#but probably not so great with actual instructions and anatomy

[fanfoolishness]

Just thought of how the Lighthouse seems to pull things that are needed and wanted into being…

Rook or Neve walk into the pantry to visit Lucanis and find him furiously blushing and shoving a book behind his back. “Spite must have… found it somewhere,” he sputters. “I don’t know how it got here!”

It’s the Antivan version of a Joy of Sex book, half straight titillation, half earnestly detailed instruction manual, and all of it, according to the Lighthouse, needed and wanted.

Lucanis is mortified. But I can see Neve or Rook just sitting down beside him with a matter-of-fact grin and asking if there’s any good chapters. 😂

[adeleidetheexplorer]

ᰋ ׅ࣪ ꒰ tarot lessons 101 ♡︎ how accurate tarot cards are? ꒱

disclaimer: this post is based on my own experiences and observation, the main point of this post is to teach other's on ‘‘how to read properly in an easy way’’. i don't intend to hurt anyone feelings with my post rather let me know about if there's something disturbing or uncomfortable about it.

table of contents:

1. how do tarot cards works

2. what does ‘‘take what resonates and leave when it doesn't?’’ actually mean?

3. can you learn tarot for a week or a day?

4. why is it important to know the differences between major arcana, minor arcana and court cards?

5. how accurate is tarot reading?

before going in a depth explaination of this post, you need to know first how tarot cards works.

tarot is working on our energy for ourselves, past, present and future ones - it's not gonna show you the detailed reading but it's a peak or highlights of the situations you'd asks from the tarot decks especially if the reading is general. if you were gonna asked me, this seems like an instrument or a friend to rely on asking for advices about what we are gonna do on our lives. tarot is like life full of mysteries, purpose, passion, magic and miracles to uncover - if you believe, it will happen while if you don't believe, it won't happen. it's easy, you don't need to make it hard. in the end of the day, they're just an instrument and we are still the handler of our lives and fates. but after all of this, you need to know and learn first how every tarot cards means and being interpreted.

what does ‘‘take what resonates and leave when it doesn't?’’ actually mean?

you probably sees this line most of the time in every general reading. let me tell you something. resonates with me means and it explains that you have experienced it in such a heartfelt and personal way that you can relate with that reading and those parts that seems inaccurate you may need to throw them away or set them aside first because maybe it's not yet the right time for them to uncover the truth, if that's happens you may need to wait for few days, weeks, months or few years to know the results of the reading itself but sometimes in a reading you might take nothing at all and that's okay. that doesn't applied and mean that the reader (tarot reader) is wrong (unless they're fake and pretenders) because they're just working on energies most of the time, it's not your fault either.

can you learn tarot in a week or a day?

yes, if the eagerness is there - you can! but for me, i bought 3 sets of tarot decks with different perspective of meanings and i realized each deck's has their own meanings and interpretation. this is based on their illustrations and colors. i started practicing and learning tarot since august, last year (yup, pretty new). but the desire of learning tarot by myself is always there so i start practicing and memorizing each one of them from major arcana down to minor arcana cards for 8 months that had past. just an advice for you to don't messed up on how to learn their meanings make a notes about them this will include your own interpretation, intuition, the cards meaning from the guide book, feelings (what do you feel when you read), combination (what's next or before to one card from another) and observation : look at the spread carefully, each pictures and see what's this spread and each cards speaks to you like a conclusion.

i. the decks i can suggest if you are pretty new and wanted to learn tarot

a. tarot-waite raider - this deck can be used in every situation and questions, let say a general and all rounder deck.

b. the antique anatomy tarot - love this deck, the box has a mesmerizing outlook. the book (guideline) is insightful with great and clear instructions of the zodiac signs, colors, illustrations and numbers.

c. light seer's tarot - love this deck a lot, the colorful aura and drawing of each cards makes me feel excited when i do reading for my family and for few of my friends, of course. love how the cards giving off the ‘‘blithe’’ energy although i didn't follow much it's meaning, i like using it.

why is it important to know the difference between major arcana and minor arcana?

there's a lot of variation of it's description about what is difference between major vs minor arcana means, to make is short - i will explain them in nutshell. major arcana have 22 cards including 0-22 numerical roman numbers while minor arcana have wands, cups, swords and pentacles and it counted from 1-10's including the court cards which are the kings, queens, knights and knaves (page). major arcana can talks and indicates about bigger human experience while the minor is a daily-basis experience of a person.

how accurate is tarot card reading?

accurate as ever. it may not be happening to you now but timing makes it perfect. it will happen like the cards speaks to you. it's always did. especially i booked with these 2 tarot readers from an online shop before and they're actually accurate which makes me shiver. it's the feeling of expect the unexpected. the feeling you are in between of knowing and being in knows. but as i observe, if you read it in a wrong way you definitely get a different and inexact answers but despite all of that you're question must be in the right form and construction of words too so you can get an accurate answers. because sometimes you may need to look if they're in a correct way for example - ‘‘what to do with this situation?’’ like what kind and if ever with whom, it's better if you'd ask ‘‘what i can do with my (current,be specific) situation?’’ or ‘‘what will happen about this situationship with this (your person's name)’’ this only applicable if you do this by yourself. but that's okay, if you don't read it by yourself and rely it to other readers because tarot is also about predicting especially if you come at them in an open reading : a form of reading where you don't ask a specific question but they able to give you the answers you were searching for. but after all, that's all of my observation and i'm not calling out anyone here, so no bashing. remember you can correct someone in a proper way forms of words without actually hurting them.

©thecelestialperiwinkle2

[thecelestialperiwinkle]

ᰋ  ׅ࣪   ꒰  tarot lessons 101 ♡︎ how accurate tarot cards are?  ꒱  

disclaimer: this post is based on my own experiences and observation, the main point of this post is to teach other's on ‘‘how to read properly in an easy way’’. i don't intend to hurt anyone feelings with my post rather let me know about if there's something disturbing or uncomfortable about it.

table of contents:

1. how do tarot cards works

2. what does ‘‘take what resonates and leave when it doesn't?’’ actually mean?

3. can you learn tarot for a week or a day?

4. why is it important to know the differences between major arcana, minor arcana and court cards?

5. how accurate is tarot reading?

before going in a depth explaination of this post, you need to know first how tarot cards works.

tarot is working on our energy for ourselves, past, present and future ones - it's not gonna show you the detailed reading but it's a peak or highlights of the situations you'd asks from the tarot decks especially if the reading is general. if you were gonna asked me, this seems like an instrument or a friend to rely on asking for advices about what we are gonna do on our lives. tarot is like life full of mysteries, purpose, passion, magic and miracles to uncover - if you believe, it will happen while if you don't believe, it won't happen. it's easy, you don't need to make it hard. in the end of the day, they're just an instrument and we are still the handler of our lives and fates. but after all of this, you need to know and learn first how every tarot cards means and being interpreted.

what does ‘‘take what resonates and leave when it doesn't?’’ actually mean?

you probably sees this line most of the time in every general reading. let me tell you something. resonates with me means and it explains that you have experienced it in such a heartfelt and personal way that you can relate with that reading and those parts that seems inaccurate you may need to throw them away or set them aside first because maybe it's not yet the right time for them to uncover the truth, if that's happens you may need to wait for few days, weeks, months or few years to know the results of the reading itself but sometimes in a reading you might take nothing at all and that's okay. that doesn't applied and mean that the reader (tarot reader) is wrong (unless they're fake and pretenders) because they're just working on energies most of the time, it's not your fault either.

can you learn tarot in a week or a day?

yes, if the eagerness is there - you can! but for me, i bought 3 sets of tarot decks with different perspective of meanings and i realized each deck's has their own meanings and interpretation. this is based on their illustrations and colors. i started practicing and learning tarot since august, last year (yup, pretty new). but the desire of learning tarot by myself is always there so i start practicing and memorizing each one of them from major arcana down to minor arcana cards for 8 months that had past. just an advice for you to don't messed up on how to learn their meanings make a notes about them this will include your own interpretation, intuition, the cards meaning from the guide book, feelings (what do you feel when you read), combination (what's next or before to one card from another) and observation : look at the spread carefully, each pictures and see what's this spread and each cards speaks to you like a conclusion.

i. the decks i can suggest if you are pretty new and wanted to learn tarot

a. tarot-waite raider - this deck can be used in every situation and questions, let say a general and all rounder deck.

b. the antique anatomy tarot - love this deck, the box has a mesmerizing outlook. the book (guideline) is insightful with great and clear instructions of the zodiac signs, colors, illustrations and numbers.

c. light seer's tarot - love this deck a lot, the colorful aura and drawing of each cards makes me feel excited when i do reading for my family and for few of my friends, of course. love how the cards giving off the ‘‘blithe’’ energy although i didn't follow much it's meaning, i like using it.

why is it important to know the difference between major arcana and minor arcana?

there's a lot of variation of it's description about what is difference between major vs minor arcana means, to make is short - i will explain them in nutshell. major arcana have 22 cards including 0-22 numerical roman numbers while minor arcana have wands, cups, swords and pentacles and it counted from 1-10's including the court cards which are the kings, queens, knights and knaves (page). major arcana can talks and indicates about bigger human experience while the minor is a daily-basis experience of a person.

how accurate is tarot card reading?

accurate as ever. it may not be happening to you now but timing makes it perfect. it will happen like the cards speaks to you. it's always did. especially i booked with these 2 tarot readers from an online shop before and they're actually accurate which makes me shiver. it's the feeling of expect the unexpected. the feeling you are in between of knowing and being in knows. but as i observe, if you read it in a wrong way you definitely get a different and inexact answers but despite all of that you're question must be in the right form and construction of words too so you can get an accurate answers. because sometimes you may need to look if they're in a correct way for example - ‘‘what to do with this situation?’’ like what kind and if ever with whom, it's better if you'd ask ‘‘what i can do with my (current,be specific) situation?’’ or ‘‘what will happen about this situationship with this (your person's name)’’ this only applicable if you do this by yourself. but that's okay, if you don't read it by yourself and rely it to other readers because tarot is also about predicting especially if you come at them in an open reading : a form of reading where you don't ask a specific question but they able to give you the answers you were searching for. but after all, that's all of my observation and i'm not calling out anyone here, so no bashing. remember you can correct someone in a proper way forms of words without actually hurting them.

