#a fully functioning larynx

[whetstonefires]

Another recommendation for pill-swallowing problems, from my personal experience: vocal warmups.

Seriously, a lot of us have very stiff throat muscles so it can make a huge difference to how well your throat accommodates the pill.

Start with just very throaty humming, up and down your range but focus especially on achieving the 'down' because low notes are flexing open. (Don't force it if it's painful though! Patience!)

Once that's smoothed out switch to open-mouthed notes, still going up and down--you can do just aaaAAAAaaaa or a proper scale or whatever you like. Get louder after a while, if possible. Sing from the gut. It does not matter if you think you 'sound good' this is for your health.

I usually finish up by singing a few verses of something comfortably in my range with lots of long notes, like 'Hallelujah.' At the end of all this, or even an abbreviated version of it, pill usually much easier. Even swallowing water is easier.

hey you!

yeah, you who has trouble swallowing pills.

When I was about 23, I finally had someone teach me a trick that worked.  Put the pill in your mouth, take a sip of liquid to hold in your mouth.  Toss your head back dramatically so the pill and liquid roll to the back of your tongue.  While your head is still back like you’re doing a Pepsi commercial, take another drink and swallow.

You’re welcome.

Unless it didn’t work for you in which case, back to crushing them up with two spoons.  Sorry about that.

[aliengoose]

Hey guys guess what happens when an anatomy student becomes obsessed with Generation Loss. Basically I have thoughts about how the mask works. Closeups and image description below the cut.

Image Description: Drawing of Generation Loss! Ranboo standing with their back to the audience. Closeups of their face in the top left corner. Handwritten text reads;

Electrodes inserted subdermally hidden under mask. Current running through electrodes controls facial muscles for manipulation of facial expression and speech.

Wires enter mouth and run down throat to electrodes. Control muscles of tongue and larynx to manipulate speech and other vocals.

Signals sent remotely to plaque (on the back of Ranboo's neck) where they are routed to relevant wires and electrodes

Wires do not stimulate intrinsic hand/finger muscles, which is why Ranboo is able to tap SOS.

Wires travel outside of body, fibres insert into particular muscles to electrically stimulate them.

Wires to body follow general pathways of major motor nerves to skeletal muscles. Basal random voltage and frequency inhibits motor neuron input. Need motor neurons to function for Day 3 The Choice - requires Ranboo to have conscious control of his body.

No wires along sensory pathways. Ranboo is fully aware of everything happening but cannot express themselves.

Wires start just above C1 spinal nerves. Do not influence brain activity or cranial nerves. Ranboo sees and is aware of everything, thus the "I SAW EVERYTHING" and tapping SOS.

Wires hidden under clothes to prevent suspicion.

Make cc!Ranboo's burns canon to Generation Loss? Malfunction of wire lying along spine, possibly meant to stimulate muscles of the back? eg. erector spinae. Causes "odd" changes in posture. I just also think it's cool and messed up if they're in pain but physically cannot express it. End image description.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 5: Cop Out

Did you know that humans have instincts?

When I was growing up, and everyone thought I was a human boy, everything I read about instincts claimed that humans simply don’t have them. But as I got older and started thinking about things like gender, sexuality, and eating preferences, I started to see that this was wrong. And now, I’m pretty sure there are scientists that fully recognize that humans have instincts. It’s just that human instincts are buried and hidden under a gorgeous complexity of social interactions and conscious executive functions, and the ability humans have to just learn so much, and keep learning. But they’re still there.

Let’s take a look at a simple one.

Most human infants have an instinct to grip anything that’s placed in their palm. Previously, scientists would call that a reflex in humans, and a survival instinct in monkeys and other apes. Any other baby primate has got to hold onto their mother. But a human infant? Not so much. And it is a reflex. A simple reaction to stimulus. But it’s also an instinct. A bit of evolved behavior that didn’t hurt to have and at one time increased the chances of survival and continued reproduction.

And human adults still have that instinct. They use it in things like the design of bicycle brakes. By using a lever on the grip of the handlebars, humans have taken advantage of that gripping instinct to do the right thing in a moment of crisis without thinking about it much. If you get startled or see danger, you clench your fist, and clenching your fist is how you pull on the brake and stop the bike.

Now, I’m noticing that since my transformation, I’ve unlocked a whole bunch of draconic instincts. And the more complex ones, too. The ones that are a series of reflexes. A chain of if-then statements in my nervous system. I’m pretty sure it’s how I got through the day, how I made the correct assumption that Whitman was just challenging me for dominance (and probably why Whitman challenged me in the first place), and how I’ve so easily and even accidentally imitated basic sounds I’ve heard. I think it’s also why I can drink anything without drowning myself with this new anatomy. I just know how to use it. It’s certainly how I was able to breathe fire.

Humans have instincts that are that complex too, and I obviously had some of them when I was younger. Such as the instinct to learn language and figure out how to use a larynx and mouth to talk.

I’m pretty sure, at some point, I can eventually learn to talk again. I have all this language in my head. But I don’t seem to have the instincts to naturally apply all this linguistic knowledge I have to my new vocal apparatus.

And this is going to be a problem when talking to the police.

But I’ve got an even bigger problem right now.

Because, when Rhoda opens that door after speaking to the officer through it for as long as she felt she could, what I see there is not just a couple of police officers. I see a couple of competing predators that are not my own species.

And before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve already reared up and flapped my wings completely careless of Rhoda’s belongings. And I’ve made my favorite noise again. To human ears, I imagine it might sound like a muscle car trying to imitate an enraged parrot. If I took a deep breath and really pushed it, I think I could work an elephant into it as well. I might practice that.

And just like that, there are guns pointed at me.

“I thought you just wanted to talk,” Rhoda manages to say.

“Ma’am,” one of the cops utters, putting all of his intention into that word, nodding toward me.

His partner is grimacing and obviously trying to decide what to do.

These two people have been trained to fire at anything that is a clear and present danger to themselves. Which is currently me. And that training has got them to at least draw their weapons.

But – and I recognize this because a combination of my reading and my emotional instinct are kicking in – they’re being hit by a human reflex that’s been largely hidden for as long as anyone can remember. Though it’s made it into almost all the myths.

Well. Humans do have this reflex. As someone who had C-PTSD, I know it all too well. Sometimes humans freeze in the face of danger. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they run. Sometimes they try to make nice, they fawn. And I think there are a couple of other reactions there, too.

But, when it comes to dragons, there is something deeper and more ancient and stronger that always results in freeze, apparently.

Because now that I’ve locked eyes with them, they can’t seem to budge or pull their trigger fingers.

The thing that sinks my heart is that when Rhoda turns to look, she gets caught up in the transfixation, too.

I can think about this, and I can make decisions still, but I’m learning something important and unfortunate at the same time. Because I’m on the other side of this, and I’m finding that it’s something of a two way street.

It’s as if I’m transfixed by them as well.

My body is swaying of its own accord from side to side, which causes my neck to snake a bit, and that pushes my head side to side ever so slightly. My head is swiveling to keep my gaze locked on the enemy’s eyes.

I’ve already noticed how much my attention is drawn to movement. Anything that moves within my vision vies for my center of focus. I don’t have to snap attention to it, but I want to. And if I look at something that’s moving, I see it more sharply and clearly. It’s easier to focus on it and see the details. And by my body doing this little dance, which I’m sure is part of what triggers the transfixion instinct in humans, I’m also having my movement tracking triggered as my targets parallax against the background despite otherwise being frozen.

And I’ve got two very strong urges, and it’s just like having my C-PTSD triggered. It’s all I can do not to follow one of the two of them. My whole body is tensing and coiling in anticipation of action on my part. And the longer that this lasts, the more intense the urgency is. It feels like a mix of fear and hunger.

If I were encountering these police in the wild and had recognized them as a threat there and gotten us into this same situation, I might have more options. I’d likely be able to take one of the two choices being presented to me by my instincts, and choose to retreat and take to the sky.

And I think the reason humans are frozen by a dragon’s stare is that half the time a dragon would just use that opportunity to leave. Maybe even more than half the time. Humans are pretty scary, actually. Especially when they have pointy things.

I’m terrified of those guns. I don’t think I’m impervious to projectiles like dragons in movies and stories, and a bullet is going to do some pretty shitty things to me, especially if it punctures one of my fire sacks, or whatever I should call them.

Flying would be risky, as once I get away from them the transfixion might be broken, and bullets can go pretty far. But it would be the more socially acceptable of the two options, and I can’t do it because I’m surrounded by walls and a ceiling. And I can’t turn to crawl out a window or I’ll break the transfixion.

Which leaves the other urge.

Pounce and eat.

I don’t want to be a people eater, but right now I want to.

And it doesn’t help that I’ve exerted myself a lot today, because that’s making me even hungrier.

But I’m a civilized dragon.

I’m not going to do it.

I’m not.

I’m not.

By the logic of this instinct and the urges it’s making me feel, Rhoda is now one of my targets, and I’m not going to do it.

I’m using my C-PTSD therapy to manage this. But it’s a tense situation that gets more tense with every second and every movement. Because I don’t know how long these people will remain frozen.

Remember that squeezing instinct humans have? That’s how you fire a gun.

Something about the transfixion prevented them from doing that, so far. And like so much of all of this, I don’t know how that works.

I slowly uncoil myself and move forward, snaking side to side even more as I go. And I watch as the guns track my chest.

Yeah.

They can move a little bit.

And they look so soft and vulnerable.

I lower myself as I get closer to them, which is dangerous because it’s another pouncing position, and I feel my butt wiggle back and forth like a cat calibrating a leap. And I visualize how that leap is going to go down.

But I keep moving slowly, armored head momentarily between those guns and my more vulnerable chest cavity, keeping my eyes on theirs the whole time. Which they can clearly see, because my head twitches with every movement to keep it that way.

And then I rise up right before them, almost between the guns, towering up until my horns brush the ceiling.

Oh, wow, I smell urine.

I’d take a deep breath to calm myself, but that smell is triggering my hunting reflexes something fierce and if I fill my nostrils with it I might lose control. So I hold my breath.

And I slowly, carefully place the palms of my foreclaws on the tops of the guns and push down steadily and glacierly with my whole weight.

I do what I can to grip the guns themselves with my claws, without nicking their hands. But without actually looking at them, because I don’t want to break eye contact, it’s hard. I think I do draw blood.

But I don’t hook their hands, just the guns, and that’s nice.

Neither of the officers have the strength to hold those guns up, and eventually my weight forces them to let go and stumble back a couple wobbly paces.

And now I’m standing on the guns.

And I’m close enough that I can only keep my eyes on the two police officers, and Rhoda is broken from the spell.

“Gentlemen, I think it would be a good idea for you to leave,” she says cautiously but firmly.

Now that I’ve secured their guns, I know I’m in less danger, so I force myself to tilt my head quizzically and then glance at Rhoda. But not at her eyes.

Then I look at the policemen in the chest.

That snaps them both out of it and they stumble further back into the hallway. But one of them looks longingly at his gun, while the other stammers and fixates on Rhoda.

“We’re going to have to call this in,” he says. “This is aggravated assault of a - “ And his eyes flick back to mine and his words trail off.

