with violent coughs. A metallic taste coats your tongue. More blood.

  The AI glitches as it attempts to answer you. “Severe damage to hull. Severe damage to engines. Severe damage to thrusters. Life support online, but rapidly depleting. Escape pod offline.”

  “Shit,” you breathe. “Try contacting Earth control.”

  “Communications systems offline. Attempting self-repairs. Current status…5%.”

  “How long until repairs are complete?”

  “Estimations indicate repairs will be completed in…5 days.”

  Not good. Not good at all. You push yourself away from the dashboard and take in all that has happened. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. When you were chosen to be sent to Earth’s Mars colony as a teacher for the young children growing up on the red planet, you thought it would be a smooth seven month trip with you peacefully slumbering away in stasis. You were supposed to be woken up by fellow human beings, not a devastating crash resulting in your ship being decimated. Something must have thrown you off course. A freak asteroid strike probably. Which begs the question…where exactly are you?

  Ignoring how much pain you are in, you hobble through the remains of the vessel and head for the airlock doors. They remain tightly shut when you make it to them, hiding the knowledge of where you are from view. “Open the doors,” you call out to the ship.

  “Warning. Remaining onboard is strongly recommended. Current exterior environment is unknown.”

  “Override. Open the doors.”

  The doors whoosh apart. You know there’s oxygen outside. If there hadn’t been, the ship would have prevented you from even entering the airlock chamber in the first place. Stepping off, you expect to see the barren landscape of Mars, or the alien environment of some other planet you might have ended up on. Part of you thinks you might still be on Earth; perhaps something went wrong with the ship before you could even break the Troposphere.

  What you see surprises you. You are in some sort of…massive cargo hold.

  Gigantic metal crates surround you, most of them exuding a pinkish glow. There are lights on the ceiling far above you, but they are dim, and serve little aid in giving you an estimate of just how large this place is. Turning in a circle, you feel awe fill you. “Yeah,” you murmur to yourself. “The ship definitely didn’t crash on Mars.”

  Speaking of your ship…you take in the damage. It's an absolute mess of warped, crippled metal doomed to remain collapsed on its side until self-repairs are complete. It would take days, maybe even weeks, for damage of this caliber to be fixed beyond the communications systems. With no way to contact Earth or Mars, you truly are stuck.

  You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Calm. You are calm. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Yes, your ship is destroyed. Yes, you are suffering from critical wounds. Yes, you are in an unknown place with seemingly no way out. But you're alive. That’s what matters. And now you just have to survive for five more days.

  You hear thumping in the distance.

  It takes you a moment to register the pattern of heavy steps that are coming towards you. It’s something alive, you realize with dawning horror. Wherever you are, you have obviously made quite a racket, and now this planet’s local faunal residents are going to seek you out. There’s no way for you to know exactly what sorts of animals live here; any technology you might have used to your advantage is directly connected to the ship. With the ship offline, thus go the tools as well. You are completely in the dark, relying only on the little information about alien lifeforms you have to keep you safe.

  You don’t need that information to know you have to hide right now.

  You scurry back into the ship, biting back a shout of pain. God, there’s pain everywhere. How have you not passed out yet? Adrenaline does wonders for the human body, you sourly think to yourself when you have to lean against the wall to catch your breath. A hacking cough swells within your chest. When you cover your mouth with your elbow and release it, blood is splattered over your suit sleeve.

  That’s when you hear the growling.

  It’s unlike anything you have ever heard before. You’ve studied a multitude of animals. You’ve heard big cats roar, wolves howl, hyenas cackle, and birds screech. This is not a growl you can associate with any of those. It…holds similar qualities. But there’s something about it that remains blatantly off.

  It sounds strangely like the growl of a machine.

  You look outside of the airlock doors, and something huge lumbers out from behind a stack of crates. The first things your brain registers are its red and white armor platings, its bright blue eyes, and the horn-like finials extending from its forehead. It’s humanoid, yet possesses qualities that remove it from any such grouping. This thing is definitely not like you in any sort of way beyond having a face and walking on two legs.

  “It’s…a robot,” you whisper. It’s a giant fucking robot moving all on its own, and looking none too happy to be here.

  The mechanical creature snarls, lips upturning to reveal sharp canines that are probably longer than your arms. It hasn’t noticed you yet. Its focus is trained on the datapad it holds in its hands. Your mind is blown. This is obviously a member of a clearly intelligent race. Have you just discovered a new extraterrestrial species?

  The robot looks up. At first, its eyes scan the crates around you, and it doesn't seem to notice the little ship nestled between them. You remain still, prey instinct taking its course and demanding you freeze where you are. Hopefully it will just move on…

  It backtracks, and to your utter horror, it makes direct eye contact with you.

  Fucking shit, you think.

  The robot stares at you with an expression of pure shock. You stare right back with an equal amount of terror.

  It steps towards you. That’s all it takes for you to scream at the ship. “Close the airlock doors! Close them now!”

  The doors slam shut. You hear a shout from the robot, and everything shakes as it thunders forward. You stumble and fall with agony ripping through your poor body when you make contact with the floor. The cry that leaves you is riddled with pain.

  “A-Activate self-defense protocol!” you order the ship.

  “Self-defense protocols offline,” it says back.

  “Well, how long until they are online?!”

  “Estimated time equals…ten hours.”

  “That’s not enough!” you scream rawly.

  A gentle tapping echos from the other side of the doors.

  You push yourself back, heart pounding as you listen to the robot move all around you. It’s growling softly to itself, and you can hear it touching the ship, running massive mechanical fingers across the walls that act as the only barrier between you and potential doom.

  You don’t know what to do. Panic makes you frantic and you desperately try to think of how you can get yourself away from the monster outside. You have no way to defend yourself. You can’t even run. This thing wants you out, and you know it has the power to rip your ship apart in order to get to you if it wishes for it.

  Suddenly, everything rocks. Your stomach drops when the entire ship shakes and you feel it being lifted into the air. Realization of what is happening hits you: it’s picking it up. If it can’t get you, it’ll just have to take everything.

  “Nononono!” you cry out. The ship tips a little, and you slam into a wall with a grunt. “Stop!” You bang your fists against the metal. “Put it down! Put it down now!”

  The robot simply growls in reply. You don’t even know if it hears you. There’s nothing you can do to stop this. You slump back and cover your face as hot, helpless tears finally begin running down your cheeks.

  “What exactly is it?” First Aid asks as he peers down at the mangled hunk of metal sitting before them on the medibay berth.

  “It’s a ship,” Perceptor flatly replies with a silent “What else would it be?” evident in his tone.

  “This is a ship?” First Aid looks horrified. “But it's completely destroyed! How could it have gotten here?”

  “It must have crashed during our last refueling.” Perceptor lays his servos over the top of the ship, examining it closely. He huffs and straightens, looking at Ratchet. “Where did you find it?”

  “The cargo hold,” the medic replies. “I was down there searching for some extra medical supplies I know we have stored. I wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for what’s inside.”

  “There’s something alive in there?” First Aid gasps.

  “A human,” Ratchet replies. “It locked itself inside when it saw me.”

  “Impossible.” Perceptor shakes his helm. “Humans are an endangered species that only occupy a small sector of a primitive solar system. They don’t have the technology to make it this far out in space.”

  “Well, clearly they do. I know what I saw. These old optics aren’t that far gone.” Ratchet raps his knuckles gently against the ship. All three mechs have to lean in close so they can hear the soft squeak from inside.

  “How do we get it out?” First Aid asks. “It could be hurt!”

  “It is hurt,” Ratchet answers. “I saw it before it hid itself away. I don’t know how severe the injuries are, but I know it's in pain.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? We need to help it!” First Aid presses his forehelm against the ship and whispers softly. “Hello, little human? Please don’t be afraid! We aren’t going to hurt you!”

  A whimper is all he gains in reply.

  Perceptor crosses his arms. “I can force it out, but you won’t like how I do it.”

  “You can’t hurt it,” Ratchet sharply snaps. “That would be cruel.”

  “I’m not going to hurt it,” the scientist bites back. “I’m simply going to pump a nontoxic gas into the ship that will cause it to eventually lose consciousness. It will have no choice but to come out, and then we can go on from there.”

  “Are…are you sure?” First Aid wrings his servos nervously. “I don’t want it to be scared of us.”

  “Whether it’s scared of us or not doesn’t matter,” Ratchet says. “It’s injured, and if we don’t do something, it’ll succumb to those injuries. It’ll understand we don’t want to hurt it after we patch it up.” He nods to Perceptor. “Go ahead, smoke it out.”

  The scientist’s right servo transforms into a syringe. Ratchet watches with anxiousness churning in his tank as Perceptor presses his left index digit against the side of the ship and presses a small hole straight through with little resistance to stop him. A terrified shout from the human within causes First Aid to whimper.