©thecelestialperiwinkle

[tempestgnostic]

i want to write an essay at some point about the parallels between my phantom shifts in terms of my gender and my alterhumanity, but specifically from the perspective of why most ‘gear’ makes me incredibly dysphoric or feel more distant from my body. for now i’ll just detail some thoughts on the matter.

so i have, over the years, never learned my lesson that packers don’t actually make me feel gender euphoria—even the one i got that has a sheath and everything, that should make me feel more akin to who i am. i think it’s because i’ve gotten so used to the visceral, weighty experiences i have with phantom appendages already. i know what those body parts feel like, and i can interact with them almost as if they are. explicit anatomy and sex discussions beneath the cut.

like, it’s not just about ‘jacking off’ what is essentially empty space between my legs. i know every bit of anatomy intimately, from tip to base. it’s, weirdly, how i was able to give great head to my ex, despite it being my first time. with zero instruction on the subject, i knew what would feel good—and, if i’m being frank, she wholeheartedly agreed. and it’s way more satisfying for me to just manipulate those phantom parts versus having something there. and i even have a toy that you can put a T-dick into and jack it off that way! i’ve used it before, and it’s fun! but something about the physicality of it brings me into a space where i realize it doesn’t ‘click’ with me.

there are incredible studies out there about the use of prosthetics and how, for some folks, their brain begins to ‘inhabit’ them in a way that is incredibly profound. their brain integrates the prosthetic into the body map. it is a part of their body the second they identify it as such, of course. it’s just really neat how the brain agrees and works to cement that fact within itself. for me, i think the infrequency of my use probably contributes. the really good genital prosthetics are super expensive, and i’m not sure if i could handle the cost, the maintenance, all of that. maybe someday.

but i feel the same about phantom shifts. sure, i have a badass leather dog mask, but it doesn’t feel like me when i put it on. it feels like a mask. and when i’m in a shift, it feels like a mask superimposed over an actual muzzle that feels way more real to me. my identity, both as a trans person and as an alterhuman, is extremely sensory for me. i suspect being autistic plays a huge role as well; i need to have my hair stroked gently, to have somebody run their fingernails over the fur on the back of my neck, or kiss me and tell me how soft my beard is. i need to be pressed up against someone after sex, ‘locked’ in place even when there’s no knot there, not even a toy, just the sensory experience that both of us can feel. (i’ve had two sexual partners, independent of each other, tell me that they explicitly felt like i was locked inside them, and i hadn’t even told one of them that this is how i see my body.)

to have someone else who can feel that anatomy the way that i do? that’s the greatest gender and species euphoria i have ever felt, bar none. i felt so connected to my body—to my partner’s body—in those moments. that feeling was greater than any orgasm i’ve ever had, and that radiant euphoria is why i’m desperate for more of that feeling. i mean, hell—i can give myself an earth-shattering orgasm any time i want. i regularly feel like i’m turning time and space sideways and seeing the face of god. that’s easy. but the need that sex fulfills for me, really and truly, is the need to feel like myself—so much so that my partner feels it, too, and loves what they feel from me.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

RE8 Ladies + S/o with chronic pain HCs

Type/cause of chronic pain is kept ambiguous, but some of the hcs might seem geared towards migraines, since that's the main thing that I personally struggle with (and these are very definitely comfort hcs). Features Alcina, Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, Donna, Mother Miranda, and as a 'lil bonus Ava. Not particularly long, but the combined length of every character is enough to be put under a read-more (About 2,500 words in total).

Alcina:

It’s difficult for her to know that you are suffering, but be unable to deal directly with the source of the problem. Chasing off unwanted nuisances or hunting down threats to the castle was one thing, trying to solve complicated medical issues was another thing entirely. If only she could tear your condition asunder without tearing you asunder.

That being said, she’ll still support you endlessly, however she can. It doesn’t matter how expensive or hard-to-access possible treatments are. If there’s something you haven’t tried, and are interested in trying, she’ll find a way for you to get it.

The biggest, and arguably most helpful, thing that she does is set up a space for you within her office. She spends quite a lot of time there for her family’s business, but doesn’t want to leave you alone on bad days. So this was her idea of a nice compromise.

There’s a very comfortable sofa that folds out, a cabinet filled with the softest blankets, and several pillows of a few different sizes. Servants are instructed not to interrupt Alcina’s work without good reason, but she has a couple who ensure your snack cabinet is always well stocked.

If there are certain environmental factors to your condition, such as sensitivity to light and sound, she does her best to reduce their effects. Lights remain dimmed (or she’ll rely on candlelight), her music will be kept quiet enough to be soothing, and she’ll refrain from taking any calls while you are with her.

Bela:

To think that Daniela once tried to claim that Bela would “never need to know any of that (medical) stuff”! Sure, there haven’t been many people who have needed (and received) treatment from her, but that didn’t mean the skill was useless. Admittedly, she doesn’t know enough to replace one of your doctors, or try to create her own version of a cure, though no one really expected that much from her.

Still, she knows enough to help soothe your pain. Obviously there are different techniques for different kinds of pain, and she does research before trying anything specific. Bela’s also aware that you’ve been dealing with this for far longer than she has, meaning that you probably wouldn’t be pleased if she came in, acted like an expert, or assumed that you hadn’t really thought about the most popular remedies. So she’s tactful with how she approaches things, always checking if you’re familiar with a subject before she tries to explain anything.

Bela ends up surprising you with a lesser-known skill of hers: Massage. Studying anatomy has given her a decent idea of the body’s more sensitive spots, and the rest she’s figured out through her own, ahem, experiences. Regardless of where you’re in pain, your girlfriend can help reduce your suffering. Okay, well, if your pain is more internal than external, it’s a bit harder for her, but she can still help you relax.

One of her favorite things to do after giving you a massage is to just pull you in close for some cuddling. Preferably you’ll be in her lap, with her arms around your waist, her chin tucked on top of your shoulder. Then she’ll do her best to whisper you praises, reminding you how strong you are, and that she’s incredibly proud of you.

Cassandra:

She’s, uh, not great at this. At least not at first. Maybe she’ll never be more than good at it, though. But she’s definitely trying! And learning! By Jove, that’s something, right?

First things first, she’s always ready to try to distract you, primarily through kisses and gentle touches. Fingers softly trailing over your skin, lips tickling your neck, featherlight in all the right places… It’s not inherently sexual (though it can quickly go that route if you ask), just intimate. It’s harder for your brain to process pain when you’re also processing pleasure, so there is some science behind Cassandra’s methods, even if she herself isn’t entirely aware of that.

While she’s not great with words, there are certain things that she manages to articulate well enough. For one, she makes sure you know that you aren’t a burden. Taking care of you- no, helping you take care of yourself- is a labor of love, if a labor at all. More than that, she knows full well that you probably don’t like feeling pitied, or coddled. That, over time, being sick ends up being beyond frustrating. She never wants you to feel like your condition defines you, or like it puts any strain on your relationship.

That said, she’ll avoid telling her family any specifics unless you do first, and ensures that the staff know how to accommodate you (without telling them why, because it’s none of their fucking business, and she’s their boss, and for fuck’s sake it’s their job to do what she tells them. Maybe she gets a lil bit overzealous with it). At no point will she ever complain about helping you, or otherwise indicate that your needs are “troublesome”.

At the end of the day, the best comfort she brings you is her presence, simply being near you, endlessly loyal, tireless in her affections. Especially considering she gets clingier the worse your symptoms get.

Daniela:

Hope you enjoy cuddling. Seriously. There’s nothing Daniela loves more than curling up with you, and that goes double for bad pain days. Some adjustments will be made position-wise if you need, but she’ll still hold you as close as possible, for as long as you need. Although she might eventually fall asleep (because damn are you comfy), she’ll play with your hair or run her fingers along your scalp until she eventually dozes off.

If you want a little more from her than light snoring, or if she feels like going above and beyond, or honestly just if she’s thinking about how much she loves you (so all the effing time), she’ll do something she’s always loved in movies/books: Reading to you! She’ll pick special books that neither of you have read before, so you can experience them together on your sick(er) days. Which does, of course, mean that it might take months to finish even a single one. Surprisingly, Daniela won’t even briefly consider reading any without you. Even if the plot is really good.

But, uh, if you wanted her to read to you on a day where you aren’t bedridden? Hell yes, my friend, she’s absolutely down for that!

On days where she’s too busy to spend hours upon hours in bed with you, or days where her ADHD is just particularly bad, she tries her best to leave you with a “substitute”. AKA a massive fucking teddy bear, in a reddish brown color, with a green bowtie. Custom ordered (The Duke did not dare tease her for it). There’s a heart stitched onto the stuffed animal’s chest, which features your first initial alongside a D for Daniela.

Additionally, she has a blanket she only brings out for you, which she periodically sprays with her favorite perfume. That way you can hold it close when she’s not around, as if you were cuddling her. For her sake, though, don’t hold the teddy bear or blanket too tightly when she is around. Homegirl here will get jealous of inanimate objects, even ones that she gave you.

Donna:

“I think I have a tea for this…” Damn right she has a tea for this. Donna has a massive garden, with dozens if not hundreds of different plants, including a variety of herbs/spices. At least one of them has to be a little helpful for you. Whether it relieves pain, helps you nap off some of your misery, or just distracts you by tasting bloody-well delicious! Besides, few things make you feel quite as loved as holding a cup of freshly brewed tea in your hands, knowing your lover made it just for you. Like a hug in a mug, it is!