“You don’t have ordinances for dragons, do you?” Rhoda asks. “How does a dragon fit into your laws, anyway? Are they an animal or a person? I assure you, this one has a name and can talk if you let her use a tablet or my phone. You recognize that, don’t you?”

Both the officers look at her in confusion.

“We all see it,” she says. “Before you drew your guns on her, you were going to ask to see her ID, weren’t you? But this is all so new, there aren’t any laws about it. And maybe until there are, you should leave her alone.”

“We really did just want to ask some questions,” the one who was staring at his gun says.

“Dear?” Rhoda says to me. “Do you want to answer the questions that these fine gentlemen have for you?”

I kind of do. I want to make it clear to everyone that I was attacked in my own apartment by Whitman. And going on record as saying that seems like not a bad idea. But, on the other hand, it occurs to me that maybe I don’t want my former identity attached to my current state of being. Just in case certain laws do get crafted and passed. I don’t know what could happen, and I don’t want my own case to be used against me to take away my… human… rights.

Hm.

I’ve been close enough to activist circles, and I’ve been on social media for longer than a lot of kids have been alive. I know the wisdom. Don’t talk to cops.

It’s pretty easy for me to not talk to anybody, actually.

I shuffle back and kick their guns out to them. I don’t want to be responsible for those machines of death, and I’m sure neither does Rhoda. It’s also a gesture of trust, if somewhat foolish. I’m willing them to take it to mean that they should pick up their things and go, unharmed. And if they point them at me again, I might not be able to hold back this time. And I’m wagering that they think the same thing.

I watch them very, very intently as they hesitantly pick their weapons up again.

When they return the guns to their holsters, I turn and walk back into the apartment and start taking note of what I’ve knocked over.

“I think that means, ‘no’,” I hear Rhoda say, before closing the door. “Maybe come back with a warrant if you want to talk to me, and maybe the dragon won’t be here then. Thank you. I hope you have a very good day.”

I hear Rhoda’s cane thump on the floor as she moves up to my side, but I keep looking at the broken vase and upturned ficus.

“We can’t do that again,” she says, grimly. She sounds like she might be shaking. “I definitely can’t be doing that again. I hope they won’t be coming back, but you’ve got to find yourself a place to stay.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and adds, “I want to remain your friend and keep helping you. I’m not so worried about my things, but between dragon attacks and police visits, I just don’t know. I hope it’s rare. But, I don’t think this is a good place for you to live.”

I bow my head in solemn acknowledgement. I agree with her.

“Anyway, you can sleep here tonight,” she says. “We both need a good sleep, and while I don’t know if I feel safer with you here or gone, I can’t take that away from you. Your place ain’t fit for it, though. So you can stay.”

I look at her.

“Just, right in front of the front door, please. I have fewer breakable things there and if the police come back they’ll have to go through you.”

I give her a nice cat smile.

I really don’t know what I’m going to do, but a nice long nap is absolutely in order.

—

The next morning, I really have to use the bathroom first thing.

I’ve already figured out how to use the toilet with a cloaca and a tail and everything, but I really don’t want to do that to Rhoda’s bathroom, so that means wandering over to my apartment and using my own facilities. These apartments have pretty small bathrooms, which means I need every surface available in there to maneuver. And I’ve just basically emptied my bathroom of everything that’s moveable.

I could probably just go shit anywhere, and no one would know what to do about it. I can probably even do it on the fly, like a bird. But I don’t want to do that to people, or other animals. If I can use a toilet, I’m going to.

I’m a clever girl, I’ve got this.

Rhoda’s still asleep, so I let myself out. The doorknobs of this place are actual knobs, but they’re antique and textured, pretty easy to grip, even for me. I’d still prefer levers, but I’m practiced with these.

Except my door won’t open.

It’s locked.

There’s police tape across it.

I know that landlords, and the police, and the system are all ultimately to blame for my door being locked when I really need to use my own bathroom. But one thought enters my mind with a fiery fury, because there’s a reason it happened now.

I’m going to eat Whitman.

[seth-whumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 2

Car accident/Bystander Caretaker - whumpee Morrigan - 656 words

tw car accident, blood mention, panicking, temporary blindness

--

The odd connections between sound and awareness do not fully make sense to Morrigan.

They're somewhere in the void of stasis, only the barest of code running to keep them functioning. Standstill components are just as dangerous as overheated ones. It's like a manual transmission–they do not function well if they're starting cold.

Beyond that, though, is the quietest filtering of static. Eyes closed means they're not awake yet. But they're… hearing.

Something is wrong.

The first error flashes up into their black vision. It's followed then by several more, and a Critical Injury warning–which is probably the least reassuring thing to wake up to–and a handful of readings on the weather. They swipe it all away and focus on forcing their systems to run.

Static hums in their ears, louder and louder, until it crackles and with a loud pop, they can hear a voice.

“--got you. You're okay. Are you awake? You're moving. Listen, you've been in an accident–”

It's not one they recognize. Smooth, feminine, round in tone and darker, elegant. Likely a woman of status. They still can't see.

Morrigan is damaged. And the only person they can hear is a stranger.

A warning pops up. Stress levels increasing.

Carefully, they push a system check on their larynx, to test if their voice will still work. Luckily it seems undamaged.

“What happened?” they whisper.

The woman's voice is just as close. Behind her are louder sounds, sirens, clamoring voices. Metal screeching. “Someone ran a red light and slammed straight into your car, your friend's a little ways away, I think he's–”

“Jace,” they say immediately. Their eyes still do not open. It's terrifying to be trapped in the dark. “How is he? Is he alright?”

“Yes, he's dazed, I think he's just coming to. Standing, he seems alright. You're right messed up though–”

Oh. They're injured. There's not-blood all over their jacket, surely, and it may be dark, but their skin is still pale and the mixture that keeps them running is definitely not red. This is bad. This is bad.

Instinct kicks in. This is a dangerous situation. They have to make a choice.

They feel the woman's hand reach out and flinch, hard, away. “Don't touch me.”

“Alright, I'm sorry, you're just–I was going to put you in rescue position–”

“Don't. Please don't touch me.” The fear isn't hard to conjure. Whatever it takes to keep the woman far enough away from recognizing what they are.

“You're alright! You're–”

Morrigan drags as much panic up from this situation into their voice, like someone claustrophobic stuck in a coffin. “Please, please, please–”

“I'm not going to, alright, I promise, I'm not gonna touch you. Hey. Tell me your name?”

“Morrigan,” they heave. “Morrigan White.”

“Good. My name is Kim, I'm just here to make sure you're awake before the ambulance gets here–”

“Morri, are you alright?”

Jace. Thank god.

“Scuze me, hey, sorry, thanks for the help, Morrigan, are you up, are you hurt–”

“One at a time, Jace,” they remind him, a half desperate laugh falling from their lips, despite how their eyes remain completely dead. “A simple ‘how's your day been’ does wonders.”

“Smart-ass, you're gonna bleed out on the fucking pavement, don't get sparky with me. Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

They laugh again. It's a hopeless, broken thing. “I can't.”

JJ pauses, for a long while. A siren screams even closer now. “You… can't.”

“I'm blind. I can't see anything. Something broke. I–”

“Don't panic, it's eyes, we can do this, we just need to get out of here. We'll get you fixed up. I promise.”

A promise. Journey doesn't break his word. Morrigan clutches his arm tighter, allowing themselves to be guided upwards. They lean heavily on him.

“It's alright, Morri. It'll be alright.”

His words are soft and certain all at once. So Morri keeps their eyes closed, and is led away from the scene.

--

they're both fine in the end i promise morri gets their eyesight back

[glitteraffe-art]

Why Does Escher Sound Normal?

Unlike the other NPC cyberhead characters who have voicelines (like DOTEXE, or the cyberhead Classic Oldhead, or cyberhead civilians you can run into…) Escher has little to no robotic voice filter over his voicelines. 

https://youtu.be/dxqQAeN2kwo Escher voicelines

https://youtu.be/MskVzMtpFtU DOTEXE member voicelines 

Honestly, the cleanest explanation for the voice difference is, “Cyberheads can just choose how they want their electronic voices to sound, and some want it to sound more electronic--and Escher just wanted to sound less electronic”. However, I’m not looking for a clean explanation here- I very much like making up shit that could be plausible. 

Long-winded headcanon explanation(?) under the cut for length and also due to spoilers for the plot of Bomb Rush Cyberfunk:

Given that the standard cyberhead appears to be able to support a fully functioning human head inside of it, while more or less being able to work like a normal cyberhead (vision through the four eyes, breathing, etc) it may be possible that individual cyberheads may have differing amounts of head left depending on how they got beheaded (intentionally or otherwise). Getting guillotined by a (insert bladed thing here) doesn’t have to be the One and Only way of losing your mind. 

Anyways, I imagine  that Escher has enough of his body’s original head to have a functioning larynx, mouth, and nasal cavities/passages, which would allow him to  sound more like a regular human. 

Let’s take a look at some headcanons in detail:.

How could you lose only part of your head in such a way that leaves, more or less, the entire rest of your mouth and nose intact? Since Escher is a sniper, perhaps he (or whoever had his body originally, depending on whether you interpret him to have the downloaded memories of,  or be a completely different person from, the original owner of the body)  got detected on a mission and, unfortunately for him, got hit by a headshot above his nose/mouth (though, it’d have to be angled to not hit the lower parts of the mouth and throat, and also be from a weapon with a smaller caliber--if it was too large his whole head would be uh. vaporized)

With a fully intact body but the brain turned into naught but a fine mist, he’d probably be  a prime candidate for a cyberhead… (something something even death may not free you from the military-industrial complex something something)

On to the cyberhead itself. With little to no use for the remaining cranial cavity and any remaining chunks of eyes, excess parts of the skull could be cut away. The AI and other mechanical components could be placed where the brain was, though some nerve and artificial muscle connections would need to be made to ensure the lips, jaw, and tongue move correctly, as those are needed in forming sounds. Additional connections would need to  be made between the AI/other components and the spinal cord, other nerves down to the body, so on and so forth. Just add a small mic with no modulation to get over the “muffled” sound of a person with something like a helmet over their face and voila- 

a cyberhead who sounds very human.

But wait a minute… if he has a mouth that works, could he eat normally? 

Well, probably. I’d love to get deeper into oral, enteral, and parenteral nutrition in cyberheads, but that’s a topic for another day. At the time of writing this, I still need a bit more research to familiarize myself with the topic before presenting any in-depth headcanons. 

If there’s anything I can say about the subject, I’ve seen several people present the headcanon that the two plates making up the “face” of the standard cyberhead are hinged and can swing apart, like so:

This definitely would allow eating, albeit awkwardly, since the plates are big enough to totally block vision towards the center of the face. Eating in this way would mean he’d be unable to see what he’s putting in his mouth directly, and instead would either have to hold food slightly to the left or to the right of the central faceplates, or angle his head to see it.

(Any activity that blocks the vision of a sniper is not ideal; I wonder if there are sniper-specific cyberhead configurations, military-produced, that don’t have this problem?)