  Perceptor sticks the upper part of the syringe into the hole, pumping gas into the ship and pulling it back out after a moment, wisps of vapor trailing from the tip. A few seconds later Ratchet hears a string of weak coughs from inside. There is a tense moment where all three of them stand there, and then the doors open and you stumble out with a cloud of gas nearly enveloping your tiny form. You wheeze into your servos, then notice the mechs staring at you and try sprinting right back into the ship. Perceptor cuts you off, slamming his servo down and pinning you under his digits before dragging you back even though you yelp and thrash. You squirm one last time in his grip before suddenly going limp.

  Perceptor gently shifts you to lie in the center of his palm. For a terrifying moment, Ratchet thinks you are offline when he sees how still you are with your optics closed. But then his sensors pick up on the rapid beating of your organic spark, and he relaxes. Not dead. Just simply unconscious.

  “Give it here.” He holds out a waiting servo. Perceptor hands you over; you are given a quick look-over as Ratchet scans your body. There is a nasty cut on the back of your helm, and your vents are gravely bruised with terrible red marks. “Internal bleeding,” he mutters. “As well as external wounds. The crash really messed it up.” He curls his digits lightly over you and brushes his thumb over your forehead. “Doesn’t have a fever though, which is good. Damage is minimal, nothing life threatening. I can have it fixed in a few hours.”

  “You know how to heal organics?” First Aid questions.

  “I’ve been around for a long time. War changes you. I’ve had my equal share of saving Decepticon-ravaged planets inhabited by organics as well as machines.” Ratchet walks over to another berth, being careful not to jostle you too much. “First Aid, go grab the restrainers. We’ll have to keep it still so it doesn’t accidentally hurt itself when it wakes up.”

  “You’ll have to keep it sedated too,” Perceptor says. “I can help with that. Just a little puff of the gas will keep it asleep.”

  “Thank you,” Ratchet says, then pauses. “Listen. Don’t tell anyone about this yet. I don’t want everyone flocking into the medibay and stressing it out. We could accidentally scare this thing to death if we aren’t careful.”

  “I won’t.” Perceptor nods. “Just…make sure it heals properly. I don’t doubt your expertise, but…” He looks down at you, and his optics soften. “It hurts my spark to see something so small in so much pain.”

  First Aid returns with the restrainer. It’s a small mechanism that runs on magnetic power, created by the Lost Light’s resident mad scientist, Brainstorm himself. Ratchet places it directly over your lax form. With a quiet beep, it presses lightly over your midsection, and magnetic bindings weigh down your ankles and wrists. Seeing you trapped like this makes him feel guilty. This obviously isn’t going to be something you will like when you wake up. But there’s no other way for this to go. You won’t understand his good intentions until he heals you. Until then, he has to keep you still.

  He grabs a small serum of glowing blue liquid and bends over you, gently pinching your little fleshy cheeks and working your intake open. “C’mon little one, drink up,” he whispers when he carefully forces the liquid down your throat. He sees your faceplate tighten with discomfort, but your throat pulses as you subconsciously swallow. “There you go. Good human, good human.”

  “What are you giving it?” First Aid asks.

  “Something I learned to make back in my early days,” he replies. “It heals from the inside. Works on both organics and machines.” He pats your cheeks praisingly and draws away. “There. That should help with the bleeding. It’ll be fine now. I’ll continue to monitor it over the next few days.”

  First Aid exhales a relieved sigh. Perceptor reaches out a tentative hand and brushes your hair away from your closed optics. “It’s so small…so soft…”

  “We have to be careful with it,” First Aid frets. “We don’t want it to break.”

  “Listen.” Ratchet’s tone hardens authoritatively. “I said this before, but I’ll say it again. We have to keep this between the three of us. Don’t tell anyone about a human being in here.”

  “But what about the captain?” First Aid asks. “Shouldn’t he know?”

  “The captain can’t know. If he finds out there's a human on the ship, he’ll go nuts with excitement and probably end up accidentally crushing the poor thing. Until I confirm it’s not going to drop dead at any moment, we keep it a secret. Got it?”

  Both bots nod. Ratchet nods with them. “Alright. I’m going to stay here and make sure it’s condition remains stable. You can come back tomorrow to check in on it and see how it’s doing.”

  Perceptor dips his head and leaves without another word. First Aid lingers, optics never leaving you.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ratchet reassures him. “I’ll take care of it. Go recharge.”

  It takes a lot for the other medic to step back and exit the medibay. Ratchet watches him go, then sighs and drags a servo over his faceplate. Becoming the caretaker of an injured organic lifeform was not something he had planned for today. Primus, how the hell am I going to tell Rodimus?

  A soft noise drags his attention away from the alarming thought of what might happen if the extroverted captain learns about his new “crewmate.” He looks down at you and startles a bit. Your eyes, foggy and unfocused, are staring right at him. There’s a fatigued expression of utter terror on your face that once again has his spark feeling like it's been ripped from his chassis and stomped on.

  “You’ll be okay,” he whispers to you. “I promise.”

  You close your eyes and let your helm loll to the side. Ratchet watches the soft rise and fall of your chassis for a few moments longer, then dims the medibay lights and returns to his previous work on the other side of the room.

  Never do you stray far from his mind.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Bolinus brandaris [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

and by public demand, part. 2

summary: Reid loves the gift you just gave him and the whole team can notice.

"Everyone ready to go back?" Gideon asked, taking a quick look at the jet to make sure all of you were there. You had an extortion case quite far from home, Miami to be exact, and you had a long flight back to Quantico, so the last thing he wanted was to forget someone.

Miami was a beautiful place that you would have liked to visit in other circumstances, that had nothing to do with crimes at all, since you had always felt a certain weakness for the warm climate, the sticky breeze, and the sound of the waves that were on the beach.

You had only had the chance to go to a mall to buy a new outfit, because yours had been completely ruined, while Morgan took advantage of the wait to buy an ice cream popsicle. It hadn't been a dream ride, but it was something at least.

“I feel like I could sleep for 90 hours straight,” you sighed, closing your eyes and falling into Spencer's side as usual. You two were the youngest, he was younger than you of course, so it was easier to connect with him than the other members of the team. You seemed to have similar interests and he was strangely comfortable with you.

“You would actually need to wake up periodically to expel fluids or you would risk bursting your bladder or even your bowels, because even though your digestive system shuts down when you sleep it only does so for a certain number of hours. Maybe you could sleep for 14 or 17 hours, which is what a baby sleeps, but 90 seems excessive to me even if you do not consume drinks or food before doing so”

"It's an expression, Reid" you laughed, but without the intention of making him feel bad for having answered you that way. Sometimes it was necessary to explain to him that you weren't being serious, as obvious as this seemed.

"You can sleep through the whole trip" he argued and although you still had your eyes closed you assumed that he had shrugged "I'll wake you up if you start snoring"

"I don't snore!" you defended yourself, playfully smacking him on the arm and hearing him laugh. Somehow watching him led you to remember a chain of events ending in the package you had carefully stowed in your bag and you almost jumped out of your seat the next second: "Wait, I just remembered something" you reported and went to the baggage area to rummage through your suitcase, taking just a few minutes to be back in your seat “I bought you this”

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. The others were on their own business enough to notice your conversation, making the moment a bit more private.

“I looked at it and just thought of you. Although I don't know if you're going to like it” you said shyly, handing him something wrapped in a paper bag with a store sticker on it. You had found the gift when you went shopping for your clean outfit and a part of you had been anxious all day to be able to give it to him to watch his reaction.

Reid looked at it curiously and handled it carefully, as if he were afraid it would fall apart in his fingers, until he managed to open it and took a piece of cloth from it.

"A scarf?"

“I saw you in one the other day and I thought you might like them. You know, you always wear your vests under your coats and your ties and you're always overdressed, but in a cute way” you laughed, while you pointed your hands at your body pretending to touch the pieces of his outfit "But it's okay if you don't want to wear it"

"No! I mean yes. I want to use it” he reassured you. Spencer held it out to look at it more carefully: it was purple, a stripe in the middle of patterned colored rhombuses intertwined with some embroidery of branches with leaves in black. "Did you know that the color purple is related to royalty because of how difficult it was to obtain the pigment before the Christian era? It is obvious that artificial dyes didn’t exist at that time, so everything they dyed the fabrics with had to be obtained from nature and that particular tone was quite difficult to obtain because it came from Bolinus brandaris, an extremely rare species of sea snail. To obtain 1 gram of this substance it is necessary to have 10,000 snails. And that gram was barely enough to dye a small piece. Its value and the difficulty in mass-producing it is due to the fact that the substance obtained had to be left to dry in the sun for a very precise time to be used later. Half a kilo of wool dyed in that color cost what would now be equivalent to around 300,000 euros,” he said, still holding the scarf as he rambled on. "It is also related to liturgical attire, it symbolizes power, wisdom, and is the perfect combination between the energy of red and the calm of blue”

“Oh yeah, I… I knew all that before I bought it, I didn't choose it just because I think purple brings out your eyes” you blatantly lied, making your friend laugh tenderly.