Similarly to Alcina, Donna will also try to create a comfortable space for you, but isn’t likely to put it downstairs with her workshop. Instead she’ll let you take over one of the larger guest rooms, customizing it to suit your specific needs. There will be some easy to care for plants for decoration (ones that won’t mind potentially missing out on natural sunlight), a couple relaxing paintings, and a shelf near the bed with things to help you pass the time, mainly books.

Furthermore, she’ll do her best to keep you company as often as possible. She’s naturally a fairly quiet person, so you won’t have to worry about sound if that’s something you’re sensitive to. While she prefers using a sewing machine, she’ll do things by hand while you’re in pain, just to reduce the chances of you getting irritated by the sound.

Speaking of potentially irritating sounds… by god can Angie be difficult to be around when you’re ill. Thankfully, Donna is perfectly understanding of this, and, as the only person Angie ever listens to, makes sure to give the doll a stern talking to about your health. To your immense surprise, it actually works. You’re not exactly sure what was said, but Angie certainly becomes a lot more compensating afterwards. She’ll keep her antics to herself, and usually even on another side of the house from where you rest, but only for as long as you’re tucked away in your room. As soon as you set foot outside, her restraints are metaphorically removed. All hell breaks loose (as is her universe-given right as the physical embodiment of both Chaos and Entropy).

Mother Miranda:

If the two of you weren’t lovers, there’s a decent chance you would completely misinterpret her actions. She might come off as irritated, like she has bigger concerns than your health, you fragile little human. After all, she is a goddess (well, practically). But the truth is that she’s aching inside every time you have a bad pain day, knowing that (for once) she cannot cure your ailment. Maybe if she had infinite subjects with the same condition as you…

But, at the end of the day, that’s the problem. There’s only one of you. One of her beloved, her little human darling, so dangerously fragile in comparison to the scale she works on. Even with all the time in the world, which she most certainly has, she cannot cure you without taking incredible risks. With your life at stake… It is a gamble she refuses to take. You are hers, and while she hates to see you suffer, the truth is that she’ll always be selfish enough to let you endure on your own.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t help, though, just that she doesn't do a full-out experiment on you. Instead, she keeps notes. She’ll track your activities, bedtimes/when you get up, dietary habits, when you have pain, what you do to treat said pain, how effective the treatments are, etc, etc. All of this can be very useful in establishing patterns (a skill she’s gotten very good at, in her many decades of being a scientist), which can in turn lead to less pain days.

(For example, many people with migraines find that certain foods seem to trigger a migraine, or at least increase the chances of getting one. Though admittedly they don’t always end up cutting the food out of their diet. I mean, come on, you want me to give up chocolate? You want me to drink normal milk, like an adult? Kidding, kidding, I don’t have any food triggers. Nor do I particularly enjoy chocolate milk, nor do I dislike it.)

Moving on! While her work seemingly takes precedence over your condition, Miranda is not heartless, and she does do some things to lend you more direct comfort. Specifically, she tries to work in the same room as you when she can, normally while making electronic copies of physical documents, or while looking over the details of a finished experiment. She’s not always one for cuddling, so she won’t often get in bed with you during the daytime. But at night? Yes, fine, she will wrap her arms around you, maybe one of her wings too if you like how soft they are.

Just don’t think that she secretly loves every second. It’s not like she’ll spend half an hour whispering about how sweet and adorable you are as soon as you fall asleep, or anything like that. It’s twenty minutes at the most.

Bonus!Avaskian Caldwell:

“Oh, fuckin’ mood!” Followed by a solid thirty seconds of pure regret. Seriously, though, Ava has spent xer entire life (starting at age 10) dealing with chronic migraines. For a while xe also dealt with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), which meant lots of chest pain, but that (thankfully) faded as xe grew into an adult, as is fairly common with the condition. If anyone in Castle Dimitrescu understands unrelenting, unexplainable pain, it’s xer.

That being said… Ava never really managed xer chronic pain, at least not when xe was at xer worst. Xe had to drop out of school because of it. Hell, xe didn’t have a “real” job until xe was almost 23! Didn’t have a chance until things just calmed down for xer. So xe gets anxious whenever you talk about your health, worried that things are (or will at some point be) as bad for you as they were for xer. Other than that, though, you might initially think that xe doesn’t care, or didn’t understand the conversation.

Truth is, xe knows how absolutely fucking ANNOYING it can be to have to explain your health to every new person you meet (like the dozen different doctors you’ve met over the years, possibly every nurse who takes your pulse and thinks it’s a little bit high). So xe did a shit ton of research on your condition, in order to reduce how much you need to explain. Sure, xe will still have questions, and there are always aspects that only you can tell xer, but it’s a nice gesture.

As for helping you destress, xe’s pretty much a mix of Bela and Miranda. You’ll get plenty of massages (because Ava has learned from personal experience what sort of touches help with which sorts of pain), but also some scientific insight on any noticeable patterns. Lots of holding you close and telling you that you’re the coolest person in the world, and that Ava feels beyond lucky to have you.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//fatherhood headcannons//

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou / Bokuto Koutarou / Daishou Suguru

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1.7K (~550 a piece)

Notes: don’t come for me and my self-indulgence. Also >:C if you’re of age and living in the United States, go fucking vote.  i am not asking. 

Kuroo Tetsurou

He goes into this whole fatherhood thing with complete and utter confidence.  Kuroo Tetsurou is convinced that he doesn’t need to have a single parenting book.  How hard can it be?

It’s all just making sure his kid doesn’t die, right? R I G H T?

He tries really hard to understand all of your discomforts during the pregnancy, but wowowow he’s bad at it.  You were complaining that your feet were sore and he just looked at you weird.  You had just gotten out of bed?  How did your feet already hurt?  Your back hurts? How? You’re laying down?

He recognizes that you’re in discomfort and he, of course, doesn’t look past that.  He’s going to do whatever he needs to do to ensure your comfort, but he just struggles to comprehend it.

I promise that Kuroo was so calm and cool and collected throughout the entire pregnancy and honestly, even during delivery, he was there to tell you how great you were doing, holding your hand, letting you crush his fingers in your tight grip.  He would pat your head and occasionally give you little kisses on your temple.

But when the nurse asks if he wants to hold his new little girl and places her in his arms, oh he’s crying.  He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels the tears stream down his cheeks.

It was in the following weeks that he realized just how hard this whole parenting thing would be.  Sleep?  Kuroo didn’t know her.  The baby religiously started crying every night at 2:27 a.m. and it would take nearly an hour to get her to fall back asleep.  By the time that hour passed, he was already back to being wide awake and would just lay in bed, unable to fall back asleep for hours.  

The first time he ever had to change a diaper, he had to pull up a YouTube video to figure it out, but he’s not about to tell you that.  

He has no idea how to dad, but Kuroo ends up being a really incredible father.  While he may be lacking in the basic skills like knowing the correct formula temperature or how to properly hold his daughter, he makes up for it with his constant companionship.  

You’ve walked in on him in the nursery so many times.  He’s really not even doing anything.  He’s just leaning against the crib, running his fingers across his little girl’s skin, still not believing that this is real and that that little baby is his, something that he helped create.  Oh, it just makes him so soft to think about.   He talks real quietly to her, telling her about his day, like she has any idea what he’s saying, but he still smiles so wide when she looks at him.

His little girl is his entire world and I just know that he’s an incredibly protective father.  He knows that the world is a scary place and he wants his daughter to be able to grow up having the best life possible, even if it is difficult.

Bokuto Koutarou

It was an accident.  It was 100% an accident.  But, the absolute joy that lit up his features when you told him your happy news, well, you don’t think you had ever seen him smile so wide.  He had picked you up to spin you around and covered your face in kisses.  Bokuto had set you down and immediately squatted down to place a kiss on your non-existent baby bump, telling his little baby how excited he was to be their papa.

Bokuto does prepare, well, at least a little. He owns one book, but he has read it cover to cover.  When he was reading through it, he would stop at something that he found particularly interesting and show it to you.

He didn’t really know how best to take care of you, but he tried his best!  He would rub your shoulders or feet when you asked.  He would make dinner after practice.  He is absolutely running to the store in the middle of the night because you had a sudden craving for Cheetos and vanilla ice cream.  Bokuto thought it was best not to ask what the hell you were doing when you proceeded to dip the Cheetos in the ice cream.

Bokuto forces you on walks.  He read in that one pregnancy book that walks can help induce labor, so in the time leading up to the due date, Bokuto was taking you on strolls around the block multiple times a day.  

But, he gets really busy with MSBY ;-; like. . . a lot.  He wants to be there every step of the way, but he just can’t.  Even after the baby was born, it seemed like there was rarely a day off for him to just spend with you and the baby.

Nothing hurt more than seeing the video of his little boy taking his first steps, knowing that he wasn’t even there to see it for himself because he was stuck on a bus in another city for a game.

This boy B R A G S about his kid all the time.  Sakusa might just beat his ass if he has to hear Bokuto coo about his son one more time.  

Games that happen at home are Bokuto’s favorites because he knows that whenever he looks up into the stands, you’ll be there, the baby in your arms, a tiny black knit hat with gold detailing pulled over his head.  It always made his heart so warm and he seemed to always be on top of his game just so he could secure a win quicker.  He just wanted to rush to you and cradle his little one in his arms.

He likes to toss his little bean up into the air, but he has absolutely bonked his son’s head on the ceiling and then proceeded to fail to catch him because he was so in shock that he just hit his son’s head on the ceiling.  Insert one (1) bokuto koutarou suddenly regretting every life decision that he has ever made.  