Whatever’s left of his face in there is probably not pretty, either- I imagine he isn’t the kind to eat in front of other people, though there may be individual cyberheads with a similar head model and face configuration who Don’t Care About That and are 100% fine with opening their face plates to have a snack in front of anyone.

WAIT. Could he… kiss?

It would probably be difficult and more than a little awkward for everyone involved, but probably yes? The hinged faceplate configuration as described above would make it difficult- opening the faceplates so they extend parallel to the chin would make it annoying for another person to get their face in closer; opening the faceplates further, to be perpendicular to the chin, would completely and totally block his vision. Maybe just kissing someone’s hand may be a little easier given the faceplate configuration? Not that it’s any of my business.

Hey, what about Red? If Red and Escher have almost the same cyberhead, wouldn’t Red have, at some point, figured out how to open the faceplates?

Even though they both seem to have standard cyberheads, it’s possible that individual standard cyberheads could be customized based on the needs of the beheaded individual, with a variety of different customization options. I get the feeling that purchasing a cyberhead for use is a little like buying a car- an expensive purchase with a lot of customization options for different needs or wants, with more customization increasing the price. Since Red’s head was apparently from the Versum Hill scrap heap, maybe it was originally for a 100% beheaded individual who didn’t have any need for hinged faceplates, who could take in food via tube. 

One last note: Though Red/Felix has a fully functional head with a functioning larynx and mouth hidden within a standard cyberhead, he sounds very electronic. But, given Flesh Prince and DJ Cyber wanted his existence to be kept secret, it wouldn’t be too far out to say that they intentionally added voice modulation to more closely get him to resemble a regular cyberhead.

[mcclainwilla]

Writing Fight Scenes Part 8 - Illegal Strikes

Sorry this took a while to get out, school has been kicking my ass (but what's new) and I couldn't think of a topic to tackle, until I had a vision in my grocery store parking lot. Up until this point, I've been talking about 'honorable' martial arts/fighting techniques. But what happens if your character is just a cunt?

I'm going to talk about types of illegal hits (learned from my time in martial arts/watching UFC fighting, not from my own exploits) and when/why your character would ever want to do such a sucky thing

TW: injury mention, death mention, brief eye horror mention.

Please tread carefully if you're sensitive to violence! I fully anticipate having a personal case of the heebie jeebies by the time I'm done writing this post

Types of Illegal Hits

When I was still actively practicing martial arts, my instructor would sing (to the tune of 'head, shoulders, knees and toes') "eyes, ears nose throat and groin, throat and groin" which, honestly, is most of what you need to know. But I'm going to expand on that a little bit

Back of the head

Specifically, the junction between your character's spine and your neck. If you poke around, you'll find a little divot there. That is where the brain stem is, which connects the spinal cord to the rest of the brain. As opposed to the rest of the head, especially the forehead/frontal bone, the back of the head is kinda squishy/not well-protected by the skull. This is a magnificent design flaw, because the brain stem controls most involuntary vital functions like breathing and heart rate, which means that a hit to the back of the head could send a character to meet their maker

Throat

Throat strikes can also be life-threatening because, as you might've guessed, it will impact a character's breathing (or, in the worst cases, the neck bones). The larynx is at the top of the throat column, whereas the trachea is at the bottom. Ultimately, the terminology doesn't matter too much, because both are very bad places for your character to be hit. The suprasternal notch, which is the divot between the collarbones, at the very base of the neck, is not a fun place to be hit, but it won't kill your character (Rio, one of my characters, motherfucker unlimited, hits one of his classmates here and nearly gets suspended)

Eyes

Explains itself. A character would probably want to use their thumbs

Ears

There are a couple here. Right behind the ears/corners of the jaw are some particularly nasty soft spots. I used to think it was the eustachian tubes, but I could be wrong, maybe it's actually the lymph nodes, or something else entirely. Either way, I was once hit here with an oven mitt that was tossed at my face, and it brought me to the ground

Also, there's something called a 'thunderclap' which is basically a character clapping their palms over an opponent's ears (less of a cupping/holding motion and more of a simultaneous smack). The sudden change in pressure will rupture their opponent's eardrums, which 1. Hurts like a bitch and 2. Will at least temporarily deafen them

Knees

This one is kinda tricky because some strikes aimed at the knees are okay (kicking out the backs of the knees isn't fun, but it won't ruin a character's year), and some are not. It's not cool to aim at the front and top of the knee, because that's how dislocations happen. Your character ought to stomp, rather than kick - gravity gives some assistance and even if the opponent bends their knee in preparation, it still has a good chance of breaking

Why would a character throw illegal hits?

Because, clearly, they can be pretty devastating. I'm not going to tell you that a character can't throw these kinds of hits during a sparring match, but they really shouldn't, unless you're trying to prove that they are a bitch (like my kid, Rio). That's because friendly/instructional sparring matches are defined by a sense of mutual respect and good sportsmanship - the goal is to improve the skills of one or both parties, not to maim. But, on the other hand, it could be a pretty powerful characterization moment if a character gets worked up and smashes their sparring partner's knee in. Any character who disregards combat etiquette, whether intentionally or impulsively, is bound to build a reputation for themselves both within the narrative and among the fandom

Primarily, however, these underhanded hits are best utilized in a self-defense scenario, especially when your character is otherwise at a steep physical disadvantage (shorter/lighter/weaker/etc.) It's also okay to pull these out during a serious, but more evenly-matched, fight between two characters. Just, again, remember that it's really not nice, and that the victim character would probably be well within their rights to seek revenge at the next available opportunity

[chuyua]

@osaumu : ❛  does  your  brain  work ,  actually ?  do  you  have  a  functioning  head ?  ❜

the past hour or so after finding out they'd brilliantly and astronomically fucked up so badly felt like hours, pulling teeth in such an agonizingly sadistic manner. the bile rising had festered in the crooks of his lungs and the center of his larynx, just a puddle of burning acid that settled to remind him that shit still had yet to fully hit the fan. it'd already started, the absolute fuck - fest that befallen the airport. but they couldn't attack head - on without understanding precisely what they were fighting. the two of them left behind to their own devices, a comatose and useless body, and the fake vessel of that anemic jackass taunting them. he'd never seen dazai this way, and that left him feeling more unsettled than he'd been in years. it was laughable, amusing at first, but now it was just scaring him shitless. gloved hands shoved into his pockets as he kicked at a large rock in his way, the mineral exploding upon impact. “ i'm not even gonna entertain ya because i know you're just pissed at yourself. ” gaze narrowed, almost a warning in his tone save for the genuine concern hidden and laced. “ don't fuckin' lash out at me or i'll kick your face in. it's not helpin'. ”

[sarojy]

Best ENT Surgeons Near Kalewadi

Welcome to Sarojay Clinic! If you’re looking for one of the best ENT surgeons near Kalewadi, Sarojay Clinic is here to help. Our state-of-the-art facility offers advanced ENT methods. Our experienced surgeons and cutting-edge technology ensure that we address all your surgical needs and support you in living a happy and healthy life. At our clinic, we proudly provide top-class ENT surgical care. Dr. Shweta Rajput-Jadhav leads our team as a Best ENT surgeon in Kalewadi.

Sarojy Clinic is a specialty ENT hospital with all facilities of ENT treatment under one roof. Sarojy Clinic delivers quality ENT services around the clock, and our ENT department is fully equipped to handle both routine and emergency cases. Sinus, larynx, and ear surgeries are carried out regularly. Functional Endoscopic Sinus Surgery (FESS), laser excision of laryngeal lesions, diagnosis, and surgery for vertigo (giddiness) are a few additional highlights of the department. Moreover, advanced ENT-related neurosurgeries like transtemporal acoustic neuroma, cochlear implant surgery excision, cochlear implant excision of glomus tumors, and transnasal transsphenoidal excision of pituitary tumors are regularly performed. The department has full-time facilities for allometric speech therapy and hearing aid sales and services.

At our clinic, we’ve got everything you need for ENT care. Our OPD is fully equipped with modern tools, including a high-definition German camera, for Nasal and Laryngeal Endoscopy. We also have a cutting-edge operation theater with advanced equipment like a microscope, endoscope, and microdebrider, so we can perform surgeries using the latest technology.

We handle all kinds of ENT surgeries, from ear procedures like tympanoplasty and nose surgeries like septoplasty to mastoid, sinus, and thyroid operations. We’re also experts in stitchless endoscopic ear surgery, ear lobe repair, keloid removal, and grommet insertion. Whatever your ENT needs, we’re here to provide top-quality care with the most up-to-date equipment!

[sitaramasilamani]

The Strategies For Vocal Mastery in R&B Singing with Sitara

Acquainting themselves with their voice is of vital importance for singers. Doing so helps avoid vocal strain and build endurance.

R&B singers must possess agile techniques to sing riffs and belt high-register harmonies with ease, producing rich tones with facile articulation.

Breathing

Sitara highlights that Breath control is an invaluable singing technique to develop and master. It enables singers to sustain notes, control dynamics, and mold the overall tone of their voice without experiencing breathiness or strain when trying to hit high or low notes. It can prevent severe throat and vocal cord complications like nodes, polyps, and vocal bleeding from occurring. Without control of breath, singers will struggle to sound good: without this ability, they may experience breathiness and strain when reaching higher or lower notes; moreover, they could also experience throat or vocal cord issues like node polyps or even vocal hemorrhage if their breath control was beyond control - without this is crucial!

People often associate great singers with effortless singing, someone who can quickly take in the air before exhaling on command and holding the note for its entire duration. Such ease comes from learning proper breathing techniques through professional training.

There are various breathing exercises to learn, but it is critical to always focus on using their diaphragm to support their breathing while singing. Unfortunately, everyday life often leads to shallow breaths that don't help our voice properly - this type of breathing can strain voices, dryness, or even damage vocal cords over time. Sitara Masilamani - California

Sitara points out that raising one's chin while singing can also cause neck and shoulder muscles to contract, placing additional stress on vocal cords and creating unnecessary strain.

Tone

An essential goal for students singing is creating a fully resonant, pleasant tone across their entire range. Doing so requires an intricate combination of breath control, vocal fold function, larynx position, and resonance in the head and throat cavities. It must be learned under professional guidance as it requires subjective terminology, imagery, and objective physical sensations associated with efficient resonator balance.

Singers who tend to sing with breathy tones typically lack sufficient support from their lungs and coordination between the head, neck, chest, and back muscles. Poor sleeping habits may prevent these singers from maintaining the energy levels necessary to coordinate their bodies properly while singing. Poor hydration levels are another contributory factor; dehydration may dry out vocal folds, leading to breathy tones. Princess Sitara Masilamani

Sitara articulates that to correct a breathy tone; voice teachers typically start by having students sing vowels with similar lengths and shapes (e.g., front vowels [e] and [i], as well as back vowels [o] and [a].) Once each vowel has been sung, teachers instruct their pupils to place their hand inside the mouth behind the teeth for testing; when producing breathy tones, their palms may vibrate, indicating ineffective vocal cord resonance.

Singing Style

Imitating artists you admire is an effective way to sharpen your singing ability. Find artists whose styles resemble your own, then copy their phrasing, dynamics, and technique until they become part of your unique singing style.