“What I meant to say is that I like it” he added, a little embarrassed by the smile and attention with which you had been observing him. You always did that when he wandered off, leaving him helpless and not knowing how to react.

"You said it has to do with wisdom, right?" you exclaimed and he nodded gently "Do you think there's some weird psychological reason why my brain knew that and linked it to you or was it just a coincidence?"

"Well, it's hard to explain..." he began to say, turning a little in his seat to be closer to you and begin a long explanation about the connections that our brain creates with things and people.

You were completely exhausted but you didn't have the heart to stop him from saying anything he had to say and you listened intently as much as your body would allow, until eventually you were lulled to sleep by the sound of Spencer's soft voice. When he stopped hearing your hums he realized that you had already fallen asleep and he moved your body carefully until you were completely reclining on the chair, so that when you woke up the physical pain of sleeping on the plane would be less. He, for his part, stayed in the seat next to you sheltered your rest, and at some point ended up asleep too.

The day after she came back from Miami, Spencer was already wearing the scarf you gave him. He had matched it with a brown coat, a vest in a darker shade of purple than the scarf, and a white shirt that together made him look perfect. Also, his well-brushed straight hair fell to the side and his tanned skin looked particularly clean.

You didn’t need to tell him anything because the smile you gave him when you looked him up and down was reason enough for him to be flattered and also proud to receive your approval. All day you watched him, a bit for the garment and a bit for the very pleasure of admiring him, and you noticed that he frequently checked that everything about him looked good, as if he was trying to impress you. Every time he spoke he avoided looking at you, only at you, but you couldn't take your eyes off him.

The day after that he used it too and the next day and the next, to the point where it was strange to see him go anywhere without it, as if it had become a part of him. After a week, while they waited in the boardroom, Elle finally had the courage to face the situation and ask Spencer why the particular choice for something for everyday use.

"It's that his girlfriend gave it to him" answered Morgan, before the brunette could say anything.

"What? No! Y/N is not my girlfriend” he said, completely embarrassed and making sure with his eyes that you weren't around to hear that.

"Oh, now I understand" JJ joined the conversation.

"You understand what?"

“You are always taking care that it doesn’t get dirty or stained”

"Yes, I don't like my clothes to get ruined"

"But more so if it's something his girlfriend gave him" insisted Morgan and in a fit that no one expected Spencer took a ball of paper and threw it at his face. That just got a collective laugh.

"I just like it. That's all”

"We all know you like her, Reid," added Hotch, who had kept quiet thus far and didn't even look up from the files. He flushed red to the ears as the rest of the team shared another laugh, and just seconds later you and Gideon walked through the door.

"Good morning"

"Good morning" answered the others, like school children before the arrival of a teacher. There was one seat left next to Morgan that Gideon took and that forced you into the only remaining chair between Elle and Spencer.

“Did I miss something interesting?” you murmured, leaning into him and smiling close to his face.

"No" he replied kindly, feeling your gaze drop from his eyes.

"Your scarf," you said, reaching out your hands to move it a little around his neck "It was out of place"

Everyone else, except for Gideon, shared knowing glances and stifled giggles as they watched the nervous way he thanked you. It didn't help too much that for the entire meeting you were completely distracted looking at your partner next to you, making the whole team wonder when the two of you were finally going to end up kissing.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Why do you think Diablo has disenged on it's core themes? (I mean I agree) I've always considered it to be a franchise with some insane wasted potential, but my perspective comes more from Diablo 3 and 4. Id be nice if you could expand on that.

I mean, my argument is that Diablo 1 was a dungeon crawler with a randomized loot mechanic that existed mostly to enable the roguelike random level generation that ensured replayability for the adventure. Players shouldn't be able to simply beeline it to the most powerful items in the game once they figure out exactly where they are, so randomization made each journey into the Tristram Cathedral a new process of discovery.

It's a game that, yes, wants to provide engaging gameplay, but just as much as the discovery of loot, it is driven by discovery of its world and story - multiple NPCs in the game exist that have no function or benefit to the player except as characters to interact with. You find lore tomes in the labyrinth which give you exposition about the world, but offer no tangible benefits. Shrines will randomize your stats, transform your potions, curse your items, randomly teleport you into a horde of monsters. The world is populated by objects, people and events that entice a player with curiosity to see what happens as much as they entice the player with the power fantasy of Making Number Go Up, and plenty of interactions have no hard gameplay benefit. "Sub dungeons" in the labyrinth, like the Halls of the Blind or Chamber of Bone, exist in part to give the player lootable rewards and monsters to fight, but also each of them have their own exposition, lore and worldbuilding (however limited by budget and technical limitations).

Diablo 2 realized that the skinner box thrill of randomized loot drops and number-go-up optimization was by far the most primally emotionally engaging part of Diablo 1's gameplay, and began the process of reorienting the franchise ENTIRELY to enable that specific pleasure. The loot system expands exponentially, crafting, gem slotting, etc all get introduced, and loot mechanics are given pride of place in terms of how the game engages the players. Shrines all provide knowable, specific benefits, every NPC is either a quest-giver or a merchant, there are HUNDREDS of randomized sub-dungeons on every map, and the vast majority of them have absolutely no narrative content whatsoever, they are merely slot machine arms for the player to pull, hoping for a chance of a jackpot loot drop.

Diablo 3 is the apotheosis of this process - a game which drops all pretense that the nature of your loot matters in favor of orienting every part of it around chasing the high of Getting A Bigger Number. You're a sorcerer running around with a greatsword? No problem! You cast all your spells as normal. So long as the greatsword has Bigger Numbers, anything works. Templar with a Wand? Equally viable! Damage numbers inflate into the millions, hordes of monsters swell with ever greater numbers, your spells and abilities clear entire screens in seconds, and everything in the game revolves around enabling the player's power fantasy.

In Diablo 1 you are an unimportant adventurer, the latest in a long line of unremarkable hopefuls, stepping alone into the bowels of a middle-of-nowhere village church, creeping slowly through its doors and hallways, fighting its monsters primarily one by one. Any group of ranged monsters can kill you in seconds, even in the late-game, and if you get surrounded, likely as not you are quite simply dead. It's tense, lonely, unglamorous and often desperate. Unwieldy inventory management puts constraints on your ability to heal and restore mana. You can only carry so many potions while leaving room for loot, and remember to leave room for your Town Portals and Identify scrolls, and for your all-important gold, which will clog your inventory almost totally by the end. Slay a unique monster and hope to god that the item it dropped wasn't cursed. Touch a shrine and you might lose 2 Strength points and suddenly be unable to equip your armor. When you kill Diablo, you find he is nothing but the possessed body of a young boy who was abducted and abused by a corrupt priest, an ugly and mundane tragedy leading to extraordinary suffering.

In Diablo 3 you are the most specialest most important incredible super-hero that has ever existed. You are a half-angel half-demon unstoppable killing machine, mowing down hordes of demons and corrupted angels like nothing, absolutely BATHING in infinite showers of ultra-powerful legendary loot, each more ultra-powerful and legendary than the last. You deal ten million damage with a single ability. You fight Ultra Diablo, the special super-powered SUPER SAIYING MEGA ULTRA super-powered extra special Prime Evil who is the most powerful evil bad guy who has ever existed and YOU are the only one in the whole universe who can beat him because you're SO special, yes you are! Identify shit by clicking on it! Cast town portal whenever you want! Enemies drop infinite health potions whenever you need them! Fuck it, you even KILL DEATH by the end because you are invincible and immortal and unstoppable and perfect. Fear has no hold on you, never in your life will you know uncertainty or doubt. AND it's your birthday! Buy a sword that is 3.2% better than your magic wand with real money in the auction house as a treat!

tl;dr Diablo 1 is an adventure game, Diablo 3 is Cookie Clicker.

[radiojamming]

Hartnell fact time again? Hartnell fact time again!

We have a pretty spot-on timeline of the last few months of John Hartnell's life thanks to Hartnell's Time Machine—which is to say, his nails.

These three graphs show the amount of copper, zinc, and lead in John's system from the time the Expedition was in Greenland to his death on January 4th, 1846. It's how we know he had a critical zinc deficiency, and it shows how the concentration of led in his body was higher when he was in England, and lower as the Expedition progressed.

Incredibly, because of this study, we can nearly tell the exact date John started to get sick—November 17th, 1845. There are brief spikes in copper and zinc (and a wee bit of lead) in early December—possibly due to applications of medicine and food as someone tried to help him get well. The final, massive spike at the end is his body breaking itself down, trying to find any and all nourishment to prolong its life as long as it could. We know from Inglefield & Sutherland's examination that they were able to identify a "wasting illness" when they felt his body, and Beattie's team in 1986 found no content in his stomach or bowels, so he hadn't eaten anything for some time before his death.