Surprisingly, he’s a really good parent?  He understands the balance between being caring and supportive, but also having a firm hand on discipline.  He isn’t much for punishments, because he’s going to feel bad, but he won’t hesitate to sit his son down and have a talk if he needs to.  

God Bokuto is such a good dad please i’m so soft i just know that he would sob his eyes out the minute the baby is on its way

Daishou Suguru

please i don’t even want children, but i would make an exception for daishou suguru

Suguru is so?? stupidly?? prepared?? 

Like the two of you decided that you wanted to have a baby and this man went to the bookstore and asked one of the workers which pregnancy books were the best.  The poor high school student had no idea

He took notes and was just constantly studying up on things.  You’d think he was back in university again with how much he poured himself over these books.  

While Daishou may have all of the technical stuff down like knowing the exact female reproductive anatomy and how it all works to produce the baby and he can definitely change a diaper with his eyes closed by now, but-

When the time came to put together a nursery- oh the boy was lost.  He had no idea what to do.  He’d never built a crib before.  He wasn’t really sure why he was expecting it to just unfold or magically form together when he took it out of the box, but now he was just sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by bits and pieces of a baby crib, pouring over the instructions, only to get more confused.

Please go sit with him in his time of need.  He’ll rest his head on your shoulder and rub tiny circles over your bump.  

Suguru probably jumped a foot in the air when he felt that itty bitty kick against his hand.  It took him by complete surprise and his eyes were as wide as saucers, but this really slow smile took over his face and you don’t think you had ever seen him so happy, a complete smiling and laughing mess.

He takes the best care of you b y e 

Morning sickness?  He’s right there to pull your hair away from your face and get you a glass of water.  

Too bad he spent all this time looking up information on the actual pregnancy and had no idea what to expect for actual childbirth.  Overnight bag?  He said, “How long does this take?”  He had no idea what to do during delivery.  His dumbass just stood there until you demanded that he give you his hand and definitely screamed when you nearly crushed his bones in an absolute death grip, nails digging painfully into the back of his hand, but who was he to object.  He wasn’t the one pushing a child out of his body.

Oh, did I say child?  Try children.  Suguru nearly fainted when the nurse said that there was “one more.”  He didn’t remember seeing a second little peanut on the ultrasound, but maybe he just forgot in the overwhelming panic of the moment?

He was so good all throughout the pregnancy, but the minute the kids are born?  It’s like he completely forgot everything that he read over the past nine months, but the softness in his eyes and the gentle smile on his lips the very first time he got to hold his kid?  It made it all worth it.  He didn’t know that it was possible to love someone so quickly, but he looked at the faces of his newborn children and he couldn’t have been happier.

Daishou has fallen asleep in the nursery chair more than once when he was up with the babies.  You’d get up to see what was taking so long, only to find him leaned back, his head lolled to the side, two tiny bundles held securely to his chest.

In conclusion.  I love daishou suguru and he would be a really good dad once he figured it all out

{Taglist: @moncymonce​ @nicka-nell​ @celosiiaa​ @kuronekomama​ @lovinnoya​ and @nekxrizawa​ @boosyboo9206​ bc you both got me thinking about them as d a d s and now i can’t get it out of my head onyx please take this as a bribe to receive the daishou suguru hip dermal edit you made i need it}

[dwellordream]

“Even beyond the age when girls might be encouraged to play in the city streets, their presence was sanctioned by another activity: the healthful walking between home and school, and the long constitutionals judged critical to a maturing girl’s health. If the lives of Victorian girls were defined by disciplines, one of those disciplines was daily exercise, most commonly long walks, sometimes of several hours’ duration, from one side of town to the other.

Good daughters embraced a walking regimen as religiously as they did a regimen of diary keeping. Like writing, though, walking suggested form rather than content. In their long rambles from one side of town to the other or into the country, or their promenades back and forth along Main Street, girls achieved a level of social freedom which ran against the grain of chaperoned domestic propriety. 

Most physicians and advisers agreed about the benefits of walking. Writing in the 1890s, the Ladies’ Home Journal quoted ‘‘a celebrated physician’’ when it endorsed walking as the preferred form of exercise. ‘‘Tennis, he believes, is too violent; cycling renders women awkward in their walk; cricket is also an uneven exercise; at golfing the strokes made are not conducive to the cultivation of physical beauty.... Riding is one-sided, and croquet is not exercise at all. Walking, however, may be fast or slow, according to the desire or health of the individual. Walking is probably the only exercise which calls every part of the body into active and healthy motion.’’ 

Earlier, a writer for the same magazine instructed American girls how to walk: ‘‘Let the arms swing free; throw the shoulders back, the chest forward and the head high.’’ Another columnist recommended other sports for girls, including tennis, bicycling, rowing, and any men’s sport ‘‘with but one exception, foot-ball.’’ But she fell back on walking as both the simplest and ‘‘perhaps the best,’’ suggesting that girls build up to six miles per day. Walking was an approved form of exercise for a range of Victorians, but it was clearly girls who had both the most time and the most need for its healthful effects. G. Stanley Hall, in his opus Adolescence, suggested the special role which walking filled in the lives of unmarried women, who ‘‘are, and ought to be, great walkers.’’ Walking, Hall implied, might tap energies otherwise likely to go to unhealthy activities, such as ‘‘estheticism’’ or the solitary vice of ‘‘self-abuse.’’ 

He explained, ‘‘Dr. Taylor thinks . . . that the difference between boys and girls in learning self-abuse on account of the more obvious anatomy of the former is overestimated, and that the latter, more commonly than is thought, not only find their organs and use them improperly, but are more difficult to cure of this vice.’’ A healthy alternative for unmarried women was to spend that excess energy in walking which married women and mothers might spend ‘‘normally in other ways—’’ an allusion both to the demands of raising children and to coitus itself. Walking was exercise, therapy, and ideology all in one. Sarah Browne, a married woman writing at midcentury, explained her walking in language appropriate to her region and class: ‘‘I walk again this forenoon in search of health—my walk is a principle, a religious duty, so the time is not lost.’’ 

Time spent walking was time invested rather than squandered. Less intense than modern jogging, aerobics, or weight regimens, the walking of nineteenth century girls nonetheless could compete in seriousness; what it lacked in strenuousness was compensated for in its duration, sometimes occupying two or three hours of the day. Margaret Tileston’s sister Mary was afflicted with health problems throughout her adolescence in the 1880s.

Undoubtedly Margaret’s regular walking, on the streets of Salem, Massachusetts, at first in her sister’s company, was in part a response to Mary’s ‘‘search for health.’’ Beginning at the age of thirteen, Margaret worked up to two hours per day as the time she was expected to walk. Even when it was bitterly cold outside, Margaret walked. Even when she had no company, she walked, ‘‘simply for the sake of taking a walk.’’ 

Some of her walking took place at school recess, but that still left an hour and a half of walking to do either before or after school. When she missed an hour of exercise, she recorded it in her diary. She sometimes walked early in the morning before the sun came up. (One May morning she got up at 4:20 and walked an hour before breakfast.) She often did not return home until after dark, one winter night not making it back until 7:00 p.m.

After one day of walking, during which she had ‘‘thought a good deal,’’ she still found herself short of the required two hours, so she and her sister walked up and down in front of the house before going to bed. Only once did she confess to her diary that walking two hours was ‘‘a tiresome thing to do daily.’’ As befit her self-improving temperament, she instead used this bodily discipline as the occasion for a mental one, explaining that during one long walk she had ‘‘got some more ideas about walking.’’ 

Seldom do we have witnesses—or walkers—quite as disciplined as Margaret Tileston, but documents of other teenage girls suggest that walking was considered both a preventative and a palliative. When Alice Stone Blackwell’s head ‘‘felt as though I had been hung up by the heels and all the blood had run into it, filling it almost to bursting,’’ her cousin Emma ‘‘prescribed a walk, and we found our way to the chocolate factory.’’ When she took a long circle route home from school—‘‘about 7 miles I should think’’—she relayed her sense of accomplishment: ‘‘Am at present in serene enjoyment of a good conscience and blistered feet.’’ 

…In addition to being a discipline, however, walking was a necessity for most maturing girls. Going to school in the nineteenth century usually meant walking to school, often in company with friends and classmates. Between discipline and necessity, there were enough agemates walking in the streets that urban girls rarely needed to walk alone.

Indeed, the hours spent walking became opportunities for sociability, for making and broadening acquaintances, for flirtation. The walking that began as a discipline or an expedient eventually turned into an occupation in its own right, which gained its meaning from the opportunities it offered for peer relations beyond adult authority. Walking to school in itself could become a highly choreographed peer ritual. 

Jessie Wendover attended public high school in Newark, New Jersey, in the 1880s and 1890s, and in her diary she enumerated her walking companions. When she was fifteen, Wendover often collected friends as she went so that ‘‘we eight went down together.’’ Sometimes, however, they would break into pairs or regroup, as when one friend ‘‘got one of her amusing cranky spells on and tried to make herself believe she was mad at me, and said she would not walk with me.’’ The foursome broke into pairs then, with one pair removing their hats as they puffed up the hill, and the other sitting on the stoop and laughing at them. For Wendover the significance was that ‘‘we four have gay times going to and from school now-a-days.’’ 

…For the more reserved Margaret Tileston, walking in the Salem streets only gradually expanded her social world and encouraged her to take initiatives within it. After a slow beginning in coeducational Salem High School, Tileston gradually discovered connections to her community. ‘‘I can scarcely take a walk without meeting one of my school-mates or at least some one that I know,’’ she observed in the spring, after beginning classes the previous December. She soon began to walk with some of these schoolmates, noting the next fall, ‘‘I begin to feel better acquainted with the girls in my class.’’ 