Work on various vocal techniques to learn how to sing more dynamically, such as learning riffs, which are common elements in R&B songs and require much vocal improvisation. An excellent way to begin practicing this skill is to first add one extra note to a simple song and progress with more complex patterns or phrases that build your confidence and mastery over time.

According to Sitara's perspective, vocal runs are another widely utilized R&B singing technique, called melismas or verbal improvisational methods. You can work on this by using pitch slides as warm-up exercises; remember to take a deep breath before each slide and avoid overdoing it!

As part of singing across genres and musical eras, it's essential to use different singing styles to do justice to every genre and musical era. Rock singers may use both head and chest voices, while jazz vocalists may utilize scat singing, melodic embellishments, and improvisation to enhance their performances. When performing live, you should seek feedback from other singers and review recordings of your singing to identify any areas, notes, or words that need improvement or work on.

Vocal Warm-Ups

Vocal warm-ups help your vocal cords prepare for more intensive activities like singing a song or performing an extended set. Vocal warm-ups reduce the risk of strain, damage, and even voice loss by gradually moving from note to note while keeping your head still (try this on a piano by starting on C4 and slowly singing C5).

R&B singers use breath control, vocal placement, and resonance techniques to craft an authentic sound. Female R&B vocalists may incorporate vibrato into their performance for added effect. By regularly practicing practical exercises such as vocal warm-ups and scale practice, aspiring R&B singers can perfect their vocal technique and master their craft.  

Sitara clarifies that timing is paramount for all musicians, particularly vocalists. This skill requires careful attention to detail and responding appropriately to subtle pitch, volume, and tone changes. By consistently performing vocal warm-ups that target specific elements of timing, R&B singers can achieve more precise musical performances with nuanced musical performances that remain subtle yet nuanced enunciations for clarity of vocal delivery - critical components in audience comprehension of what's being sung, which ultimately contributes to their success as artists.

[medfirstentcenter]

Vocal Cord Surgery - explained By Dr. Rajesh Bhardwaj (Award Winning ENT Surgeon)

Vocal Cord Surgery

Vocal Cord surgery is performed when the vocal cords have growths, such as, polyps, tumors, or other masses that need to be removed for biopsy or to improve function.

The child will usually exhibit a hoarse or raspy voice.Vocal Cord surgery is also indicated to normalize vocal cord functioning when the vocal cords are scarred from various causes, paralyzed, or are otherwise abnormal.

These conditions may interfere with the complete opening and/or closing of the vocal cords, which is necessary for normal speech and breathing.Surgery on the vocal cords can be performed either directly in an open surgical approach (making an incision in the neck) or indirectly through an endoscopic approach (through a tube inserted into the mouth and throat).Either procedure is performed under general anesthesia (the patient is fully asleep).

Recovery after either an open or endoscopic approach includes minimizing damage to the larynx during surgery, as well as reducing inflammation after the surgery. Therefore, your surgeon will recommend the procedure he/she feels will minimize these complications.

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[officialpetanimals]

Rabies Realities: Hydrophobia's Haunting Presence

Introduction:

Rabies hydrophobia, a viral disease infamous for its deadly consequences, has plagued humanity for centuries. Among the various symptoms associated with this disease, hydrophobia stands out as a haunting manifestation, striking fear into the hearts of those familiar with its implications. In this article, we will explore the realities of rabies, with a focus on the terrifying aspect of hydrophobia.

Understanding Rabies:

Rabies is a zoonotic viral infection that primarily affects mammals, including humans. The virus belongs to the Lyssavirus genus and is typically transmitted through the saliva of an infected animal, commonly via bites. Once the virus enters the body, it travels along peripheral nerves to the central nervous system, eventually reaching the brain.

The incubation period for rabies can vary, but symptoms usually manifest within one to three months after exposure. In some cases, the incubation period may be longer, further complicating the diagnosis and treatment of the disease.

Hydrophobia: A Distinctive Symptom:

Hydrophobia, an aversion to water, is one of the hallmark symptoms of rabies. While the term might suggest a fear of water, it is more accurately described as difficulty swallowing liquids due to painful spasms of the throat and larynx. This makes the act of drinking a seemingly insurmountable challenge for those infected with rabies.

The association between rabies and hydrophobia is rooted in the virus's impact on the central nervous system. As the virus progresses, it causes inflammation of the brain (encephalitis), leading to the characteristic symptoms of rabies, including hyperactivity, hallucinations, and, most notably, the fear of water.

Click here to know more : -

Neurological Basis of Hydrophobia:

The neurological basis of hydrophobia lies in the specific areas of the brain affected by the rabies virus. The virus has a predilection for the limbic system, which plays a crucial role in emotions, behavior, and the sense of smell. As the virus attacks the brain, it disrupts the normal functioning of these areas, contributing to the development of hydrophobia.

The exact mechanism underlying hydrophobia is not fully understood, but it is believed to involve a combination of factors, including painful spasms of the throat muscles and a heightened sensitivity to stimuli, such as the sound or sight of water. The mere thought of attempting to swallow water becomes a source of intense anxiety and discomfort for the individual, exacerbating their overall suffering.

The Psychological Toll:

Hydrophobia not only adds a physical burden to those afflicted by rabies but also inflicts a profound psychological toll. Imagine being tormented by an unquenchable thirst while simultaneously being repelled by the very substance that could provide relief. This paradoxical situation intensifies the mental anguish experienced by rabies patients, creating a distressing and harrowing ordeal.

Treatment Challenges:

Unfortunately, once the symptoms of rabies, including hydrophobia, become apparent, the disease is almost invariably fatal. The limited success of rabies treatment underscores the importance of preventive measures, such as post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) administered soon after potential exposure to the virus.

PEP involves a series of rabies vaccinations and, in some cases, rabies immune globulin. However, once clinical symptoms emerge, the prognosis is bleak, as there is no cure for rabies at this advanced stage.

Prevention is Key:

Given the grim reality of rabies and the haunting presence of hydrophobia, prevention remains the most effective strategy. Vaccination of domestic animals, responsible pet ownership, and prompt medical attention following potential exposure to rabies are crucial components of rabies prevention.

Conclusion:

Rabies hydrophobia, with its ominous association with hydrophobia, serves as a stark reminder of the importance of public health initiatives and individual responsibility in preventing the spread of infectious diseases. The haunting presence of hydrophobia underscores the urgency of education, vaccination, and prompt medical intervention in the battle against this ancient and formidable foe. As we strive to mitigate the impact of rabies, let the specter of hydrophobia motivate us to prioritize awareness, prevention, and the pursuit of a rabies-free world.

Read more : - Tail-Wagging Words: Dog Birthday Caption Crafting Guide

[ruminativerabbi]

Martian Powers

When I was a boy, one of my favorite television shows was My Favorite Martian, which ran for just three years (from 1963 to 1966) and which starred Ray Walston as the Martian who crash-lands on Earth and Bill Bixby as the L.A.-based reporter who takes him in and who then becomes the sole earthling to whom the Martian reveals his astounding powers. (Did I like the show especially because the Martian took the earth-name Martin? Maybe!) And those powers were truly astounding. Uncle Martin could make himself fully invisible merely by raising two antennae otherwise hidden deep inside his skull and willing himself to disappear. That power, I particularly envied. But there was lots more. He could speak in English to animals and successfully will them to understand him perfectly. (I never thought to wonder why he didn’t address them in Martian.) He could will his body to function in a superhuman high-speed mode that made him able to accomplish work in minutes that would otherwise have taken hours. And he could will other people’s minds to open up before him so he could successfully read their thoughts and know what they were thinking. But of all his super-powers and abilities, the coolest was Uncle Martin’s ability to will inanimate objects to float in the air simply by pointing his index finger at them and then lifting his finger slightly. (He was also an amateur inventor of super-cool inventions, of which my favorite was definitely the “molecular separator,” a remarkable machine able to turn anything into anything else merely by “re-arranging” its molecules.)

Uncle Martin’s powers were basically discrete abilities, but the feature they all shared was the ability to alter the physical world in ways that earthlings possessed of human brains could only dream of. And that was the part that intrigued boy-me and made me wish I could have even some, let alone all, of Martian Martin’s powers, and thus be possessed of the ability telepathically to interact with the whole world in the way we humans can, generally speaking, communicate solely with our bodies.

The way the brain interacts with the body is one of the great mysteries of life, one that scientists are only now beginning to understand well enough to help those for whom the kind of interaction we all take so for granted is not working properly. So used to the whole thing are we, in fact, that it actually takes some discipline to think of brain-body interconnectivity as a thing at all. But it is a thing. And it is truly amazing too. Joan tells me (yet again) to put my dirty coffee cup in the dishwasher by coordinating her lungs, larynx, tongue, lips, and brain to produce sounds that she invests fully with meaning. This message is directly directed at me and I hear it—but, of course, I don’t hear the meaning, just the sound, which my ears somehow turn into the sort of electronic impulses that travel up my auditory nerve into my brain, and which my brain somehow manages to interpret not only as sound but as actual speech, which is to say: as sound suffused with meaning. And then, having successfully deciphered the message, that same brain of mine conceives of the correct response and somehow first wills my right arm to extend out in the direction of my empty coffee cup and then wills the fingers of my right hand successfully to grasp the handle of the cup and lift it up off the counter. And then that same brain, crackling with meaningful intensivity, somehow instructs my body to assume the standing position and to walk towards the dish washer, then to use my left hand to open the door and pull out the rack while my right hand manages to turn the cup upside down without dropping it (most of the time) and set it on the upper rack of the dishwasher. And this all happens so quickly that I fail even to perceive it as a process at all, let alone a complex one: Joan said to do something and I, ever eager not to irritate, do it. I hardly give the matter any thought at all! (Why she needs to ask this of me daily is a different question entirely.) And yet my point is not how fabulous a husband I am, but how quickly that whole procedure unfolds: the whole procedure from Joan conceiving of her wish that I put my cup in the dishwasher to me actually putting that cup in that machine takes, maybe, ten seconds. Or less.

So Uncle Martin could levitate ashtrays and bicycles, but I can will my body to behave in accordance with messages my brain sends out without me understanding even vaguely how any of the above works. I want to take my cup to the dishwasher, so I do it without even noticing the amazing mental and neurological processes that lead from the inception of the desire in the world of ideas to its fulfillment in the physical world of coffee cups and dishwashers.

These were the thoughts that I brought to reading about the truly remarkable announcement the other day that doctors in Switzerland have developed a kind of implant that, when properly set into the brain of paralyzed persons (that is, people whose brains’ instructions to their limbs are not getting through because of damage or deterioration of some sort), can provide a kind of “digital bridge” across which commands that originate in the brain can “find” (if that’s the right word) the correct part of the body’s musculature and then instruct, say, arms to rise or legs to walk. If this sounds like science fiction to you, you’re not alone. Dr. Jocelyne Boch, the neuroscientist in Lausanne who successfully set just such an implant in the brain of the paralyzed man described in the article, said exactly that: “It was quite science fiction in the beginning for me, but it became true today.” (To read the whole article in the New York Times, click here.)