Unless we had a literal time machine, we don't know what his last days were like. This study, though, manages to give us a better idea of what might have happened.

We know his zinc deficiency was pronounced, so he probably would have had symptoms like night blindness, loss of appetite, exhaustion, irritability, hair loss, slow wound healing, and GI issues like loose stool (sorry buddy). We also know from his x-rays that he had prior injuries to his neck, shoulders, and ankles. Some were older injuries, some were newer. It's entirely possible that his symptoms of zinc deficiency and TB lowered his lack of awareness, leading to workplace injuries.

I know I kind of tease about John "Glass Bones and Paper Skin" Hartnell, but I'm fully aware that the last months, weeks, and days of his life were truly miserable. He was most definitely in pain, batting a thousand against a body that was fighting itself and trying to win.

Maybe people around him—crewmates he'd known from his time on the Volage, his own family—noticed a change in his personality. Maybe they saw the exhaustion on his face, him wincing in pain when he moved the wrong way, pushing food around his plate with disinterest, maybe he snapped at them or said something uncharacteristic that set off alarm bells. Someone, somewhere, knew something was wrong. At some point around late November and early December, he started getting treatment. By then, though, it was far too late.

It's a creative exercise more than anything. Like I said, we can't know what the end of his life look like. We have to take scans of his nails, x-rays, and the appearance of a thrice-exhumed mummy to guess. But we also can see that someone loved him enough to give him the appearance in death of being comfortable. Knowing what we do know about how much discomfort he had to be in, this might have been completely intentional. He was given a pillow, blankets, extra clothes, a hat. Even at the end of the world, he was loved.

[theambitiouswoman]

Natural Remedies for Common Ailments 🍃

*Natural remedies can be a great option for managing common ailments, but it's important to remember that they may not always be a substitute for professional medical advice and treatment. If you have a serious or persistent health issue, it's important to consult with a doctor. Also, remember that what works for one person may not work for another. Do your independent research, some natural remedies may have interactions with medications or existing medical conditions.*

Cold and Flu:

Honey and Lemon: Mix honey and lemon in warm water to soothe a sore throat and ease congestion.

Ginger Tea: Ginger has anti-inflammatory properties and can help with nausea and congestion.

Echinacea: Some people use Echinacea supplements or tea to boost the immune system.

Headaches:

Peppermint Oil: Apply diluted peppermint oil to your temples for headache relief.

Ginger Tea: Ginger may help reduce the frequency and intensity of headaches.

Indigestion:

Peppermint Tea: Peppermint can help relax the muscles of the gastrointestinal tract.

Chamomile Tea: Chamomile has anti-inflammatory and relaxing properties.

Insomnia:

Valerian Root: Valerian root supplements or tea may promote relaxation and help with sleep.

Lavender Oil: Lavender aromatherapy or a few drops on your pillow can promote relaxation.

Small Burns and Cuts:

Aloe Vera: Apply aloe vera gel to soothe burns and promote healing.

Honey: Honey has antibacterial properties and can be applied to cuts and wounds.

Stress and Anxiety:

Exercise: Regular physical activity can reduce stress and anxiety.

Meditation and Yoga: These practices can help you relax and manage stress.

Lavender or Chamomile Tea: These herbal teas may have a calming effect.

Sore Throat:

Salt Water Gargle: Gargling with warm salt water can relieve a sore throat.

Marshmallow Root Tea: Marshmallow root tea can help soothe throat irritation.

Nausea:

Ginger: Ginger candies, ginger tea, or ginger capsules can help with nausea.

Peppermint: Peppermint tea or candies may also help alleviate nausea.

Constipation:

Fiber-Rich Foods: Eating foods like prunes, bran, and beans can promote regular bowel movements.

Hydration: Staying well-hydrated is essential for preventing constipation.

Acne:

Tea Tree Oil: Applying diluted tea tree oil to acne-prone areas may help reduce breakouts.

Honey and Cinnamon Mask: Mixing honey and cinnamon into a paste and applying it as a mask can be beneficial for some.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine becoming a part of the red hair pirate's disembarking procedure

Part 2 of this post (it's free to view on Patreon, you just need an account I think)

Benn: *talking to the whole crew* Alright, we're going onto an island we've never been on before, and one we're not sure if anyone has ever landed here. We have protocol for this, and it's paramount that you follow it to a T.

Shanks: *whispers* oh shit, you know he's serious when he breaks out the big words.

Yassop: *snickers*

Benn: I'm going to give you a refresher on the rules.... We use the buddy system, no one gets to shit without their buddy.

You: Just what I always wanted, a poop buddy.

Shanks: *puts his arm around your shoulders* the only time our synchronized bowel movements are a blessing.

You: *rolls your eyes* at least we won't have to fight over who gets to use the bathrooms first.

Shanks: now I get what I have always dreamed of, to hold your hand and look deep into your eyes while we poop.

You: *shudders in horror* You're so weird.

Shanks: *plants a wet kiss on your cheek*

Benn: Now would those of you assigned to the exploration party please line up at the gangway for departure.

You: *goes to help Hongo prep a med pack for the exploration crew*

Hongo: *once the kit is finished* They're going to want you to take it to them.

You: Uh, okay? *takes it out to see them waiting patiently in line for them.

Benn: Excellent *takes the med kit and straps it to his pack* Now time for our kiss goodbye. *Bends down, so his forehead is level with your face*

You: Really?

Benn: yes, now hop to it.

You: *rolls your eyes, but gives each of them a forehead kiss*

The next island

You: *Currently too sick and infectious for Hongo to allow the crew in the med bay to get their kisses goodbye*

The exploration team: *has a horrible time on the island*

After getting back to the ship and getting the hell off that island

Benn: we barely got out of there, Hongo, you really need to get them back on their feet before the next island.

Hongo: *patching up Benn's shoulder* who are you talking about?

Shanks: My partner, obviously, we have the worst luck without them around.

Hongo: I'm sorry my skills aren't enough for you

Shanks: It's not that you aren't enough, because I have absolute faith in your skills. It's just I always feel bad, like I'm wasting your time, when I have to come to you for treatment every single time we step off the ship. Also being hurt sucks, if we can prevent it before that happens that'd be way better for everyone. I mean wouldn't you rather be conducting that research you've been working on for years?

Hongo: ....fair point, I'll have them up and at 'em as soon as possible. I'll also come up with some protocol to get y'all access even while they're sick.

Benn: how are you gonna manage that?

Hongo: *shrugs*I'll probably just stick 'em in a hazmat suit or something.

In the Port at the next island

You: *finally feeling better*

Hongo: I'm going to go refill my herb stores, I'll be back before dusk. *kisses you on the forehead, and presents his to you*

You: do I have to? I'm still sure this is how I got sick in the first place.

Hongo: *pulls out a pack of disposable alcohol pads, disinfects his forehead, and presents it again*

You: *sighs, but gives him a peck anyway* Buy more disinfectant while you're out, since y'all have convinced yourselves that I'm magic.

Hongo: *nods and walks down the gangplank to the dock*

Benn: We haven't decided you're magic, you know.

You: Oh really? Because you act like the world will crush you if you leave without me pressing my lips to your forehead.

Benn: It's not like that, it *growls in frustration*... we've noticed a pattern and most of us would rather not risk breaking that pattern. Okay, so suck it up and pucker up *pointing at his forehead and giving you his serious face*

You: *slaps one of the alcohol pads at his face.* Clean your oily forehead of yours first, I ain't gonna kiss it when it's clammy and gross.

Yassop: *laughs* you might need to give him two, since he's got such a big ass head.

Benn: *scoffs* Your forehead is bigger than mine, and where are you going?

Yassop: Deviating from the pattern, later. * steps off the gang plank and falls through the first dock plank he steps on, hitting his balls on the support beam, and gets slapped in the face by the other end of the plank before falling into the ocean*

The Crew present: *groan in sympathy as they protectively cup their own genitals*

Benn: dumbass

You: he doesn't learn, does he?

Shanks: Not quickly, he'll need to hurt himself a few times before it clicks.

You: ....we should make bets

Benn: two thousand on him falling down a flight of stairs next.

Shanks: You're on.

You: that's awful... and wrong, he's gonna get attacked by something in the water, and I'll bet ten thousand on it.