The next winter she noted the company of a boy: ‘‘Dick Manning walked along with me for a part of the way.’’ By the following month, she confessed in the spine of her diary, she felt bold enough to initiate relations: ‘‘I bowed to Master Smith on my way to school.’’ The next week, the group of girls she was walking with actually invited some boys to ‘‘turn round with us, but they could not.’’ The confidence Tileston was gradually accruing allowed her on her own to overtake a boy that month and accompany him to school. Margaret Tileston did not record the ensuing conversation, but she did note some of the subjects she touched on in her long walks with other friends. 

On one three-hour walk, she and her companions talked of friends, boys, teachers, and dancing. In different walks that summer of her sixteenth year, Tileston mentioned conversations ‘‘about calling boys by their first names.’’ Margaret Tileston was a purposeful young woman, as her extraordinary diaries make clear. Yet even for Tileston, the meaning of walking gradually incorporated its sociability.

For many girls less focused than she, walking up and down city streets—or ‘‘promenading’’ as detractors would describe it—nearly lost its function as exercise in its fostering of peer intimacies. Ruth Ashmore, the Ladies’ Home Journal columnist championing restrictive morality, cautioned that if there was a possibility that a girl might be joined by boyfriends on a walk, she should be accompanied by a chaperon. (And in any case, a girl of eighteen should not go out without a chaperon.) 

This was only one of a long collection of warnings—observed mostly in the breach—offered by advisers anxious about the freedoms of girls in the city. Ruth Ashmore’s advice ran at cross purposes with other, older codes of courtliness which made men responsible for the safe passage of women through city streets. In reflection of this chivalric remnant, it was customary for boys to escort girls during and after evening events, dances, or parties. Often these escorts seem to have been assigned by the hostess. In a later interview, Etta Crawford recalled her life as a girl in frontier Portland, Oregon, in the 1860s and 1870s. Customarily, she would receive written invitations to dancing parties in homes, which specified the name of the escort who would be responsible for getting her to and from the event and for seeing ‘‘that you were properly escorted all evening.’’

She was careful to distinguish this constant attendance from the practice of ‘‘dating’’ popular in the 1930s at the time of her interview: ‘‘We really didn’t have dates. Mother considered we were too young. . . . I don’t approve of this present-day manner of traipsing around half the night. None of the boys that attended me to the dances were on calling acquaintance.’’ This imposed arrangement was reflected in other girls’ accounts of such evenings.

At the age of twelve in Milwaukee in the 1860s, Cassie Upson wore her white dress and pink sash to a ‘‘sociable,’’ returning home at 11:30. She declared that she had enjoyed herself ‘‘only pretty well,’’ perhaps because of her partner: ‘‘I think my escort’s name was Clark. Oh! he was a gawky.’’ When Jessie Wendover attended a boy’s birthday party in 1885 at the age of thirteen,  she noted that there were about a dozen ‘‘couples there.’’ She arrived at about 8:00 p.m., she said, and returned home at the extraordinary hour of 3:00 a.m., noting that ‘‘Harry Mccarthy saw me down to supper and home.’’

Wendover led a protected life and was most often accompanied by her parents to and from social affairs and when she went downtown in the evening. It appears, though, that her parents on the Atlantic seaboard shared with Etta Crawford’s on the Pacific Coast a parental protocol which sanctioned the assignment of ‘‘escorts’’ for girls as young as twelve and thirteen.

Whether assigned or not, though, it was incumbent on boys or men not to leave girls unescorted in the evenings—especially as those girls became young ladies. (This chivalric convention put a strain on outnumbered high school boys, who nonetheless remained responsible for their female classmates after evening events.) 

While a student at the Harvard Annex, Annie Winsor recorded an embarrassment in the diary written for her parents. She had attended an evening party in Cambridge which her attractive Latin instructor was also attending. She and a fellow female student had agreed to go home together. (She reported that her friend ‘‘trots to and fro from Miss Smith’s at all hours and did not a bit mind going from here alone.’’) The two young women timed their departure carefully: ‘‘We waited till Mr. Preble [their teacher] and two girls had got safely out the door and away, and then started downstairs, and with averted eyes ‘thro’ the entry, opened the front door, and there stood Mr. Preble leisurely fixing his neck handkerchief—evidently waiting for some one.’’ 

The friends ‘‘felt like two children caught at the jam-pot and no way of escape.’’ The consequences were preordained. Mr. Preble would be obliged to walk everyone home, which was indeed what happened. In a letter to her brother, Ellen Emerson, daughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson, described her discomfort with such genteel expectations when she returned from a party.

Her escort, she explained, was a Mr. Soule, ‘‘who— I can imagine your exultation—made me take his arm. But the experiment confirmed me in my old opinion. It is easier and pleasanter to walk alone and be able to keep one’s dress out of the dust. There!’’ Like other chivalric practices, being escorted was a ritual meant to convey obligation as well as protection. Girls’ presumed need of escorts provided access to welcome and unwelcome suitors alike. 

Cassie Upson noted in 1866 that ‘‘that abominable little nip of a Perkins’’ had walked her home from church and had discerned only that ‘‘I wasn’t quite as talkative as usual.’’ A reprinted item from a student newspaper in Kingston, New York, in the 1880s suggested that girls reject the terms, replying, ‘‘‘I would rather be excused,’ when asked by young gentlemen for the privilege of escorting them home from church at night. The practice may be hard on the ‘boys,’ but it is one which every self-respecting girl will adopt and adhere to. For a young lady to be asked on coming out of church, . . . to surrender herself to the society of some young hoodlum who has been waiting outside while she was decorously attending divine worship, is an insult which would justify a kick from father or big brother.’’ 

Rather than seeking contact in ‘‘this sneaking, unmanly, vagabondish way,’’ an interested suitor should ‘‘call upon her at home, and take pains to ascertain whether his society is agreeable to her parents as well as herself.’’ This item suggested the dilemma embedded in the system of boys escorting girls: sometimes the solution was worse than the problem it was meant to address.

The practice of escorting equally opened possibilities for flirtation, of course. The Milford student newspaper slyly noted that the ‘‘girls of ’88 all believe in ‘protection’—after class parties.’’ Lily Dana noted one such arrangement: ‘‘Of course Brinckerhoff went with Edith Barry and I saw them turning up one of those lonely streets by the Catholic church, in just the opposite direction from her house. Mother says she does not think it was proper.’’ 

Whether proper or not, it was clear that intimacies contracted within approved contexts of school or church would have ample room to flourish even within genteel practices coming and going in the city streets. The historian Beth Bailey has found radical changes in courting practices in the 1920s resulting from the movement from the maternally supervised ‘‘front porch’’ of home to the ‘‘back seat’’ of male-owned cars.

The fact was, though, that many middle-class girls in the nineteenth century were not at home but at church or at school, and in the evening they were presumed to need male escort well beyond the surveillance of their mothers. During the day, girls had more freedom to walk on their own. These less formal walking arrangements—ostensibly undertaken to run errands, to get to or from school, or for exercise—provided ample opportunity, too, for flirtation. 

Alice Blackwell and Lizzie Morrissey, both writing in Boston in the 1870s, though from different class perspectives—found themselves unwitting walking partners in such scenarios. When Alice Blackwell, nearly phobic about encounters with boys, went to meet two schoolmates, the pair was otherwise occupied, talking loudly and waving handkerchiefs to attract the attention of two boys. Alice was so mortified that she hid behind a hedge and finally strode home by herself, ‘‘descended to the cellar, groped my way to the milkroom, and soothed my irritated feelings by drinking an enormous quantity of milk.’’ 

When Lizzie Morrissey walked to a nearby square to hear a public band concert with two friends, she reported that the walk down was nice, ‘‘but when we got there Ida soon left me for Art Woodride and didn’t come back again; I felt provoked. Then Hattie left me for two fellows, but she came back and introduced them.’’ After this bad experience, Morrissey concluded that she would ‘‘never go to the square again when anything is up with either of them.’’ Part of her subsequent isolation within her house might have been a response to discovering herself abandoned by her best friends in favor of flirtatious promenading. 

A more willing participant was Mabel Lancraft, a high school student and spirited daughter of a Fair Haven, Connecticut, oyster grower, whose 1880s diaries cover her fourteenth through seventeenth years. Lancraft spent much of her time in her early teens promenading and flirting outdoors. One summer day of her fourteenth year, for instance, after a trip to the ocean, she and her friends were playing house—‘‘I was the mamma and they were the children’’—when a neighborhood boy came along and suggested they go to the park. ‘‘So we went and we met Mr. Hovey down there though he didn’t approve of us going.’’

The group of friends continued to play, though, picking up others. ‘‘Sadie and I had our arms around each other and Sadie was my beau.’’ The boys accompanied the girls nearly home and exchanged compliments. ‘‘Sadie said I was awfully pretty and if she was a boy she would be in love with me. And he [Ed Dupee] said what pretty eyes that Miss Lancraft has got and he agreed with Sadie.’’ 

Mabel Lancraft later drew a line through the above, an early—and ineffective—moment of reserve; Lancraft grew more daring as time went on. By the end of the summer, she announced boldly that she and a friend met two boys of their acquaintance ‘‘and we raised and we promenaded up and down with them in front of Mr. H. Olds.’’ At the beginning of the summer, Lancraft simply disregarded the advice of a neighboring adult; by the end of the summer, the opportunity to flout respectable opinion was part of her pleasure.

Mabel Lancraft’s early teenage flirtations were generally confined to friends and schoolmates, whom she met and bowed to in their mutual walks around her Fair Haven neighborhood, to the station, and also sometimes through downtown New Haven. When she was seventeen, though, Mabel Lancraft confessed a modest initiative with a stranger. ‘‘Coming out in the car a young fellow stood up in front of me and I am afraid I flirted a little.’’”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Friendship, Fun, and the City Streets.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[glitteraffe-art]

@sanguith​ first of all, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANKYOU FOR THE FEEDBACK! I’m a biomedical engineering student (engineering for medical devices), so most of my information for my MIP headcanons comes from ‘reading free online nursing textbooks at 11PM’ haha, so I’m glad to see actual feedback (and a video! I actually never even THOUGHT to look up videos as a source… ) from someone with real-life experience!