The article is about a man named Gert-Jan Oskam, a healthy looking fellow who was left paralyzed from the waist down by a motorcycle accident in 2011. Now possessed of this “digital” implant, his brain can skip past the damaged parts of his spinal cord and communicate his desire, say, to take a step forward to his legs, which can then obey. The result, that the man takes a step forward, is something all of us take for granted: what could possibly be less interesting to discuss than someone taking a step forward? That’s probably how we all feel…until we are confronted with devastating disability that makes it impossible for our brains to will our bodies to respond in certain specific ways. Another scientist in Lausanne explained the breakthrough in Oskam’s treatment like this: “We’ve captured the thoughts of Gert-Jan, and translated these thoughts into a stimulation of the spinal cord to re-establish voluntary movement.”

We happily non-neurologically-impaired persons can probably not even begin to imagine what it would be like to will oneself to take a step forward and have one’s body not “hear” that command. Nor was this just about getting Oskam’s legs to move: previous efforts to re-connect his brain to his body, he said, left him with a sense of an “alien distance” between his mind and his body, whereas this new breakthrough so closely mimics “regular” thinking that he felt, he said, like a regular person willing himself to raise his arm or willing his leg to take a step forward.

The actual way this works is not for non-scientists like myself even to pretend to understand. (Even the Times’ article was, at least in part, beyond me.) But the notion that science has created a kind of bridge across which neurologically handicapped persons can send signals from their brain to their limbs even if part of the neural highway has collapsed and is non-functional—if that doesn’t qualify as a miracle of modern science, I don’t know what would.

I’m often asked if I find my faith in God as the source of all healing weakened by discoveries like these. The answer, as anyone who hears me preach regularly will already know, is that I don’t at all think that. The human body is a remarkable machine in almost every way. That it occasionally breaks down because a part wears out or is damaged and has to be repaired doesn’t strike me as theologically problematic. Normally, this is an uninteresting procedure: you break a tooth and the dentist fixes it. But advances like the one described above stir up in me only wonder. That human beings are fragile, brittle things that break easily is not the point. That we creatures of God are able somehow to teach ourselves how to fix our broken bits and pieces and parts in ways that even a generation earlier would have sounded like science fiction is, on the other hand, precisely the point. Creativity, intelligence, and inventiveness are the greatest of God’s gifts.

[omgturtlesoup]

TIL: Storks are largely silent birds. they do not possess a fully functioning syrinx, the avian equivalent of a larynx w vocal chords.  -Hailey Brophy of worldbirds.com

listen to them clack 

A stork couple celebrating their first egg | source                          

[mixelation]

Fictional Biology Thing: Hidan talking when his head is cut off (what diaphragm? What larynx?)

Most of Hidan's biology I can excuse because 1) it's funny, and 2) "divine intervention" is a pretty good excuse for just ignoring how biology works LMAO. Hidan screams while beheaded because God wants him to.

However! Let's try to investigate. (Warning for some anatomy cartoons under the cut.)

So, canon recap for the two people on my blog who are not Akatsuki trash: Hidan is a character who is functionally immortal due to the divine intervention of his god, Jashin. There is a scene where his head is cut off and his head continues to yell and articulate speech while fully detached from his body.

Full disclaimer that I'm not a human biologist or in medicine so I haven't studied this in depth and things might be inaccurate, BUT basic anatomy review: air is pulled into/pushed out of your lungs by contraction/relaxation of your diaphragm. That air also passes through your larynx, which contains structures that vibrate to produce noise (phonation). The passage of air can be further modified after it moves through your larynx into your mouth-ish area, which I believe is called articulation. (I told you I'm an an anatomist.)

Having your head chopped off obviously means that you no longer have your diaphragm to push air through your throat, which is step 1 of speech. So Jashin is..... pushing air through Hidan's throat for him? To spread the good word?? Or! Maybe Hidan is just really good at a very specific wind jutsu because he refuses to shut up, ever. Where's that fic?

It's unclear to me if, when we see Hidan's screaming head, his larynx has been damaged. Here's where your larynx is:

And Hidan had his head cut off here (note that wee never see the gritty details of the wound, so we don't know how damaged the interior of his neck is-- however Asuma beheaded him with his Special Sharp Knife while Hidan was immobilized, so I assume the cut was pretty clean):

So Hidan might have had an intact larynx! However, he also shows perfect muscle control of his face, which uh.... again, not an anatomist, but a lot of facial muscles also extend into your neck:

Injuries to your neck can cause parts of your face to go slack and disrupt speech, due to damage to muscle/nerves..... so I don't think Hidan would be able to speak clearly even if he did have an intact larynx and a way to push air through it.

But all things are possible through the power of Jashin and human sacrifice. :)

Some other curiosities:

Hidan's blood flow would be cut off, so he'd stop actively bleeding from his head because there's no heart pushing blood through. I think it would be more like a slow seep. :)

On that note, he also wouldn't be able to show a lot of signs of anger that come from increased blood flow-- no reddening of the cheeks or pulsing veins.

.....actually I think without blood flow the whole process of moving muscles would break down as oxygen is depleted. Hmm. HMM.

As far as I can tell, Kakuzu just sews the skin/some of the muscle together and.... Hidan is fine? Everything magically aligns and goes back to working normally instantly?? What.

From this I can only conclude Hidan has an absurd healing factor from Jashin, and I want to know: if Kakuzu didn't stick his head back on, what would happen? Would Hidan's head eventually defy all of physics and biology and migrate over to his body and reattach? Would he slowly grow a new body, Deadpool style? Would he grow a new head? COULD WE GET TWO HIDANS OUT OF THIS

....unfortunately Shikamaru blows him to bits and Hidan never regenerates into an army of Hidans, so I think he can't actually regenerate to that degree. :(

Since in canon people are able to casually pop out eyes and put them back in and they work somehow, it's also possible there's some sort of Bullshit Medical Jutsu that's just like..... align-the-nerves-no-jutsu. Or maybe having a trained chakra network means your body naturally tries to wiggle back into place?

Also if Kakuzu waits too long to put Hidan back together.... does he get sepsis from having "dead" blood/body parts? Is he okay?

[redhawtriot]

Baby Boom (Bakugou x Reader)

Sooo... I think It’s the size of my tag list that was fucking this chapter up so much! Every time I have more than my previous chapter had, this chapter deletes itself from my page/drafts! I’ve contacted Tumblr about it, but don’t cross ur finger’s on that one lol. I am sorry if you weren't able to make the list!

(If you beta read for me you could read the chapters up to an entire day ahead of every else tho! If ur interested in that, just inbox me!)

HnM

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Month 1, Month 2 , Month 3,

--Month 4--

‘SLAM!’

The front door crashed shut like ammunition through cannon fire. The sharp bang clapped and echoed throughout the small, otherwise quiet living space, and soon, three roommates filed out of their respective rooms. One by one, they inched out to get a glimpse of the oncoming storm: Hurricane Katsuki.

Denki warily removed his gaming headpiece as Bakugou whipped past his bedroom door, “Oh hey, Bakugou! You sure disappeared outta nowhere. We coulda used the backup in squads! Where’d ya go, man!?” 

The others listened carefully for the explosive blond’s answer, but got nothing short of an insult in return,

“None of your business, you damn idiots. GO DIE ALREADY!” and with that, Hurricane Katsuki simply slammed the door shut-- somehow even louder than before.

Kaminari, who had gotten the brunt of the explosion, was left wide eyed,

“Woah…”

Sero gave a low whistle as he shook his head at Bakugou’s shut door, “Looks like a wild Teenage Bakugou has entered the chat.”

Denki gave an abrupt, slightly uncomfortable chuckle at the remark, but soon gulped, giving his roommates a concerned gaze, “So… should we…” he trailed off.

Kirishima fervently nodded, stepping fully out into the hallway, “I’ll go check on him, guys.” He flexed before making his way to Bakugou’s room—a nervous habit he had picked up somewhere along the line to reassure himself before he dived headfirst into rough situations.

He looked back to his other two roommates one last time and threw a pleading glance as if to say “Wish me all of the luck” before giving a few slight knocks to the rage-secreting room, “Bakugou,” he called out, “You okay, buddy? I know that there is something up. There’s no point in hiding it…we can talk?”

No answer.

Kirishima gave a long sigh, “Well, when you finally want to talk about it, you know where to find me...” 

The other roommates sighed as well before both retreating to their rooms and shutting their doors. Kiri turned to make his way back to his room as well, but only made it a few feet before Bakugou’s door sharply yanked open a few inches.

“Where are those other idiots?” Bakugou’s eyes were redder than their usual vermilion as he glared out from the cracked doorway. Kirishima gave a thick blink in surprise. Had he… had he been crying?

“They back in their rooms?” Bakugou said very lowly. His voice had an extra hint of raspiness weighing it down, Kirishima noticed.

“Y-Yeah.” Eijirou quickly replied, startled by the unseemly sight of his best friend, “They’re prolly back on the game by now.” Bakugou did not say another word as he threw his door open a few more inches and marched deeper into his room to stiffly throw himself on the edge of his bed. Kirishima cautiously followed him-- this was as good of an invitation as any in ‘Bakugou language.’

Bakugou sat, glaring seriously at the floor in front of him, as if it offended him, and his leg bounced nervously. The red head uncomfortably cleared his throat. ‘Holy shit, what the hell is going on…?’  Kirishima had never seen him do that before, “You.. uh.. you wanna talk about it, buddy?”

No answer.

Kirishima waited a few beats before releasing another sigh and shutting the door behind him so that he could make his way to the bed. He sat down next to his best friend and simply sat deep in the silence with him. The two waited for what seemed like hours before someone finally spoke up,

“I got a girl pregnant,” Bakugou said very flatly, still glaring at the floor and bouncing his leg.

Kirshima had to stifle the choke that erupted out of his throat as his own saliva sneaked into his larynx, “Ack! Achkaka!” His natural bodily functions were completely forgotten as his brain tried to compute the sudden and drastic information that was just thrown at him.

Bakugou?? Pregnant? He never thought he would hear the words in the same room, let alone the same sentence! The guy hardly ever did anything but work, work out and come home to play video games. He didn’t converse with people. He didn’t get girls pregnant. Girls didn’t even look at him!

In his coughing fit, Kirishima’s speech was also forgone, “I-I- uh.. man that.. wow I…” he tripped and tumbled over his words. He was dreaming. He had to be. Well, either that or he had wandered into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone or something.

Bakugou’s glare at the floor intensified, “I thought she might not be so bad… but I didn’t want to be with her like this,” Kirishima’s eyes widened at the underlying tone of hurt buried under his friend's words, and then they widened even further once he realized what he just said.

Had Bakugou fallen for someone for the first time?? And then his eyes widened the furthest as things finally began to click within his confused mind.

He sucked into a sharp gasp, “You mean that model!?”

Bakugou simply scoffed, finally relieving his glare form the ground and focusing his hot gaze on Kirishima, “Yeah, turns out she’s actually a fucking bitch.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped, “BAKUGOU! That’s the mother of your child! You shouldn’t—”

“She didn’t remember the night at all. I was just another fuck toy for her,”  Bakugou stood up and clenched his fists over and over again as if they itched to be slammed against something—tears welling up in his red-hot eyes, “Now tell me if the roles were reversed, how shitty it’d be then, huh?” Kirishima immediately shut his mouth from speaking up anymore as he allowed his friend to release his feelings. It wasn’t often that Bakugou built up enough to let things out this way.