Coming Soon

[nenelonomh]

the effect of what (and how) you eat

okay, this is a big topic. and so this is a long post. i'm going to be going over the effect of what you eat and why it's important to think about what foods you are consuming. don't worry! i do my research-- at the end of the post will be a few resources, and i'll show where i've gotten my information.

lots of dietary advice is available over the internet, but often the people absorbing the information do not understand the why. knowing where your information is coming from,, and not believing everything you read online is key to actually maintaining a good, healthy diet.

before you read: TRIGGER WARNING THERE IS MENTION OF EATING DISORDERS,,

let's start with this: like everything in this age, food is a double-edged sword. overconsumption and underconsumption can both kill you. what you eat; how you eat--it can help or hinder whatever your goals may be.

here's the effect/s: the connection between diet and mental health is profound. while we’ve long understood that diet plays a crucial role in overall health, emerging research in the field of nutritional psychiatry sheds light on how what we eat directly impacts our emotional well-being and mental state.

the brain-gut connection: the gut is closely linked to the brain. trillions of living microbes in our gut have essential functions, including synthesizing neurotransmitters. these neurotransmitters send chemical messages to the brain, regulating sleep, pain, appetite, mood, and emotions.

to improve your gut health, here's what you can do:

by eating a varied diet that includes fruits, vegetables, whole grains, nuts and seeds, essential nutrients are provided which feeds the beneficial bacteria in the gut. high fibre foods promote gut health by supporting good bacteria.

fermented foods, such as yogurt, kefir, sauerkraut, kimchi, and miso are rich in probiotics—live beneficial bacteria that boost gut health. kombucha (a fermented tea) is another option.

avoiding reducing processed foods can reduce the diversity of good bacteria in your gut. when i say processed foods, i'm referring to ultra-processed foods, for example, fried foods and frozen meals. they may be easy and cheap, but they include preservatives, artificial colouring, chemical flavouring and texturing agents. all of which our bodies are not made to consume. it's ignorant to tell you to avoid processed foods at all costs. that's not realistic, and a horrible mindset. instead, you should manage your intake. enjoy treats every now and then and don't punish yourself for it.

hydration is key to a healthy gut. water supports digestion and nutrient absorption.

stress management, eating well and exercise can also help your gut microbiome's health.

by having a healthy gut microbiome, you are helping your body to have lower chronic inflammation, have regular bowel movements and more effectively absorb nutrients. therefore, you will have a stronger immune system, have clearer skin and support your digestion and metabolism.

why eating protein matters: proteins are made of amino acids, which serve as the fundamental building blocks for various structures in our bodies. these amino acids are essential for forming enzymes, hormones, tissues, and DNA. protein is vital in maintaining and building muscle mass. when activities like strength training and physical exercise are engaged in, protein helps build and repair the muscles.

hemoglobin, a protein in our red blood cells, transports oxygen from our lungs to other tissues. without adequate protein, oxygen delivery would be compromised. antibodies, which defend against infections, are made of proteins. a well-functioning immune system relies on sufficient protein intake. collagen, a protein, maintains the integrity of our skin, hair, and nails. adequate protein supports healthy skin elasticity and wound healing.

the recommended dietary intake for protein relies on factors such as age, weight, height, gender, activity and overall health. remember that individual needs can vary, so consulting with a healthcare provider or registered dietitian is advisable to determine your specific protein requirements.

many diets exist that cut out entire macronutrients (keto for example) but that is not the way. each macronutrient has great importance in helping the body function.

carbohydrates are the body's (including the brain) preferred energy source. they enable muscle contraction during exercise and even at rest. carbs maintain body temperature, support heart function, and aid digestion.

the keto diet comes from the belief that when carbohydrates are not providing energy (are not being consumed), the body will use reserved energy stored in lipids (fat). while this is true, this diet is not maintainable-- it throws the body out of whack, storing more energy to maintain homeostasis.

fats provide energy and are essential for hormone production. they contribute to cell growth, brain health and vitamin absorption.

our brain is composed of ~60% fat. fats are essential for neurotransmitter production, affecting mood, cognition, and hormonal signalling. cholesterol, often associated with heart health, is a precursor for steroid hormones (testosterone, estrogen, progesterone). without adequate cholesterol, our body cannot produce these essential hormones.

effects of diet on mood: firstly, going long periods without eating can cause a drop in blood sugar levels, leading to tiredness and irritability. secondly, consuming excessive amounts of food can make you feel tired and lethargic.

choosing the right carbohydrates can help maintain blood sugar levels. our brain primarily runs on glucose (obtained from carbohydrate-rich foods). you can opt for slow-release carbohydrates to maintain steady energy levels. slow-release carbohydrates (a.k.a low GI food) provide a more sustained and gradual release of energy compared to other carbohydrates. examples include fruits, vegetables, whole grains (grainy bread, brown rice, oats) and sweet potatoes. high GI foods rapidly spike blood sugar levels due to their quick digestion and absorption.

going too long without eating can lead to low blood sugar levels, resulting in irritability and fatigue. overeating to discomfort can also leave you feeling tired and lethargic. consistent, moderate-sized meals help maintain stable blood sugar levels and promote an even mood.

i know, overeating is an issue that one cannot simply 'turn off'. it's important to know the psychology, and if you struggle with it--please talk to a health professional.

here is what i can tell you about overeating:

overeating is typically a learned behaviour and habit. certain foods are associated with pleasure and reward. when enticing food is encountered, we engage in eating behaviour and immediately experience pleasure. this reinforces the habit, making it challenging to change.

overeating may be serving as a coping mechanism for emotions. when feelings of sadness, disappointment, frustration, or even joy arise, someone may turn to food. emotional eating provides temporary relief, reinforcing the behaviour.

the first delicious bite triggers pleasure, satiates our appetite, and improves our emotional state. our memory associates this reward process with eating, leading us to continually seek that pleasure. this is due to immediate reward.

people with eating disorders may disregard their health, body, body image and lifestyle goals. they use food as a way to punish themselves and gain control over their life. restrictive eating disorders can lead to 'binging behaviour'. bingeing serves as a way to numb emotions. anxiety, stress, and depression can trigger binge behaviours. consuming certain foods or substances (like junk food or alcohol) releases dopamine, the “feel-good” neurotransmitter. this chemical rush can lead to physical addiction, reinforcing bingeing. a culture (unfortunately which is abundant in the world today) that emphasizes consumption as a measure of worth can contribute to bingeing. messages about thinness, drinking, and material possessions can drive these behaviours.

i hate that i am having to say this but alcoholism is bad. and caffeine addiction is bad. in no way is harming your health aesthetic or 'a vibe'.

limiting caffeine and alcohol can also improve mood. again, i'd like to stress that there is never going to be one perfect diet, and allowing yourself to enjoy whatever food you like is perfectly fine- as long as you are doing so in moderation.

everything is a balance.

resources/further reading, to end: Fat Requirements For Optimal Hormonal Health - Clean HealthHow Dietary Fat Benefits Hormones - Women's International Pharmacy (womensinternational.com) The truth about fats: the good, the bad, and the in-between - Harvard HealthDietary fats | healthdirectMacronutrients: Definition, importance, and food sources (medicalnewstoday.com)Know Your Macros-Why Macronutrients Are Key to Healthy Eating | Cedars-SinaiWhy the Proper Balance of Macronutrients is Vital for Good Health - Functional Diagnostic Nutrition What Is Protein & Why Do You Need It? (eatingwell.com)Protein: Why Your Body Needs It (webmd.com)Protein | The Nutrition Source | Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public HealthBinge-Eating Disorder (Compulsive Overeating) | Psychology Today AustraliaThe Psychology Behind Binge-Watching | PsychregBingeing: Why It Happens and What You Can Do About It (greatist.com) Understanding Overeating: The Psychology Behind It - Listen-HardWhy stress causes people to overeat - Harvard HealthThe Truth About Overeating | Psychology TodaySlow-release carbs list (medicalnewstoday.com)Why understanding carbs (and how to count them) matters | Diabetes UK Food and your mood - Better Health ChannelHow food can affect your mood | Nutrition AustraliaStress-related stomach pain: When to see a doctor - UChicago MedicineWhat Is Gut Health? A Comprehensive Guide to Digestive Wellness | U.S. News (usnews.com)Why Gut Health Matters More Than You Think | Well.Org Probiotics: What They Are, Benefits & Side Effects (clevelandclinic.org)Probiotics: What You Need To Know | NCCIH (nih.gov)What should I eat for a healthy gut? - BBC FoodLet’s Eat: How Diet Influences the Brain (brainfacts.org)

i know the fact that the resources are one big block may be annoying, but i don't have the commitment to in text reference lmao. hours of research and writing for a blog post, yes, but in text referencing is just too far.

i hope you learnt something

❤️joanne

[lifblogs]

We Do This Together

Week 3

Prompt: “It’s just a scratch.”

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 2599

Summary: Tantiss is embroiled in battle. Crosshair has been singled out by CX-2. During the fight, CX-2’s helmet comes free, and Crosshair is met with an all-too familiar face.