Onto the questions:

How is the needle+catheter placed inside the suit? / What happens to this discarded needle? It would need to be removed and thrown away somehow, and safely.

Presumably, the placing of the catheter & discarding of the needle would be done by a person (likely a trained staff member of Black Mesa in the case of the Mark IV), not by the suit itself.

This would be done prior to putting on the LCVG layer of the HEV (i.e., while the user is just wearing their undergarments). The LCVG and the Mechanical Compression Suit would probably have specialized splits/openings allowing for the tube to be passed through while minimizing lost cooling- and compression- coverage area.

 How is the pump-tube connected to the PVC after the original insertion-needle is removed?

In my version of the HEV suit, I think that the MIP’s tubes would be attachable & removable from the main body of the suit (since being able to remove them would make it easier to put in a sterile tube for every use). The MIP itself would be accessible by opening up the back of the HEV torso armor (Haven’t decided where the opening/closing parts would be, but just based on the torso armor’s dimensions it would need to be able to come apart somewhere to be able to wear it at all.)

In order to connect the PVC to the pump’s tube, I think the pump’s tube would be replaceable for every use and would likely have a specially made sterile packaging that allows it to be put in as sterile-ly as possible. (Something like “just like the normal packaging that standard IV tubing comes in, but packaged so that the tube is straight, not coiled, and it can open at both ends”).

The steps to connect the pump-tube to the PVC would kind of be somewhere between ‘connecting to an IV’ and ‘replacing a cartridge on an insulin pump’. It would be like this, very roughly (didn’t put in every Use Hand Sanitizer/similar steps):

(Person doing this procedure is assisting the person who will be wearing the HEV; the wearer has had the PVC placed and is wearing the LCVG and Mechanical Compression suits. The PVC is threaded through the suits in such a way that its cap is free & not stuck under the layers)

(The HEV opens up at the torso and at the forearm areas when wearing—haven’t quite decided exactly How but it opens in those places)

Open up PUMP end of sterile tube packaging (careful not to open up the wrong end or all the way)

Attach sterile saline cartridge to PUMP end of tube

Place & lock cartridge + tube into the MIP on the back of the opened up HEV armor

Align & lock tubing into attachment areas on the inside of the armor up to a certain point (ensures it doesn’t get loose during movement)* , allowing some tube closer to the CATHETER end (which is still enclosed in its sterile packaging) to be loose for ease of maneuvering about

Put on armor except for the left-hand forearm armor/sleeve (left arm/hand still Unarmored)

Open up CATHETER end of sterile tube packaging, hold this end of the tube as the HEV internal computer instructs the MIP to flush the tubing with the saline (gets rid of air bubbles; saline will travel down the tubing. May need to catch drips from the other end, though)

Sanitize PVC’s cap with alcohol wipe & flush with saline from a syringe

Attach CATHETER end of tube to PVC

Align & lock remaining length of tube in place into the inside of the HEV armor as it is put onto the left arm (very carefully…)

 (Admittedly this is a pretty rough answer)

 *Kinda embarrassed to say I don’t have a 100% good answer for how the pump tube would be embedded/attached to the inside of the HEV, though.

I never got around to thinking too deeply about HOW they would be connected to the suit in such a way to be removable, since I wasn’t satisfied with any of the ideas I came up with, so ‘exactly where the needle and catheter are in the suit layers’ never made it to the final Anatomy of a HEV Suit 2.5. The only really finalized idea I came up with is that “the tubes are under the radiation-shielding layer but above the Mechanical Compression Suit” (since it would be bad to have the drugs be exposed to radiation, but also bad to compress the tubes)

Some examples of ideas I had:

 Velcro or a Slipcover: fine for the accordion-like parts, but would squish the tube between the wearer and the armor, resulting in impaired flow

Recess into the radiation liner with Velcro or snap system: bad since that removes most of the protective liner from the tube area

A recess in the armor with Velcro or snap system: worried that would eat into structural integrity

Another idea—a raised/stiffened sheath underneath the radiation-shielding layer where the tube can fit in: again, squishes against the wearer, so probably irritating to wearer. Still not great.

Plastic U-shaped snaps that tubes can be attached into (cant remember what they are called): prone to breaking off, again irritates/pokes into wearer

Sorry for not having a definite answer there! Maybe I’ll have a strike of inspiration (or find a similar device from which I can draw inspiration, which is what I’ve mostly done) and figure out a better way to attach the MIP to the HEV in a month or three…

 How is the catheter tube guaranteed to stay perfectly inside the vein when the user moves around, as well as minimizing the risk of blood loss or infection?

This was one of the fictional concessions that I made that made it into the final post. It’s straight-up not guaranteed to stay perfectly inside the vein as the user moves, but I figured, with so much of the HEV being only plausible with fictional materials, a fictional tape sticker that stays on & makes sure the needle doesn’t move at all even during extreme movement would be the least of my concerns with the build.  (That clear sticker is called a sticker? I had no idea! I just assume all sticky things can be called a variant of a tape…my bad for not looking it up!)

 A very plausible alternative to a peripheral IV-cannula could be a central venous catheter.

I actually did consider a central venous catheter, but I chickened out, haha! The mantra of engineering a medical device is “if it can be done in a less invasive way, do it in a less invasive way” With that in mind, I went with the peripheral venous catheter instead of the central venous catheter, despite the whole host of issues that come along with it (which you articulated very nicely!). Anyways I 100% endorse the idea of using a central venous catheter for the MIP instead of peripheral!

[datheetjoella]

Fantober 2020, Day 26: Art Class

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 26/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 1,947 Tags: Canonverse, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nudity Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

                                              ------------------------------------ When Haruka asked him if he wanted to model for a drawing he had to make for his art elective, Makoto agreed immediately. He was happy to help Haruka out wherever he could and he felt honoured that Haruka wanted to draw him for an assignment. Although he imagined it would be difficult to sit still for an extensive amount of time, he was pretty excited about trying something new with Haruka. If he got cramps from holding the same position for too long, Haruka would surely give him a break.

But when Haruka laid out all his supplies and set out a chair for him, that excitement quickly diminished.

"Take off your clothes."

"Why?" Makoto asked with a frown.

"It's an anatomy assignment," Haruka explained, "I have to draw your body and I can't see your muscles and bone structure through your sweater and jeans."

That did make sense so Makoto stripped down to his underwear without any protests, though he did feel a bit self-conscious. Being in his leg skins at the pool was so much different from being in his underwear on an assignment Haruka's professor would grade. But he told himself they'd view it with a professional eye and not a scrutinising one, and they probably had to look at hundreds of other drawings so he hopefully wouldn't stand out too much.

"Okay, how do you want me to sit?"

"Makoto," Haruka said with a deadpan expression. "Take off all your clothes."

The blood vessels in Makoto's cheeks nearly burst at that. "What?"

"You have to be nude in this image, it's in the criteria."

"Why didn't you tell me that sooner? Being in my underwear is already embarrassing enough, but being naked is just impossible!"

"Because you'd immediately say no."

"Of course I would! Don't they provide nude models in your class?"

"They do, but you were sick that day and I stayed home to take care of you, remember?" Haruka said, "All the other classes already had their sessions too and it's not like they will hire another nude model for me alone, so I have to do this assignment at home."

Damn. It was his fault Haruka missed this class so it was his responsibility to help him catch up. But no matter how guilty Makoto felt, he wasn't sure if he could do this. "Isn't there anyone else you can ask?"

"Sure, let me call Asahi and ask him if I can stare at his naked body for hours while I sketch the outline of his di-"

"Okay, I get it!" Makoto interrupted before he could pass out from heatstroke. "This is completely professional, right?"

"Of course, it's artistic nude. The only person who'll get to see this beside us is my prof, I promise."

In the end, Makoto could never refuse Haruka when he needed him. With a sigh of defeat, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged his boxer-briefs down. "How should I sit?"

"Facing me. Put your left foot on the seat and lean your right elbow on the backrest, hand on your knee. Put your other foot on the floor and let your other arm hang limply beside you."

Those were some specific instructions. Haruka probably put a lot of thought into this, so Makoto couldn't disappoint him no matter how shy he felt. "Like this?" he asked when he assumed the right position.

"Hmm." Haruka ran his eyes over his form critically. "Actually, instead of putting your hand on your knee, raise it to support your head. Tilt your head to the side a bit so I can see your neck."

"Alright," Makoto said and he did as Haruka told him. "How's this?"

"Better. I'll start drawing now, so don't move."

"I don't know how long I'll be able to sit like this, though."

"I figured, so let me know when you need a break."

"I will."

With that, Haruka flipped open his sketchbook and began to draw.

Makoto's gaze wandered from the lamp on the ceiling to the draped curtains, trying to divert his attention from the situation he found himself in. If he'd been told a few days ago that he would be a nude model for an art assignment, he would've laughed and brushed it off as something beyond his capabilities. While he did maintain that viewpoint, the subject was a whole lot less hilarious now.

The only sound in the room was the scratching of graphite onto paper, which made Makoto even more aware of his frantic heartbeat. Every nook and cranny of his body was not just being studied closely, but also eternalised in the sketchbook like an exhibit of all his flaws and imperfections. Each weird mole and bump and pocket of misplaced fat displayed for the whole world to see - actually, for Haruka and his professor solely, but it sure felt like the whole world.

The more time passed, the more Haruka's eyes burned on his skin and the more awkward Makoto felt. He couldn't back down anymore, so he had to repress the itching discomfort or else he'd disturb Haruka. Unconsciously, he bit his bottom lip and scrunched up his nose.