Bakugou scoffed again as he began pacing the room, but Kirishima swore that it had the hint of a cry layered within it somewhere, “they might not even be mine since she likes that ‘fuck toy shit’ so much. That night meant nothing to her…” he threw his arm against the wall, effectively tearing a hole into it

Kirishima jumped a bit from the action as his mind briefly wandered to the security deposit on their lease. He pushed these thoughts away as Bakugou stiffly returned to the bed, his leg bouncing even more fervently than before.

Kirishima simply watched for a moment to allow his friend to simmer down before he spoke up very softly, “But you think it is yours though…”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped up to Kirishima’s, whose eyebrows were furrowed deeply into each other as he stared back.

In all his years of knowing Katsuki Bakugou, Kirishima would have never described his best friend with anything even resembling ‘gullible.’ His gut feeling and instinct were as sharp as ever and hardly ever wrong,

“Must be for a reason then…” he tried to look past the tears that filled up within his best friends eyes but they still left his heart feeling a little heavier than usual,  “If you think it’s yours then I’ll have your back no matter what buddy. You’re not alone in this.”

“They.”

“What…” Kirishima eyebrows folded toward the center of his expression.

“She’s having fucking twins.”

“Holy Sh…” Kirishima quickly swallowed his words as he took in the forlorn expression plastered onto his friend’s face. There was no room for him to be shocked right now. He had to be Bakuous ‘rock’ so to speak, “I-I mean congratulations!”

Meanwhile you found yourself studying the woman in the reflection of your mirror. Your eyes trailed every detail of her swollen, red eyes. Then to her hair that was fuller than you had remembered—the beauty of bottled color maybe? You danced over the way that loose strands stuck to the slimy mess of tears and mucosa that had accumulated on your cheeks.

Nasty.

A sharp chuckle came out of you, spittle following not too shortly after, but as it reached your ears it resembled more of a cry.

Okay, that’s enough self loathing for one lifetime.

And with that, you moved away from the mirror; however, as you did so, your sight basically smacked the open cabinet of liquor bottles that you were eyeing earlier.

Okay…. Maybe not quite enough self loathing. Your mouth began watering at the delectable sight. It was a desert after a delicious four course meal.  There was always room for more…

With a shake of your head, you brought your hand up to smack these thoughts out of your mind. What was wrong with you? You had been a lot of things in life, but were you really so low to bring yourself to effectively murdering your own children?

That’s what would happen if you drank, right?

You loudly groaned as more tears slipped from your eyes. You really didn’t know shit when it came to this pregnancy thing.

Your mind briefly wondered to Baby Notes Vol 1. You should probably take the time to actually read through it a little. Skimming it wouldn’t kill you.

Physically.

The sudden pounding at your door snapped you almost immediately out of your thoughts.

“Y/N?? Y/N, it’s me!”

With a final pathetic sigh you found yourself gathering up all the alcohol from the cabinets that you could into your arms and placing them in the bathtub before jotting over to the door.

As soon as you opened it Deku barged in and gripped you softly,  “I came as soon as you called! What’s up, what's wrong?! Are you okay??” His eyes frantically danced around your wet eyes and red sockets before he allowed them to roam all over you, checking for injury.

He wouldn’t ever think that Kacchan was the type of guy to put his hands on you, especially with how much he’s grown since high school, but the nagging voice in the back of Izuku’s mind fervently reminded him of all of the bruises and burns and numberless emotional scars he accumulated with he was quirkless from his childhood friend.

And here was a woman he deeply cared about-- quirkless—having to spend time alone with said childhood friend.

“What’s wrong??” Izuku found himself repeating as his hands mindlessly wiped the fluid from your cheeks. As soon as he committed the action, however, his face ran completely red and he quickly released you from his grip, so that he could get a grip of himself.

You didn’t notice his slip up, and if you did you sure as hell didn’t care at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand. Two to be exact, “Twins,” you simply said to him as tears began flowing down your cheeks more furiously.

“Huh? Oh… Oh.” Izuku’s eyes went wide as your words sunk in. As soon as he threw you an obviously apologetic glance you threw yourself into his chest and sobbed throwing him a bit off guard as he barely caught you in his arms.

Izuku’s eyes nervously roamed around your home as if he were searching for the right thing to say to you, but as he made contact with an open pantry in your kitchen, his jaw dropped-- your alcohol pantry.

It was far less full than it had been the last time that he visited, “Y/N… What’s with the… have you been drinking?” he pulled you away from his chest and looked seriously into your eyes.

The sight honestly kind of scared you a little—like a 15-year-old being caught with their first beer-- that is, until you remembered that you were innocent as fuck, “No,” you gave a slight chuckle through your tears at the sudden surge of intimidation, “I need your help getting rid of it.”

You walked away from Izuku for a moment, leaving him confused and a bit wary of where this was going, until you returned with a hammer—leaving him even more concerned,

You were aiming for bad ass Harley Quinn vibes, but you were sure that with a dried trail of tears on your cheeks and the force smile splitting your face you came across like more of a psycho ass Harley Quinn. Furthermore, the look on Deku’s face screamed that you were correct (also it screamed ‘GET THIS GIRL IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!’).

“What are you gonna do with THAT?” Izuku squealed.

“I need to get my favorite bottles out of the house. Stat. and you're gonna help me.” At your words, Deku gave a gigantic sigh of relief, but still kept his eyes glued on the hammer in your hands. You noticed and shrugged a bit, “Smashing things is also really cathartic. I am sure you of all people can agree with that.”

“Heh… Yeah. But are you sure this is okay? I mean, I don't want to raise your blood pressure or anything because--”

“Deku. Less talk, more smash,” you threw a towel in your tub to make clean up a little easier, and so you didn't knock a chunk of tile on your bathtub. You gave Deku one last glance. He was still looking very uncertain, but you threw him a short smile before bringing the hammer down onto a bottle of tequila. The bottle instantly shattered, sending bits of glass throughout your tub. You looked up to give Deku an excited glance, and surprisingly, he returned one right back.

“See? Not so bad!” 

But you spoke too soon as the scent kicked you in the fucking nose. It was too far to turn back now. You choked down your nausea and handed Deku the Hammer, “You go ahead and get started. I’ll go get another weapon-- I mean… tool,” you corrected yourself after he sent you a terrified stare.

As you made your way back to the after grabbing your second weapon-- I mean tool a sudden thought crossed your mind. Without hesitation, you pulled your phone out and dialed in,

“Hello?”

“Yes. How may I help you today?” Dr. Yamakawa sounded from the other line.

“It’s Y/N…Y/N L/N…” you trailed off, hoping that you wouldn't have to say the ‘p word’ or anything relating to it.

His old ass better take the hint. To your dismay, his old ass did not take the hint, and a long pause of awkward silence filled the air.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance, “Mama Bakugou,” you clarified through gritted teeth, still dancing around the fact that you were a maternity patient of his.

“Ohhhhh!” He exclaimed, causing your face to fall into an expression of disappointment as he continued, “What can I do for you, Mama Bakugou?!”

This mf. You internally ground and fought the urge to facepalm, “Well. I need you to write a doctors note for me.”

“For…?”

“Work?”

“For your pregnancy? Dear, why don’t you just take maternity leave for that?”

“No.” In the moment you shook your head even knowing that he couldn't see you,  “I need a few weeks more before I can tell my job about this… situation. I’m a model. They own me through a contract and I didn't exactly add two roommates to the lease on my body...”

There was a pause on the other line, causing your heart to lurch a bit, but things soon went back to normal when he finally spoke up, “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll email you something.”

You gave one final thanks (and an internal ‘yessss’) before making your way back to the bathroom, “Hey Deku, sorry it took me so long I was just--” you froze at the sight in front of you. The shirt that Izuku wore was completely drenched in liquid and your tub had a gigantic hole on the side.

Your lips fumbled over themselves as you gawked at the spectacle. Deku could only send you a nervous laugh,

“Uh, hahaaa… Can we be done now? This… this burns,” he rapidly blinked the liquid from his eyes as he glances back down to the lot of broken bottles in your tub before throwing your one more pleading glance.

You choked down a laugh, causing it to flee from you in the form of a snort, “Someone had some pent up aggression, huh?”

In response, his face delved into a deep shade of red, “I.. uh..” he had no idea how to answer you when you looked at him like that-- your lips curved into a stunning smirk of a smile. Izuku promptly cleared his throat, “C-can I take a shower?”

“Obviously not that one-- you're totally fixing that by the way Mr. Big Shot Hero,” with a laugh you swiftly made your way to him and carefully grabbed the hammer from his grasp, looking up to see his face dive even deeper into crismon. You flashed a smile at the display. He really was adorable as hell.

You took in his face bit by bit-- his soft, blushed skin, his freckles cheeks, his round eyes. As you digested his expression you swore you could see an entire forest within his stare. Suddenly your heart pinged.

“Uh, Y/N,” Izuku interrupted your thoughts, causing your heart to throb for a different reason as you suddenly realized the proximity of the two of you. You stepped back so fast that your head spun. At least, you hoped that was why your head was spinning,

“You can use my shower.” you said very abruptly as you turned away from him,gesturing him to follow you to your bedroom.

Your bedroom. Your hear throbbed once more. Deep down, you hoped that you were about to have a heart attack or something; however, something  within you told you that that probably was not the case. You swallowed hard.

What the fuck was happening?

‘KNOCK kNOCK KNOCK’

The next morning you found yourself stirring awake to a loud succession of banging. Your eyes fluttered open for a moment only before they snapped back shut. The magnet drawing them together and you closer to sleep was much stronger than whatever noise was trying to wake you up, “Mhmfmfm…” you muttered as you rolled over on the couch and pulled the blanket over your head.

Izuku, however, was not one to ignore such an obvious noise and he found himself trudging off of the other sofa he slept on to answer whoever was banging on the door.

‘KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!’

“Coming!” the green haired man tiredly called out as he launched himself toward the front door and swung it open.

The astounded face on the other side of the entrance soon mirrored his own.

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed.

Bakugou’s shocked expression very quickly contorted into one of pure rage, “What the hell is going on here?!” He screamed causing you to jolt awake as you threw the blanket over your head. You found yourself fumbling up as Bakugou continued to scream pointed to Deku, “The fuck is he here for??”

You made your way over to the two men- one seemingly terrified, and the other obviously enraged. As your head began lifting from the daze of sleep, you crossed your arms and glared at Bakugou, “He spent the night helping me with something,” you shook your head, trying to free yourself from the oncoming headache, “Hey, better question: why are you here?”

Bakugou seemed to swallow his own tongue as his jaw clenched shut, “I wanted to… uh…” he glared at the ground as he tried to find his next words. Shit. why was this so fucking hard? He should have never listened to that Shitty Hair and come over here. Bakugou scoffed to himself before redirecting his stern gaze back toward you, “Come with me.”

You could only blink.

What kind of caveman talk…You tilted your head as you fleetingly threw a confused glance toward Deku, who only shrugged in response.