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence

READ ON AO3

Crosshair’s breath caught when the operative’s helmet came off in his grip. Everything seemed to still as they froze in their stances, even the world’s very rotation at the whims of what happened on this pitted and half-destroyed platform.

No. No, no.

This was impossible. How?

Crosshair’s panting from the fight renewed, his heart pumping hard, adrenaline still shooting like cold-hot needles through his system. And his stomach clenched, feeling like it might fall right out of him. The ruined durasteel platform seemed to drop out from beneath him from where he crouched; the muggy, smoky, night air was some other man’s air; the flames and explosions nothing but a background that was fading away like a nearly-forgotten dream. Or perhaps the dream was before him.

Crosshair tried to speak.

His breath caught.

When he did speak he realized it was with a guttural sob, the name wrenched out from his twisted insides, injected with countless days and moments of grief, with head-spinning confusion, and the deepest horror born right in the bowels of this cursed mountain: “Tech.”

The operative—Tech—had had his face set in a grimace, a hatred of some sort. At this name—his name—his features softened. No longer was he looking at Crosshair like he was planning best how to defeat him. His eyes were wide, vulnerable.

Then he frowned, brows scrunching together.

“Why… Why would you say that? What does it mean?”

Shaking, wanting to look for his family amidst the screams and blood and fire coming back to him, but knowing he couldn’t take his eyes off of the man in front of him, Crosshair stayed, he held his ground. Perhaps he couldn’t even move as it was, or look elsewhere. What if he blinked and Tech was gone? His eyes burned without the safety of his helmet on.

“That’s…” He licked his dry lips, but to no avail. “That’s your name,” Crosshair got out.

Horror still clenched his gut. Horror from those months they’d thought him dead, from… from everything. They’d failed him.

They’d failed him.

Crosshair couldn’t fail him now.

Tech was missing his left eye, a cybernetic one in place of his real one, scars ripping furrows across the left side of his face.

Crosshair looked him over, knowing these were surely not the only injuries he’d sustained from his fall.

Staring across from him was suffering in its deepest form, twin to his own, perhaps.

I did this.

“I… I don’t have a name.”

Crosshair somehow managed to shuffle closer. What few pieces were left of his heart broke when Tech moved back, moved away from him. His head was down now, and he was clearly thinking hard.

“Yes, you do. You do. Your name is Tech. I’m… I’m your brother. Crosshair.”

“I—”

Crosshair was on his knees, begging, “Please. Please, just… just listen to me. You’re a clone, a defective clone, made on Kamino, part of Clone Force 99, the Bad Batch. Your number is CT-9902, and your name—your name—is Tech. You chose it because you’re smart—smarter than anyone—you’re good with technology, with everything you put your mind to.”

“No. No, no. I’m CX-2.”

“You love your datapad (we could barely get your head out of it some days), you love languages, you record everything even when it annoys the ever-living shab out of us, you love to talk about the weirdest creatures out there, your favorite color is dark blue because it makes you think of the blue in clear night skies, the blue between the stars, pistols are your favorite type of blaster, you love to pull the craziest stunts while flying, you… you have a family: me, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Omega. And there’s someone waiting for you. Phee? You told her all about my sparkling personality, you—you told her about me even though I was still with the Empire. Somehow I still mattered to you then. And you matter to me… to us.”

Tech was sounding out each of the names Crosshair had spoken, as if trying to see if anything felt familiar, like trying to put stars back in a sky full of holes.

“Please, you have to believe me.”

Tech stilled, and so did Crosshair.

When Tech looked up there was a grim determination, something burning in his right eye, though tears tracked down his cheeks, running in rivulets through his scars.

The hot air was like mud, leaving Crosshair barely able to move. All he could do was watch as Tech moved into the perfect stance to level his blaster at him: kneeling on one leg, torso perfectly straight, sights lined up. Crosshair had faced down the barrels of many blasters, even of tanks, but nothing frightened him more than this one.

“I have to assume this is either some tactic to stall for time, to try and control me, or… you’ve lost your mind.”

Crosshair ducked and rolled. Tech fired.

Crosshair knew he had to end this fight quickly. Tech would kill him.

With a cry he launched himself at Tech. He ended up on top of him, pushing hard against his rifle so he couldn’t use it.

“You’re my brother,” Crosshair insisted.

Tech fired, blast going sideways, and the recoil did its job, knocking Crosshair off balance.

“I am no one!” he cried, whacking Crosshair in the temple with his rifle.

Crosshair grunted. His world spun, nearly going black. Before he could gather himself, Tech was crashing into him, getting him onto his back. The butt of Tech’s rifle smashed against his chest, and he coughed, the air driven out of him.

“I have no one!” he insisted. “No family, no brothers, nothing but what Dr. Hemlock has given me.”

Every few words were punctuated with a blow.

Crosshair grabbed Tech’s arm, and he tried to get a knee under him, but Tech’s grip was too strong.

“Not… true,” Crosshair forced out.

Tech punched him.

He once again fought to stay conscious.

Then Tech grabbed his armor, lifting him up to snarl in his face, “Then what do I have?”

“You have me.”

Tech dropped him, and actually got up. Crosshair tried to lift himself up, but his head was spinning and pounding, his face throbbing and swelling from multiple blows. Blood was hot and wet on his face.

Tech stood, rifle leveled at him. Crosshair wondered if this would be the last thing he ever saw, and he hoped it wouldn’t. Not because he didn’t want to die (of course he didn’t), but because this would mean he had failed. Tech, who had apparently been a captive of the Empire this entire time, would remain so, their brother perhaps lost to them forever.

Crosshair wanted to rest his head back down in defeat, but the least he owed Tech was to stare his own death, his own failure, right in the eye.

“No, I don’t.”

A gunship laser hit a meter from Tech’s left. Maybe it was targeting Tech, maybe Crosshair, maybe it was nothing but an accident. The reason didn’t matter. It had happened.

Crosshair thought maybe he screamed as he watched Tech get thrown off his feet, tumbling through the air in a painful dance of twisted limbs. A human body was not meant to withstand that; even the force of the blast itself was surely too much to withstand. Fire erupted near him, debris rained down in squealing and crashing metal. The blast was deafening, and Crosshair shoved himself up onto his hands and knees. He’d lost sight of Tech and where he’d landed through all the fire.

Struggling to catch his breath, Crosshair tried to stand. The world dropped out beneath him.

He came to on his stomach, not sure what he was looking at, confused as to why he hurt so much. Sound was filtering back into him.

He lifted up his head, exploring his surroundings. Darkness and flames, durasteel, ruin.

Where am I?

It came back to him, and he burst into action, crawling, and scrambling across the platform.

Tech. Have to find Tech.

Crosshair saw his legs sticking out from under debris. He rushed over, and groaned as he moved the ripped up metal off of him, muscles straining.

Blood. Check for any blood, injuries.

A pipe was pinning Tech’s left leg, perhaps crushing it. Crosshair tried in vain to move it. It only budged a few centimeters, if that.

He examined Tech’s torso, his face, feeling him over.

He couldn’t find anything serious, but he knew something could be wrong internally that he couldn’t see.

Tech coughed, blinking his eyes open. Crosshair held his head in one hand, and was surprised to feel something harder than bone at the back of his head. A metal plate? Some kind of implant?

Oh, Tech.

Tech coughed, and Crosshair held him close.

Usually comforting words weren’t his style, but they spilled out of his mouth now like what he imagined a prayer might be, “You’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Tech reached up with a shaking hand and touched Crosshair’s face, following the lines of his tattoo.

“Crosshair?”

Crosshair would have broken out into a grin if not for the dire situation. Had he hit his head, knocking some memory loose?

“Yes, yes, it’s me.”

Kriff, he was crying again. He sniffled, and tried to hold in a sob.

Tech laughed, maybe the first and only laugh Tantiss would ever know. Some of its darkness crept away.

“You’ve gotten so talkative,” Tech observed.

“Well, I had to fill in for you, didn’t I? Now, are you okay? What hurts? Tell me—your leg?”

Tech looked down.

“That one isn’t real anyway. Not anymore.”

“I’m… sorry” was all he could say, no words in any language across the galaxy able to encompass the devastation wrought on their family.

“For what? You… didn’t lock me in here, you didn’t make me into this.” His voice was dark with hatred and shame.

“But I heard what happened. You tried to rescue me. You fell.”

“It was… my choice. My choice.”

“I got out,” Crosshair informed him, words practically punched right out of him. “Omega—s-she got me out. She finished your mission.”

Tech had a wide grin on his face that Crosshair could half-attribute to a possible concussion (something they both currently shared), but the rest was surely at Omega’s success.

“How about I get you out this time?”

Tech’s lips pulled together, chest heaving on a sharp inhale. “Crosshair.”

Fire raged around them, Crosshair and Tech starting to cough from all the smoke.