Haruka's pencil halted on the page. "I'm still drawing your general shape so it's fine for now, but once I get to your face you need to relax your expression. My professor will think I held you at gunpoint otherwise."

"Sorry," Makoto said, resisting the urge to scratch at his cheek, "It's just so embarrassing."

"But why? I see you naked all the time and you don't seem to have any issues with it then."

"But then you're also naked."

"Do you want me to take my clothes off, too?"

"That's not what I mean," Makoto said, "I don't feel embarrassed in the heat of the moment, and not even if you just see me nude either but this is different. You're completely staring me down and that makes me self-conscious."

"You didn't feel self-conscious when you sent me that picture when I was at the training camp a few weeks ago. And believe me, I stared at that every night until I got back."

"That was different too, then I couldn't see you staring," Makoto said and somehow, the temperature inside his cheeks rose even higher at the mere thought of the picture. "And I'll have you know, I was self-conscious. My finger hovered over the button for twenty minutes before I sent it and I felt so embarrassed the second I did that I almost regretted it."

"I was happy to receive it," Haruka said, putting down his sketchbook on his lap. "Do you know why?"

"Because you were, you know, excited?"

"That too, but that's not what I meant," Haruka said as he stood up and walked over to Makoto, taking a hold of his hands. "Because you're beautiful and I love your body so much. Whether it's touching or just watching, I love every part of you."

The look in Haruka's eyes was dead serious and his voice conveyed unwavering sincerity. It was rare for Haruka to state his thoughts so openly and it simultaneously made Makoto's heart skip a beat and his head avert as bashfulness flooded him.

"I'll love your body no matter how it ends up looking because it's yours and I love you," Haruka continued, cupping his jaw to make him meet his gaze. "But objectively speaking, you are incredibly good-looking. Not only your body, but your face too. You are so attractive, handsome, gorgeous, hot, sexy-"

"Haru!" Makoto interrupted, laughter bubbling up from his stomach. Haruka didn't compliment him this blatantly often, so knowing this was how Haruka truly felt about him boosted his self-esteem.

"Don't you ever be ashamed of your body, or of any part that is you, because there is nothing to be ashamed of. You're absolutely beautiful both inside and out."

"Thank you, Haru," Makoto murmured, leaning up to capture Haruka's lips in a kiss of gratitude. "You are, too."

They kissed each other again, brief but immensely loving. When Haruka pulled back, he said, "If you really don't feel comfortable with me drawing you naked, then that's okay. I'll try to find someone else."

Makoto shook his head. "It's alright. It's just you and me anyway."

"And my professor."

"And your professor," he said with a chuckle, "But your professor won't get to see me naked, but a drawing of me, so it's different. As long as I never run into them."

Haruka smiled too and with a final kiss, he went back to his cushion at the table. "If you get back into position, I'll resume drawing. I'll draw the most beautiful nude artwork she's ever seen."

Makoto nodded and moved his limbs to their assigned position.

One break and nearly two hours later, Haruka put his last pencil down. "It's finished. Want to come take a look?"

"Of course!" Makoto leapt off the chair and crouched down next to Haruka. His mouth fell agape when he saw the image he had created. "This is amazing, Haru!"

The man on the paper was very attractive, with sharp yet soft features and a toned body, but it was undeniably him. Admittedly, Makoto never stood in front of the mirror for longer than necessary, but he would if this was the body he always saw. Knowing Haruka viewed him this way was already touching, but the fact that he merely drew what was tangible almost took Makoto's breath away. Haruka had been a skilled artist since they were kids, but with each stroke and every line, he got even better.

"You truly outdid yourself, Haru. It's like you improve whenever I blink."

"Thanks," Haruka said with a small smile. "I had a great model."

"You'll definitely get a high grade on this assignment. Maybe even the highest grade in your year."

Haruka shook his head. "I'm not turning this drawing in for the assignment."

Makoto couldn't believe his ears. Had he suffered through all that embarrassment for nothing? "What, why?"

"Look at it," Haruka said, turning away his head as an adorable blush lit up his ears. "I don't want anyone else to see you like this, not even my professor."

At that, Makoto almost choked with laughter. "Are you serious? What happened to it being artistic nude?"

"It is artistic nude, but this is too private."

"What now then? Are you not going to hand anything in or are you going to try to find another model?"

"I'd like to draw you again, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, but won't you have the same issue then?"

"I'll draw you from a different angle, one that doesn't show your face or at least isn't recognisable," Haruka said, "I'll have to think of a new pose. Do you have time tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah, I don't have to work, so I'll try to finish up my homework in the afternoon," Makoto said as he shimmied his clothes back on. "You know, it was a bit scary at first, but I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," Haruka said, "Does that mean I can draw you more often?"

"Is that with or without clothes?"

"Both."

Makoto giggled again. "Alright, because you asked so nicely."

"Thanks," Haruka said, wrapping his arms around Makoto's shoulders. "You really are a great model. Very… inspiring."

Although Makoto would probably never possess the unwavering confidence some others were blessed with, Haruka always knew how to make him feel better about himself. And perhaps, through portraits and images Haruka drew of him, Makoto could learn to love himself the way Haruka loved him: wholeheartedly, all imperfections included.

[reverseopossum]

I have such a ridiculous, ass-backwards learning style that I’m just now, at the end of a doctoral program, figuring out how it works and how to roll with it.

I’ve always had a really solid intuition for verbal reasoning. Growing up, I didn’t get why reading comprehension was such a big deal, I just assumed anyone who could read would think the questions were easy. I’m pretty good at logic puzzles and riddles, and great at taking standardized tests. Any time I hear, “it’s not a test you can really study for,” I know I’ll do well. I like learning about philosophy and world religions partly because I have an easy time putting myself in a different frame of reference and trying out abstract reasoning from that perspective. I can write papers you would never know were written the night before with little to no editing.

But for anything rote, I know I need to allow 2-3x as much study time as most of my friends. Memorization just takes me a long time for some reason. If it involves any element of spatial visualization, it’s more like 5-6x. I’m pretty sure I have some level of aphantasia, where I just don’t visualize images as clearly as most people. I don’t have a sense of where I am when I drive, to get anywhere without my phone I have to memorize step-by-step instructions like I’m memorizing a recipe, and hope I don’t forget a step.

For hands-on tasks, I literally just don’t learn them kinesthetically: I have to know the exact rationale of what I’m trying to accomplish with a certain movement, and reverse-engineer my hand placement and body mechanics from that.

But wait, reversopossum, aren’t you a PT? Isn’t the schooling for that, like, mostly memorizing a buttload of anatomy, visualizing things spatially, and learning to do hands-on tasks? Yep. I started the program confidently after getting the highest GRE score in my class, and then spent the entire first semester scrambling for a backup plan if I failed out. It’s gotten better since then (especially now that it’s all clinical reasoning and applying what we learned in the first two years), but it’s been a struggle. I stuck with it because PT is frickin awesome, and because I had the psych background and tutoring experience to realize I could probably make it work.

In anatomy, I would get good scores on the lab tests (where I was actually looking at a physical cadaver), but absolutely could not deal with the way our professor wrote his lecture tests. Even though he was a great teacher. Even though most of my classmates did well on his tests and felt like they were fair. Because it was all spatial. I passed anatomy by, I shit you not, writing out the things I needed to know for the test, creating a bunch of mnemonic devices in order to memorize my own study guide word for word, regurgitating the mnemonic devices on the back of the test, and then using that as a cheat sheet to help with visualization. 

But then, as soon as we were applying what we learned in anatomy, I didn’t have a problem with it. Just like how when I was learning Spanish, I would consistently fail this one specific type of quiz where we had to fill out a table with verb conjugations, but still got an A in the class because I had no problem using them in a sentence. It was weird, man.

And sometimes the way I learn is literally backwards. I find myself using the practical implications to remember the piece of foundational knowledge instead of the other way around. Instead of thinking, “C7 nerve root innervates the triceps, so C7 is needed to lock the elbow in extension for weight bearing, therefore C7 is an important level for mobility and independent transfers,” I’ll think, “Oh, I remember C7 is an important level for transfers. That must mean it’s the one that does elbow extension. So it innervates the triceps.” Which works fine, but makes it really hard to benefit from most study resources.

Idk, PT school is a straight-up marathon of cramming information into your brain and hoping it stays there. Any neurodivergence or other barriers to learning are instantly front-and-center of your awareness. If I hadn’t gone this route, I probably never would have realized how unusual my learning style actually is.

[cautious-creation]

“Ensign.” “Commander.”

Fandom & Character: Star Trek:Voyager, Commander Chakotay

Pairing(s): Chakotay x 1st person female y/n

Word/page count: 3300ish words, 3.5 pages

CW/TW: fluff, superior officer x subordinate relationship, past loss of a grandparent, discussion of grief, power dynamic

Summary: an ensign and her commander fall in love in the Delta quadrant

“Ensign.” he walked into the lab, holding what I assumed was the information I needed,

”Commander?” it didn’t make much sense for him to come down to the lab to deliver it. He looked up from the data and gave me a smile in greeting, which put me at ease; at least there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. I returned the smile.

“I’ve got that data from Seven.” he handed me the data.

“Thank you, sir,” I turned in my seat back to my work station, “you really didn’t need to come down here, I was about to head to astrometrics.”  he leaned against the work station beside me, looking at another information pad he’d brought with him.

“Captain’s in command and I needed a break from the bridge. I’ve heard about how quiet it is down here this time of day.” he dismissed.

“That’s why I prefer this shift, sir.” he paused from his work, looking at me.

“You don’t need to be so formal, ensign. After two years stuck in the delta quadrant together I’d think we could all benefit from being a little more casual.” I chuckled.

“I’ll try. It’s become a bit of a habit. Early in my starfleet career I was told I had a tendency to speak a little too casually, particularly with senior officers. I had to… re-train… myself. I seemed to have unintentionally made a few officers feel disrespected.” I smiled, reminiscing.