Bakugou quickly grew tired of yours and Dekus silent conversation, “You wanna hang out or not??” he growled before throwing another heated finger toward Deku,  “And he can’t come.”

“I was just heading out anyways. It’s no big deal really!” Izuku defensively threw his hands up as if to show Bakugou that he was no threat at all. He went to gather a few of his belongings from the sofa he slept on before throwing Bakugou one more gaze-- this one a lot more astute.

A majority of Midoriya’s mind told him that there was nothing to worry about at all, but there was still a small section of him that couldn't shake the memories of how Bakugou treated him as a quirkless child. Izuku knew that he would never hurt you! But… just in case…

“You take care of her Kacchan,” the tone came off pleadingly but the look in his eyes was a  bit stern. You had never seen this portion of Deku before and it almost instantly caused your chest to thud, harshly reminding you of last night’s sensations. Shit.

“Don't tell me what the fuck to do, Deku. Those are my kids in there. Not yours. You just remember that,” Bakugou scoffed, causing Izuku’s expression to falter ever so slightly before he fixed it again.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer bluntness of his statement, “Kacchan, what the f--”

“I guess you’re right, Kacchan,” Izuku began, “Sorry if  I crossed a boundary,” he smiled at Bakugou-- who only huffed in return-- and quickly turned to you, making the tightness in your chest worse, “Bye, Y/N!” Izuku smiled, almost too innocently, considering the raging war in your gut at the moment.

You smiled back-- a feeble attempt at masking the inner turmoil ravaging your insides. “Peace, bb,” you gave him a weak hug before gesturing him out of your home. You threw him one final smile before shutting the door. You instantly whipped your head back around the the blonde brat behind you, “What. The. Fuck!?”

“I already told you. I want to hang out.”

“Are you fucking allergic to texting or some shit??” you yelled, “You just waltz in like you own the damn place and demand me to ‘Ohhh ahhh wo-man! come with me, wo-man’,” you renacthed his prehistoric behavior. 

Bakugou felt his muscles tighten in response to your taunting. Your loud nature, mixed with the confrontational behavior was reminding him way too much of his own mother. He swore on his life that he would never end up with  a woman like her and yet, here he was standing in front of her fucking carbon copy. The thought made him sick as he groaned in frustration,

“Shitty hair was fucking wrong!” Bakugou spat, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion as he continued, “The last thing I want to do is hang out with a bitching hag like you!!”

Your jaw dropped, “Excuse me??” You have heard pretty much every other insult in the book hurdled at you, but ‘hag’ was never one of them. You laughed, “I wasn’t a hag when you fucked me all night, huh?!”

“Yeah? I don't know what was wrong with me then. You are way different when I am not pumped full of alcohol, apparently.”

Your laughter immediately ceased, “Whatever. you came up to me and confessed your love like a raging SIMP, and now all of a sudden I’m a bitch?

“Fuck! Well, I got to know you past a pretty, stupid, fucking face!”

You blinked in shock. The unfamiliar feeling of your heart sinking into the pit of your stomach overwhelmed you as hurt surrounded your face. Practically your entire life, being beautiful has been a mask of sorts for your overwhelming failures. Still, here this man was-- practically a stranger-- seeing past your facade, looking directly into the steaming pile of shit that you truly were. Your eyes suddenly became warm as tears filled them,

“Then why the fuck are you even here, asshole?? TO PISS ME OFF?” you shouted, throwing your hands by your side and clenching them so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“BECAUSE  I WANTED TO KNOW ALL OF YOU!” he screamed back. The shocking words fled out from under his harsh tone and stunned you as your brain processed them. You felt your fist unfurl a bit as he continued, “I wanted to know you. Good and bad. Bitchy and not. You're carrying my children… I want to know them,” he finished, almost defeated. This tell of emotion was obviously the last thing he wanted to be doing, you could tell.

Still, it meant a  lot for some reason that he felt that he could do this with you “Oh,” you breath out, unable to articulate much else.

“Oh?!” he angrily repeated. Bakugou felt his face shrivel in disgust. He just poured out his being to you once more for you to trample on it like a fucking gymnast mat. However, as Bakugou formed his mouth to say something else, you halted him,

“Go… have a seat,” you gestured to the couch, blinking the accumulating liquid in your eyes away. The blond could only shoot a lone eyebrow up in response, causing you to sigh in exasperation,  “Well, Are you just gonna stand there looking like that, or what?” he gave you one final scoff before making his way to one of your couches and seating himself comfortably, propping one of his feet on your coffee table as he glared at the non functioning television.

“Welcome, I guess. I am sure you’ll have no issue making yourself comfortable,” you deadpanned, eyeing his propped up legs,  “I’ll go make us some… tea?” you suggested , but no answer came from him, “Tea it is.”

You rolled your eyes before trudging away. You always loved green tea, but for some reason the smell had been killing you lately, so you opted for peppermint tea instead. It was inferior by, far, but it matched the inferior, pathetic life that you had adopted recently.

Jeez. How much self deprecation can you fit into one week? Would this have any effect on the babies? If so, they’d probably come out singing RnB or some shit in the maternity ward. They’d have already stressed dyed hair and an entire Tumblr dedicated to sad aesthetics before they reached their first birthday, for god's sake.  

You vehemently shook your head to once again get rid of the oncoming headache that snuck in with these disgusting thoughts, “So Kacchan!” you called out as you walked back to the living room, “What do you wanna know?”

“Don’t call me that,” he simply barked.

“What?”

“Don’t call me that name. I fucking hate it.”

You snorted and took a seat next to his glaring figure. You tried not to notice how he shifted further away from you as you sat down, “I am sure Deku disliked being called worthless his whole life too,” you smirked up at him, “I bet he fucking hated it.”

The atmosphere seemed to once more shift into a much heavier tone after your statement and the room fell quiet for a few beats. Bakugou’s small glare morphed into a much more forced one. It was as if he was trying to use the glare to hide another feeling, you noticed.

Finally, he spoke, “How much do you know.”

You tilted your head into another shrug, “Enough to know that you probably hate the fact that I am quirkless.”

His face contorted into one of pure disgust as the glareful mask he wore faded away like yesterday’s lunch.  “I don’t give a fuck,” he argued, but the look you sent him showed no sign of believing it. Bakugou’s disgust deepened, but he made sure to control it enough to where you didn't know that it was directed towards himself.

“Oh really? Let’s see if you can keep that same energy when one of your kids pops out without that flashy quirk of yours,” Of course his face fell, just as you suspected it would. Just like it had for multiple other men you had told.

Most men’s pride utterly shrivels into dust as soon as the pretty girl in front of them-- the one that they fantasize about having a dream life with-- ends up telling them that they are quirkless. As soon as the words fall out of your mouth, the men's dreamy gaze effectively shatters alongside their hopes and dreams concerning you.

Nobody wants to pass weakness onto their children.

“You know what? I think I’ll go first,” you snapped him out of the uncomfortable, uncharacteristic silence, and he gave you an irritated, questioning glance, “You wanted to play 20 questions with me, or whatever. No limitations, okay? And I have the first question for you,” you explained before sending him a challenging gaze, “How could someone so full of hate truly aspire to be a hero?”

You expected him to blow up at you-- to scream, and yell and argue that you were wrong.

Yet.

The slightly apologetic, yet stern look on his face threw you for an absolute loop, “I wanted to win.” he simply answered. Somehow his matter of a factness was worse for you than any furious defensive scenario you had conjured in your mind, but as you went to open your mouth with a roll of your eyes, he halted you,

“That was when I was younger, “ he sharply clarified, “I wanted to win more than anything. To be better than everyone else—and that hasn’t changed but there's more to it now. I have to protect the people I care about—like my idiot roommates—I want to make sure we all come home safe by the end of the night.”

Once again he had thrown you off with a surprisingly normal non-caveman response, “That was actually…”

“My turn,” Bakugou abruptly cut you off, “How many men the you fuck this past few months?”

Your jaw dropped. 

And back to Neanderthal you mother fucking guess! “Are you fucking kiddin—”

“You said no limitations,” he gruffly stated.

You bit your tongue and shot him a glare that could match his own before giving a sharp sigh, “Four during the last year. You were the last and the only one during the month I… conceived,” you swallowed as the word left a bitter taste in your mouth, “My turn. What about you?”

“What.”

“How many women the past year?”

“Why the hell does it matter?” Bakugou argued. Your eyes shot down to his body as it shifted around even further from you. From his body language you could tell that his answer was sure to be outrageously high.

He was an extremely attractive guy after all. Those rippling arms were nothing to fuck around with. His red hot eyes could melt steel beams with a passing glance. The chisel of his permanently hardened expression could slice through even the most secured of panties. 

Yes. and there was no denying that he was a sex god in his own right.

It also didn't help that his temperament sucked, so you doubted he had had many long term relationships. He had all of the ingredients of a man whore stirring within him.

“I’m just curious,” you shrugged.

Bakugou threw his glare away from you for a moment as he contemplated on whether or not to answer your stupid question. He had his own questions to ask you still so he guessed that he didn't really have a choice if he wanted his answers,“...One.”

Your jaw dropped, “Seriously?” as his face fell into a furious shade of red you were smacked with a sudden realization,

“Kacchan, did you... lose your virginity to m...?” He glared even further away from you, but you could still see his ears falling even deeper into red-- effectively giving you your answer, “Oh my…” he trailed off. No wonder he was so fucking head over heels for you! Through your discomfort a horribly timed joke flew past your lips, 

“You knocked her up on the first try huh? You’ve got some super swimmers,” you half laughed, but Bakugou obviously didn't find anything funny about it as he snarled angrily as you,

“Shut up!” he barked, throwing a pillow at you, “My turn. What’s up with you and that shitty Deku?”

The pillow hit you, but it was really his question that had smacked you in the face. Your chest thudded, and you prayed to whoever was listening that he couldn't see the racing of your heart, “He’s just a friend! A really good friend to me. Probably my first actual friend ever,” you said this as a joke, but obviously forgot who you were talking to.

“You didn’t make any in high school?” Bakugou’s face twisted up disbelievingly.

“Never went. Couldn’t afford the tuition...” now it was you who was uncomfortably shifting from him. 

“Your parents didn’t help you out?”

“Slow down there, buckaroo,” you laughed, but his face remained as stern as ever as you continued, “That’s like three questions In a row for you. My turn.”

Luckily he caught the hint and didn't press upon the subject any further.

Through the night, you found out a lot of things about him. He was actually younger than you by a few years at twenty years old. His parents were both fashion designers (probably the biggest fucking shock to you considering his choice of black shirts and flannels) and that he was working on making his own hero agency since he had already climbed up the ranks in Japan.

Your game, however, was cut short by the growling of your stomach.

Bakugou almost immediately stood up, surprising you as he walked to your kitchen. Well, you did say ‘make yourself at home’ but this was a little upfront wasn't it? He soon yelled to you from the kitchen as you sat in shock still, “What do you have to eat in this shit hole?!”

Shit hole? You glance around at the decorations and clean atmosphere that you pride yourself on. That jerk. Your house was not a shit hole! “You can eat shit if you want. I’m not hungry.”