Crosshair tried to shove the large pipe aside, but to make matters worse, the other end was angled against what remained of the wall in such a way that it was stuck.

Tech sat up, mouth going a bit green around the edges, yet he tried to help.

“It is of no use. I require a blaster,” Tech said.

Crosshair paused.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Crosshair met Tech’s eyes, and he said, “Following your previous line of thinking, I have to work under the assumption that you’re pretending to know me so I can help you survive. Without me you’d die. I’m sorry, but I have to consider every odd.”

“I understand.”

Crosshair grabbed Tech’s rifle since he had lost his own, feeling odd holding it, feeling odd that Tech could even now use a rifle with such proficiency.

He shook that from his mind.

“What do I do?” he asked.

Tech directed him where to shoot—not at the pipe, but his leg. Crosshair hesitated, part of his brain not up to speed with the fact that this was a mechno-leg he was going to be firing at, and not a flesh one.

Crosshair took aim.

His right hand trembled.

Oh, please, no.

“Crosshair? Crosshair, what’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t do it.”

“You have perfect aim. You can—”

“No, I don’t!” he cried, ducking his head to hide his face. “That’s the problem, I don’t. Not anymore.” Crosshair was crying in fitful sobs punctuated by coughs. His shoulders slumped. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“Fine, I do not really care whether you possess perfect aim or not. We need to get out of here.” Tech’s voice lost its composure. “Please, I… I have to get out.”

“You’re asking the wrong soldier.”

To Crosshair’s surprise Tech let out a frustrated growl. “For once you need to not be so severe and unyielding with yourself. The calculated odds are that you will hit my leg more times than not. This is the right plan. I believe in you.”

“Since when do you have belief?” Crosshair scoffed.

“Clearly, you have not been paying attention. I… I believe in my family,” he said, the words slow like he was surprised to find them true, surprised his mind was his own. “I believe in you.”

Crosshair faced him, and the surety in Tech’s gaze gave his body strength.

He lifted the rifle.

“Don’t put it right against my leg,” Tech instructed. “The force of the blasts could injure me, and I’d rather not have part of my spine remade again.”

Crosshair’s breath caught at the admittance of the pain his brother had suffered through.

Breathe. Just breathe. That was getting more and more difficult by the moment, the roaring of hot flames loud in his ears, heat hitting him like a solid object.

“Ready?”

“Go.”

Crosshair fired. The blast barely hit Tech’s leg. A scream wanted to leave him, but he held it in, gritting his teeth, chest heaving. He was shuddering.

“Again.”

Crosshair inhaled.

Exhale.

Squeeze the trigger.

The blast hit, burning through a third of Tech’s leg, sparks firing. He groaned, but otherwise made no protest.

With three more shots, Tech’s mechno-leg was completely separated above the knee.

Crosshair let out a hurried breath of triumph, and he released the rifle, leaning forward to wrap an arm around Tech to help him up.

Debris shifted and landed where Tech had been stuck. Sparks flew up, Crosshair throwing up an arm to shield their eyes. His stung, and even with his lids closed orange flickered in his vision.

They both struggled to properly stand, and then struggled even more to remain standing once that first feat had been accomplished.

Together they hobbled out of the fires. As they half-sat half-fell to the platform, leaning against each other to stay up, Crosshair noticed the back of Tech’s head was bleeding. He put a hand to it. The blood seemed to be coming from above the plate.

Tech winced. “I’m fine.”

Then he reached for Crosshair’s bloodied face, the injuries he’d given him.

Crosshair smiled.

“It’s just a scratch.”

Crosshair and Tech laughed together, tears running down their soot-blackened faces. Their foreheads pressed together, and that’s when Crosshair knew for sure that Tech was himself again, that his brother was able to come home.

Crosshair searched around for his helmet, which he could not find, and when he explained he needed his comm, Tech started fidgeting with a band on his armor.

Through Tech’s brilliance they were soon hearing their family’s voices, and they were okay, they were alive. Omega was free. Oh, Omega. They could almost, all of them, finally go home. They could go home.

Tech handed over the band. “Here.”

Crosshair couldn’t stop grinning.

“Hunter,” he said, watching the battle die down, gunships flying through the air across a brilliant dawn Tantiss had surely never seen the likes of before, a dawn they could all see, “you’re never going to believe this.”

[000marie198]

Over the years, Nine had gotten used to the ambience of his underground lab. A calm silence on the best of days, ringing one on the worst but it was his nonetheless. His lab, his safe haven away from the tyrant ruled city above. Away from the monsters who'd brought him nothing but pain and misery.

Underground, it was safe.

The labyrinth of tunnels he knew like the back of his hand, skulking through them as sneakily as a spider in its own web. No citizens knew but the underground system was Nine's territory.

Still, an additional reassurance of security wouldn't hurt. Hence, the password-protected metal door so nobody can catch him off guard in his own home in case they ever stumbled across the lab. He had chosen the perfect spot for his lab, far away from any maintenance tunnels or security rooms, out of sight of any cameras and sentries, away from the patrol routes of the Resistance spies.

The calm isolation helped him work. He had gotten used to the mixture of silence and noise. The humming of lights and machinery, buzz of electricity running through concrete and metal walls, the rumbling vibrations of the train as it passed outside every half hour. It was routine, it was a semblance of a home.

His life was far from great, he didn't even know what a good life is supposed to be except for being left to his devices without getting beaten up. It was a far cry from the years of his childhood - he sometimes forgot he was a child still - when he would be jumped by one or another bully just for having an abnormality. The seven metal appendages he built to fight back covered his abnormality in an illusion of a single tail. Rarely ever he got disturbed about it afterwards, managing to blend in with the crowd whenever he had to venture out and then back in, ignored without a second thought. He preferred it over being the center of some horrid attention.

He preferred his hidden away lab in the bowels of the city over being someone's neighbor in the skyscrapers above. It was too dull and depressing, too noisy. He couldn't work in that environment, with the monotone buzz of sentries and Egg Forcers, the smog that made the air thick and hard to breathe in, the boom of speakers on those darn balloons saying "You're Welcome". Nine would scoff. Welcome, yeah right.

No way he would ever live up there. He wouldn't even be given enough peace to sketch a blueprint, let alone build something. He liked the combination of silence and routinely noise in his isolated lab thank you very much. The muffled screech of the vehicle arriving followed by the deep rumble in the walls before silence fell once more, back to the hum and buzz of his treasured creations and dim fluorescents.

No matter how repetitive, Nine liked the ambience of that place. It helped him think, kept him calm, helped him create to his heart's content. He would sometimes get so lost in his work that day and night blended into one -not that it made much of a difference either way - and he would lose track of the hours.

It was one of those days when someone swivelled him to face towards the person and away from his work desk. That moment, all of Nine's fears and fight or flight instincts had kicked into overdrive.

His home was discovered.

He tried to fight back, scare him away, the persistent and annoying intruder.

Nine believed himself a spider facing a fly that wandered into his web. He didn't expect to get stuck on one of his own threads.

Terror ran through him as the train almost crushed him, and then he was saved.

By the same stranger who had managed to find his place, managed to unlock his door without a single alarm going off in case someone entered an incorrect password.

That day, Nine learned about joy and companionship, felt safe around someone for the first time in his life, learned that there's a lot more to a good life than he could've ever known.

That day, Nine's life had taken a sudden unexpected swerve into the unknown.

The unknown led him to a place even better than the one he had lived in the past handful of years. Silent, isolated, empty, just what his heart had wished. A dream home he never knew he wanted.

The Grim.

What started out with hope and happiness, shoved him through pain and determination and betrayal and anger and heartache. His beacon of hope, his reason to feel joy for the first time in his life felt tainted. It hurt him and yet he couldn't bring himself to rebuild the walls that were taken down, couldn't bring himself to destroy the half-built bridge no matter how much his heart urged him to.

He has seen on the other side, a part of him didn't want to lose the pathway to the other side.

What he didn't look at was the flames of his rage burning all the other places hidden beyond the rest of his walls. His urge to snatch what he needed to fix his broken home and bring colors to it would destroy what lay beyond the bridge. The reason behind his hope and joy and anger and pain.

He would have to destroy that reason to bring back what everyone lost.

And then, Sonic was gone.

And Nine was alone, as was promised to him.

It was what he wanted, wasn't it? What he always wished for. His lab was here, brighter than it was back then, with a much cooler change in aesthetic. A touch of color, a touch of openness, a mark of Sonic still left in the existence of palm trees and a hammock.

He would've loved it if he were here.

The ambience of his lab in the Grim was different than New Yoke. There was the silence he had wanted, the isolation.

But he couldn't bring himself to build things anymore. The silence was too deafening, the echoes of his tool too loud. The lights didn't hum, the buzz of machinery carrying too many painful flashbacks.

He couldn't stop hearing the screams in his memory every time he heard the buzz. Grim was somehow more silent and still louder than New Yoke.

It felt less and less like something that should've been a home and more like a prison.

Why did it feel so much worse even though the situation was much better than New Yoke could ever hope to be, where he had to be constantly alert of everything around him anytime he headed out? Where the air was thick and unbreathable any time he headed outside his lab?

This place had colors but was too lifeless, calm and peaceful but dripping in sorrow.

Was it because his conception of a good life had changed? New Yoke's lab used to feel like an ideal home but that was then. Now thinking back on it, it was so much worse than what he had known.

Sound simulations did nothing to bring him back in the mood. He couldn't create anymore.

He liked the ambience here so much more but...

It was empty. Grim... Heh

The darkness of sleep consumed him and he welcomed it over his pained thoughts.

When he came to, he felt weak, too tired to move. His mind was empty and he felt whole and safe. Home... Nine felt he was seeing things, that he was in a dream when he saw the ones he thought he'd never see again.

Murmured conversations he felt too delirious too remember the words of but knew he had had. He no longer heard the eery silence, nor the loud buzz, just soothing murmur of familiar voices, familiar presence.

That moment, Nine hadn't realized his life would be taking another turn.

That day, Nine finally cried. And things spiraled and turned around for the better. Grim no longer held him contained, he was being taken to his real home, the one he never knew he deserved, the one he never realized he had needed.

Time passed, before he found himself in a lab, same bunk bed and desk and computer screen that he always had but not shrouded in shades of grey nor violet.

The machinery hummed and beeped, the air wasn't thick nor still and gently swooshed around like playful wisps. The light was a combination of white fluorescent and yellow gold, the natural rays holding warmth that tickled his fur. A soothing combination of peaceful silence and gentle noise, distant chirp of flickies, taps and pitter-patter of footsteps sounding through the walls, familiar voices muffled and clear; an ambience he could get used to.

Nine's fingers twitched towards the desk and after so long, he finally built

[dragongirlintestines]

Your crew did it! The crew of the Ingress Respected finally captured that terrifying dragon woman! You can finally breathe a sigh of relief, as the news that that... thing... isn't freely roaming the system hunting whoever it can get its claws on!

And as a preventative measure, and for the sake of humiliation, someone managed to stick a bell on her restraint collar. Now that was funny.

Anyways, now that the mission is completed, maintenance needs to be done. You take your tools down to the lower decks, and begin the long, slow process of restoring the ship's damaged systems. Thankfully life support is still mostly functional, but the lights, the intercom, and a few other minor systems need to be restored.

You ignite your headlamp, and go delving into the bowels of the ship. Hours pass as you move from plasma burn to plasma burn, prying open half-melted panels and splicing patches into the burned-out cables.

jingle, jingle

A sound echoes through the deserted halls. Eerily familiar.

Terror grips your mind as you realize. You should only hear this sound in the brig. You need to get to a hiding spot. The panel you just finished working on should suffice. You peel it back from the wall, before stowing yourself away amongst the ducts and wires inside the walls. A small gap gives you a glimpse out into the hall, and you douse your headlamp to conceal your location. The hallway is barely visible from the faint glow of emergency markers.

jingle. jingle.

The sound approaches. It was supposed to be humorous, and it was when that thing was stuck in the brig. But if it broke out... no one is safe.

Jingle. Jingle.

A shadow passes in front of the emergency lighting strip. You can make out the silhouette of something round.

Another shape pounces on it.

Ah. Halogen, the captain's cat. You breathe a sigh of relief.

You step out of your hiding place, and you can see the reflection of the cat's eyes briefly as it scampers into the darkness.

Back to work then.

You flick the switch on your headlamp and turn back to the panel you had hidden behind.

A great, ashen blue thigh fills your view, and you trip as you try to scramble backwards.

The beast pounces.

You scream as your gore stains its maw.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

another anti-psych post from your neighborhood patient-therapist

In my last post I talked about the kinds of basic needs people and communities have, and asked what it might look like in your community to meet those needs as a baseline. This time we're going to talk more about what happens when communities and individuals are chronically un-/under-served.

Okay so let's break it down this way. We're gonna try looking at just one medical symptom of chronic stress: autonomic dysregulation. It's not going to feel like we are, but I promise that's all we're doing. This is a *serious* symptom and it often comes clustered with others due to the way it functions within the body, which is why I think it is a useful case study here. Autonomic dysfunction, especially chronic dysfunction, can temporarily (though for long spans of time if the dysfunction remains chronic rather than acute) alter the functioning of other systems within the body such as the endocrine system, the reproductive system, cognitive functioning through the hippocampus and amygdala, and muscle functioning, nerve functioning, and others. It is no joke to suggest that long term autonomic dysfunction can often lead to major long term health consequences that are life altering for the person experiencing them. While some can be treated, managed, or even cured, not all can be and this is something I want us all to keep in mind as we consider the need for building communities that do not cause this kind of harm to their people.

Let's look at some potential medical outcomes of autonomic dysfunction, per the Mayo Clinic:

Dizziness and fainting when standing, caused by a sudden drop in blood pressure.

Urinary problems, such as difficulty starting urination, loss of bladder control, difficulty sensing a full bladder and inability to completely empty the bladder. Not being able to completely empty the bladder can lead to urinary tract infections.

Sexual difficulties, including problems achieving or maintaining an erection (erectile dysfunction) or ejaculation problems. In women, problems include vaginal dryness, low libido and difficulty reaching orgasm.

Difficulty digesting food, such as feeling full after a few bites of food, loss of appetite, diarrhea, constipation, abdominal bloating, nausea, vomiting, difficulty swallowing and heartburn. These problems are all due to changes in digestive function.

Inability to recognize low blood sugar (hypoglycemia), because the warning signals, such as getting shaky, aren't there.

Sweating problems, such as sweating too much or too little. These problems affect the ability to regulate body temperature.

Sluggish pupil reaction, making it difficult to adjust from light to dark and seeing well when driving at night.

Exercise intolerance, which can occur if your heart rate stays the same instead of adjusting to your activity level.

Some common comorbid conditions may include Diabetes, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, Parkinson's, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or an autoimmune disorder. In each of these cases I want you to remember the lens of an individual body being denied, in some way, its base needs (an edocrine hormone, a nutritional component, the internal security of homeostasis, etc), to such an extent that it begins to experience an internal catastrophic failure, as this lens may often be supportive of accommodating your disabled comrades, or yourself, in the future.

I also want us to consider some common social statistics relevant to these conditions. Nearly 4% of the world experiences and autoimmune disorder. Most are women, and Indigenous, Black, and Latina women are at risk than most for several of these. In the United States, there are suspected to be 37.3 million people with diabetes. Diabetes is also considered an autoimmune disorder by researchers, and is one that the Indigenous, Filipino, Indian, Latine, and Black communities are all at higher risk for than white people are, however, risk is also heavily influenced by poverty, and by a family's location with respect to food deserts which grow more and more common. In a truly wild statistic, 80% of lesbians versus 32% of heterosexual women had polycystic ovaries in one study, and 33% of lesbians versus 14% of heterosexual women had progressed to PCOS. Some studies find that transmasculine folks are more likely to PCOS as well.

When we consider the marginalization these groups experience, and the way that marginalization plays out in the social forum, the political forum, in the financial forum, and in the emotional forum, are we really surprised to learn that it plays out in the embodied forum too?

This is what people mean when they talk about social murder. These are health conditions that don't just change lives, they end them. A system that churns out people so chronically sick that their bodies are desperately killing themselves trying to stay alive is a society that has become desperately sick. Diabetes is something we have attributed to individuals, to families, and even every once in a while to corporations, but at what point have we sat down and looked at a society that produces this murderous autoimmune disorder at such high rates and asked the real question: how are we making so many people sick?

The answers are many, and that can feel overwhelming, but I encourage you to start in one place and learn your way around it as well as you can before you even consider moving on. Maybe start with food deserts. They're probably familiar to you, you've heard about them in passing before I imagine, even if you're not really too into this stuff. But ask yourself WHY food deserts are able to exist? What are the mechanics of one being born? How does one stay free from the stain of a grocery store or food market? Are there any places like that near you? If so, what points of leverage might there be in that location for you to break the homeostasis of the food desert? How can you add your weight to efforts already occurring, or stir up sentiment around the idea of a new homeostasis where a grocery store exists? Can you put up flyers or attend town hall meetings? Can you knock doors or phone bank? Can you bring some sugar by your neighbors and comment how frustrating it is you all have to go so far to get your groceries and wonder what's up with that and maybe start scheming together? What kind of store should it be? Bring in a local market? A chain? Build a co-op or merchant's stalls for a four season farmer's market?

Get really into one idea, and get others in on it with you. I bet you aren't the only one who'd like a better status quo.