“The hell are you talking about? I just heard your stomach growling.”

You shrugged, “Just indigestion. I get a lot of stomach issues with these things inside of me,” the sudden clanging of pots and pan in your kitchen startled you,  “What the hell are you doing??” you called out before marching to your kitchen.

You found him rummaging through your cabinets, stopping momentarily to judgmentally eye your still plentiful liquor cabinet for a moment before moving on, “You can starve yourself all you fucking want, but you're not fucking starving my kids.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his accusation, “I’m not starving.”

“You think I’m fucking blind?”

“I have to stay in shape for work. Just like you I am sure,” you walked up to him and grabbed a bicep for demonstration, but he quickly threw your hand away from him as his face fell into a bout of shock. He quickly regained himself,

“Whatever,” he grunted before swinging open your refrigerator.

“What are y—Hey!” you yelped as he began haphazardly throwing food onto one of your counters.

“Is all you have in here rabbit food? Jesus fucking Christ,” he ignored your cries and began throwing certain items together and heating up a pot of water.

You couldn't help but blink at the display. He seemed pretty natural in the kitchen and that in itself was unnatural considering his caveman persona, “You... cook?” you felt uneasy.

“You don’t?”

Honestly, your diet consisted of salads and ramen since you were 15, so cooking wasn't a necessity. You reluctantly shook your head at him.

He looked completely disappointed and disgusted with you but, hey, what else is new? Bakugou scoffed, “Well you’re gonna have to learn how now. Pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes at him. If you wanted fucking Gordon Ramsey bitching you around in the kitchen you would have clicked on that stupid ad that always popped up on your Youtube. Then again, Bakugou was more of a Guy Fieri with that spiky hair of his.

Whatever.

You guessed learning how to cook one meal wouldn't be too terrible,  

“What are you stirring the water for if you didn’t put anything in it yet?”

“It helps it heat up faster, idiot.”

“Do you actually throw the noodles on the wall to see if they’re finished?”

Bakugou threw you a frown, “If you’re a fucking dumbass,” he said, moving you aside as he began stirring a saucer filled with vegetables. He completely disregarded your yelp as he moved you as a parade of thoughts bombarded his mind.

He would have to come over more and keep you and his kids fed if you truly didn’t know how to cook. He scoffed and his stirring hand more slightly more erratically with frustration. What kind of grown woman didn't know how to cook pasta?

His thoughts were halted by a loud squelch that sounded through the air. He immediately threw his gaze up to the wall in front of his face and his expression fell at the sight. He growled, snapping his gaze back toward you by the pot of pasta, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” his furious glare danced between you and the wet noodle that stuck to the wall.

“I wanted to see if it would actually stick! Don’t get your balls in a twist, it was one noodle!”

“So damn wasteful,” Bakugou ground his teeth as he frustratedly scrapped the starchy pasta off of your wall. He opened his mouth to tell you just this, but immediately snapped it back shut as he felt something being thrown at his head, “that better not be what I think it is…” he snarled through his teeth as he eyed food dangling from one of the spines of his hair.

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. It’s not a worm,” you laughed, but your giddiness was soon cut off as a hot noodle was thrown back in your direction. You could only blink as it stuck itself on your nose.

“Hmph,” the corners of Bakugou’s lips slowly curled into a smirk, “It’s a good look on you, noodle face,” You laughed but once again was cut off. The brief sound of his laugh coinciding with your own shocked you.

His smile slowly died down as he caught wind of you gawking at him. He cleared his throat, “Are you done being a child? I’m ready to enjoy my good ass cooking.”

However, you didn't answer him as you once again found a smile creeping onto your face. He rolled his eyes and began making himself a plate of food, but he quickly grew tired of you smiling at him like some bimbo,

“What?!” He snapped, “You want another noodle to the face.”

You shook your head as you shuffled past him to serve yourself a plate, “No.. just you have a nice laugh.”

He scoffed, “That all you're eating?” he completely disregarded your comment but you decided to let it die too,

“I don’t see you with any food on your plate,” you shrugged, “I’d be more worried about yourself if I were you,” you winked at him before setting down at the table.

The night went pretty well after that. So well, in fact, that the two of you decided to have “parental meetings” every few days so that Bakugou could teach you how to cook. You ended up learning how to make 10 more dishes within the next three weeks.

Bakugou and you didn't exactly become close, but there were far less screaming matches than there had been in your first few meetings. You still didn't know him very well, but he wasn't necessarily a stranger anymore.

It was… nice.

The next check up came very quickly because of your lack of employment and your dates-- err um… “parental meetings” with Bakugou.

“Your twins should be about the size of avocados now! We’ll check again with a routine ultrasound. We do have the DNA tests in for you all so I’ll just go and run for those real quick.. well walk briskly. You don’t do an awful lot of running at my age.”

“I don’t do an awful lot of running now,” you joked, and Bakugou sent you a stern glare that screamed, ‘don’t encourage him.’ you shrugged as the doctor walked out of the room.

It was silent for what seemed like forever. You and Bakugou still weren't very good at sparking conversations, but eventually he spoke up as you laid back on the exam table, “You're really fucking showing now.”

You brows instantly came together, high fiving each other in your state of being roasted, “Thanks...” you deadpanned.

The look on your face sent a wave of hurt through the blond’s heart.

What the hell. It was like he felt your hurt. For the first time in a long time, Bakugou actually regretted his choice of words. He glared at the ground as he attempted to change the subject, “You’ve been eating, right?”

“How else Would I be sitting here, looking fat and talking to you, Kacchan.”

“I told you don’t call me that,” he paused, as if he were really considering his next statement, “Call me Katsuki,” he finally dragged out.

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, Kacchan.”

Just as Bakugou open his mouth the no doubt scream at you, Dr. Yamakawa entered the room, 

“Mama Bakugou! We have some really good news. Everything seems fine with the twins according to the DNA testing. One is a little small right now, but it’s completely normal for there to be a dominant twin so to speak. No genetic abnormalities or health concerns,” you saw Bakgou visibly stiffen at this before relaxing as the doctor continued, “’Cept for you.”

You shook your head, blinking heavily as if you’d just been punched in the brow, “Me?”

“You do have a concerning BMI—you tend to lean a little towards underweight. I understand you are in the profession of modeling correct,” he said very, curtly, “You need to add more calories to your daily intake. You wont need to ‘eat for three” as they say, but you do need to put on some substantial pounds or you will risk a premature birth..”

You had no fucking idea what to say to that. ‘Nice?’ ‘Cool beans.’ ‘fucking just give me the mother of the year award already!’ You felt your chest tighten and suddenly you realized you hadn't been breathing. You sucked in abruptly, causing the doctor to take a step towards you,

“You're looking a little flushed there, Mama Bakugou.”

“Well how else is she supposed to respond when you tell her like that, old man?!” Bakugou snapped, causing both you and the doctor to gawk at him. 

“Kacchan! What the fuck don’t talk to him like that, jerk!”

Bakugou scoffed, throwing his glare, much more pouty this time-- to the jar of cotton balls on the counter of the office.

“It wouldn't help either of you to sugar coat this, son,” the doctor sighed, “You have made it this far along in her pregnancy. Miscarriage is substantially less likely but if you want to give these babies a better chance, I’d suggest higher caloric intake.”

Needless to say, Bakugou did not leave the doctor's office that day a very pleasant man. He would angrily stalk ahead of you a for a few moments before pausing and grumbling about how ‘fucking slow’ you were as you caught up before the cycle would start all over again. You could only take this for so long, however,

“What!?” you yelled suddenly as the grumbling phase of his cycle began once more, “Will you stop fucking brooding already and speak your mind—”

He instantly snapped his face towards your own to stare into your eyes. You fumbled back a bit as the intense vermilion bore into you. You opened your mouth to speak but his serious expression exclaimed something before yours could,

“I wanna move in with you.”

You paused. You couldn't have fucking heard that right.

He… wants to...

“What…?” you mouthed.

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[med-przemek]

26.07.2021

Day five of work experience! Or, more precisely, day one of week two.

This week I am joining the ENT (ear, nose and throat) department, which over the course of the pandemic, has obviously expanded as the ENT specialists liaise closely with the respiratory doctors. And as we know, COVID-19 is extremely fond of the lungs and airways. So, the first thing I noticed on the ward, were the amber and red circles on posters to warn incomers that this is a COVID-19 prone area and requires PPE protection.

PPE protection leads to my second point. There is the obvious changing of aprons and gloves, with sanitisation, between seeing patients; however, during the afternoon I had to don a unique face shield (there will be an image below). I say unique, because this face shield is like a helmet with the transparent face shield having a film that, once equipped, you peel off and position it under the chin. This is to create a closed internal system, where oxygen is supplied from a small tank attached to a belt around the waist. I say unique again mainly because I have not seen this PPE before, and I looked like an astronaut or like I was wearing a beehive costume. Experiences like this have shown by how much the NHS has levelled up, with protecting it's staff, in such a short span of time.

Now, following the structure of the day.

In the morning I was shadowing a registrar, who is one year short of becoming an ENT consultant. It consisted of checking on patients after the weekend, and as expected from the loner rest, many had improved in their condition. Two cases of glandular fever (infectious mononucleosis) were present. Being a herpes virus, it is contagious by saliva or by sexual contact, hence patients have to have some withdrawal in these areas for a couple of months. Glandular fever causes flu like symptoms, a swollen throat and glands and general malaise (intense tiredness). Malaise is the last symptom to go, lasting up to even a couple of months. Unusual symptoms include mild inflammation of the liver and a damaged spleen (spleen swells during inflammation as it is part of the immune system). One patient did exhibit a sore abdomen so was recommended to lay off any intense abdominal movements for the next 3 months.

Later in the morning and in the early afternoon I was in theatre. This meant blue scrubs.

I had a peak at a lobectomy of the lung using the Da Vinci Xi robot. However, a peak was all I got so I was unaware of the main body of information surrounding the case. Luckily I was able to watch most of the next procedure: tonsillectomy. Really common. More than half a million children get it per year. Main reason being sleep apnea.

The case regarding subglottic stenosis, a narrowing of a part of the larynx, on the other hand, I did fully attend. Initially, a CO2 laser, making star shaped incisions, and balloon dilation was meant to be used to widen the patient's windpipe after a difficulty in breathing from autoimmune vasculitis. Yet, during the procedure, the ENT surgeon decided that he was happy with simply cleaning the airways and injecting steroids directly into the tissue to inhibit for some time the autoimmunity. This was because the patient had already improved in their condition peri-operation. The procedure itself took no longer than 15 minutes.

The rest of the afternoon I was left with the previously operating surgeon and a speech therapist to review some outpatients. Simply, the patients were asked about how their condition has been going in order for the consultant to discharge them. Occasionally an endoscope was lowered down the nose to compare the internal anatomy, particularly that of the flimsy vocal chords, to previous admissions. This is where the speech therapist would ask the patient to make noises, such as humming, to assess the functioning of vocal chords. And let me say, the vocal chords vibrate insanely! In a male they can abduct and adduct as much as 120 times per minute.

It was a day packed of learning, as always. And that's how I want everyday to be.