He nodded in agreement, “I’ve always found it a little problematic, some senior officers seem to use it to stroke their egos.” I laughed,

“That was part of my problem.” he laughed with me. “I understand why it’s necessary, but some people take it too far and it gets in the way of strong relationships being formed by the crew.” he smiled, seeming to admire my perspective.

“I’m glad I came down here. I think we could have some very interesting conversations.” 

I nodded “I think so too.” 

He pushed off of the work bench, “I need to head back to the bridge, good luck with that assessment, ensign.” he headed for the door, giving a nod for farewell.

“Thank you… commander.” he gave me a smirk as he walked out the door. I grinned, turned back to my console to put that luck to use.

-

“Well, my professor for xenosociology seemed to have a burning hatred for students like me, who actually question things, so I decided to move to xenobiology and that ended up expanding out to botany, neurology, anatomy, I almost took a psychology course. That professor made me never want to take a sociology course again, and yet, I still keep on looking into it myself.” Chakotay and I both smiled fondly at the memories of our respective experiences at Starfleet academy.

“Considering the horror stories I’ve heard from some of my Maquis friends, I had smooth sailing through my days at the academy. Sociology is fascinating, but I’ve always loved anthropology.” 

“Anything else for you two?” Neelix came past our table, gathering our used dishes. It was something he tends to do when he’s trying to ‘subtly’ listen in on people’s conversations. He’d been doing it a lot when Chakotay and I had meals together.

“I’m alright thanks.” I looked at Chakotay, he shook his head,

“Thank you, Neelix.” Neelix gave a small nod and left the table.

I waited for Neelix to leave earshot before I spoke again.

“I think he might be spying on us.” I leaned forward and spoke in a playful whisper.

He chuckled “I’ve been told that our… association has become a subject of gossip among the crew.”

We smiled at each other.

“Well, aren’t they presumptuous.” he shook his head in amusement looking down at the table.

When he looked up, our gazes locked on one another. Everything around us seemed to go quiet. I tilted my  head to the side, a furrowed brow and slight smile on my face. He’s a handsome man, charming too. So kind and gentle, righteous, patient. A good man.

Subconsciously, my hand dragged along the table until the backs of my fingers touched the back of his hand. He hooked his index finger over mine. It was practically a ‘pinky swear’. Just that little bit of physical contact felt like so much. It was a good feeling. I looked down at our hands and sighed.

“Are you alright?” his question drew my gaze back to his now concerned expression. I gave a lazy smile and slowly nodded.

“I just… “ I decided to take a risk, “Why don’t we have dinner in my quarters this evening? There’s a family recipe I’ve been meaning to try and I could use the excuse to finally do it.” a small, thoughtful frown crossed his face as he looked at our hands.

“No obligation, commander. Just an option. I’ve put it off this long, and the recipe isn’t going anywhere.” I spoke softly.

“Actually, I was just thinking about timing. My shift ends at twenty hundred hours, yours starts at… oh three hundred?” I nodded, “That doesn’t give you much time to sleep.” his concern was sweet.

“I can manage with four to five hours.”

He beamed at me “Then, ensign, I accept your invitation.” 

I smiled. I couldn’t deny I was excited for this dinner. All our meals so far had been in the mess hall. I’d started to get uncomfortable with all the glances we’d get. Perhaps it’s a bit odd for an ensign and a ship’s first officer to spend so much time together, or to be so close with one another; but it’s not as if we’d been doing anything unsavoury and definitely nothing that would go against regulations. Little goes unnoticed on a ship like this and whatever gossip may be circulating is milked dry very quickly; any new material is quickly scavenged upon. I didn’t want to risk Chakotay’s reputation or even his position. Nothing unbecoming a Starfleet officer.

It would be nice to spend some off duty time together away from prying eyes. We’d come to enjoy each other’s company, and Chakotay was right, our conversations were quite interesting.

He was taking a sip of his coffee when Tuvok called him to the bridge. He excused himself, saying he’d see me later, I wished him luck on the bridge and went back to the novel I’d been reading. Neelix came by soon after Chakotay left, not-so-subtly prying into the nature of our relationship. I played dumb, not falling for any of his sneaky questions. It was amusing to watch him getting progressively more frustrated, my form of justice for his intrusion.

-

I spent that afternoon napping and cooking. At nineteen hundred hours I showered and changed out of my uniform. I couldn’t decide what to wear so I ended up putting on a fresh uniform, sans jacket. I spent probably more energy than I ought to on decisions like what tablecloth to use, candles or no candles, wine or no wine and I decided to only dim the lights slightly. I didn’t want to push it, we hadn’t defined the nature of our relationship, I’d prefer to go too platonic than too romantic.

Five minutes after twenty hundred hours my doorbell chimed and Chakotay presented me with a bottle of wine.

“Oh, fantastic. I couldn’t decide if I should open a bottle.” he smiled and I stepped aside to let him in. He’d clearly just come from the bridge. His uniform made him look quite dapper, but I could tell he was fatigued from his duty shift.

“So, what’s this family recipe you’ve been so excited about? It smells amazing.” he approached the dishes of food on the table.

“How about you sort out the wine while I dish up?” I handed him the bottle and a corkscrew, then moved to the table to give him the story.

“My great aunt gave me instructions for green beans, creamed spinach and butternut puree. The bread is my paternal grandfather’s sourdough recipe; a lot of research and development went into that one; and my uncle taught us the trick of dipping bread in a shallow bowl of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. There’s a tradition that I think my dad started, to fry or grill sticks of halloumi cheese and season them with lemon.” Chakotay had poured the wine and sat in the chair opposite me. I placed a plate in front of him and sat down to mine.

“It might not be the most cohesive meal but together it reminds me of home.” there was a pause, an unprompted moment of silence for those we were so far away from.

He lifted his glass, “To… our families back home, and the one we have right here on Voyager.” I smiled. The crisp sound of the glasses touching split the hum of the ship for a moment. Such a beautifully wholesome sentiment.

“How’s the bridge, commander?” I tore some bread and dipped it into the oil vinegar mix.

“The bridge is just fine, ensign. No alien contact, no helm challenges, refreshingly quiet. How about the lab?” he took a forkful of butternut.

“We’ve been getting some momentum on that analysis. Surprisingly, there’s been a lot of data to sift through. The sample turned out to be far more interesting than we thought it would be.” he nodded,

“That’s good news.” I took a sip of my wine, “Now, enough about work. How’s life?” 

I chuckled, “Life is work and work is life here on Voyager, commander.” he shook his head, amused.

‘Ensign’ and ‘commander’ had become our pet names for each other, an inside joke that he and I shared. With all the prying ears and eyes it was fun to have something they didn't understand, and it helped us to seem more professional with each other for the sake of those concerned or bothered by the relationship Chakotay and I had developed.

“I’m glad we could have dinner without spectators for once.” I nodded, agreeing. It had started to feel invasive.

“It’s kind of unsettling to have everyone watching and listening to us. I get that it’s a small ship but surely that doesn’t mean we’re no longer allowed at least a little bit of privacy.”

“You’d think a crew of Starfleet officers would have a little more discretion than this.”

I scoffed playfully, “at least we haven’t been getting much commentary from our colleagues.”

“The captain said something this morning,” I frowned

“She did?” he nodded

“It wasn’t about us specifically, but the implication was there.”

“What did she say?”

“Something along the lines of being sensitive to the consequences of specific relationships within the crew, considering that we’ll all be stuck with each other on Voyager for a long time to come.”

“I’m impressed, an approach like that to a situation like this takes a lot of finesse on the captain’s part. But I’m not surprised, we’re ‘stuck’ out here with one of the wisest Starfleet captains I know.” He nodded. I could see how he admired her.

“I can’t think of another captain who would’ve been able to keep Voyager going this long out here in the Delta quadrant.” I agreed.

“You know who else’s work out here has been exemplary?” I decided to lighten the mood, “Harry Kim. If it was up to me he’d be a full fledged lieutenant by now.” Chakotay seemed amused,

“His work has been exemplary.” The sentiment was sincere.

“You haven’t done too badly yourself, commander.” His smile was small and bashful.

There was a moment or two of silence and we continued eating.

-

“You must’ve used a week of replicator rations on this.” he sat on the couch, taking the mug of tea I handed him.

“Only two days, actually. The beans and spinach were from the airponics bay. I used some of a weird bulbous vegetable Neelix had in storage to stretch the butternut I replicated and he had some Talaxian spices close enough to imitate cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. I replicated the flour for the bread but yeast was a bit more difficult to get my hands on. The halloumi I had to replicate.”

“What about the lemon juice?” I chuckled.

“Six months into Neelix’s cooking I decided we needed some citrus so I grafted cuttings of about five different plants. We’ve ended up with limes, lemons, grapefruit, blood orange and an oddly bitter variety of Bolian tangerine. Neelix seems to get quite excited whenever I tell him the franken-tree has yielded another fruit. Which is rare because of how small it still is. Fortunately, citrus keeps well. The lemon I used tonight was in storage for about a month and a half.” Chakotay smiled.

“I think that citrus franken-tree is  one of your greatest achievements yet in terms of crew morale.” I chuckled,

“It’s definitely been one of the more challenging undertakings I’ve had while on Voyager.”

“You put a lot of effort into this meal.” I shrugged,

“I couldn’t have done it without Neelix’s help.” I frowned, “And it’s something I’d been needing to do for myself, a little bit of self-care. I’m glad I could share it with someone.” I looked up at him. I was glad that I had him to share the experience with.

“I’m honoured to have been allowed to share this meal with you.” His sincere smile put me at ease. I placed my mug of tea on the coffee table in front of me and leaned back into the couch.

“I’ve been missing home a lot recently. I guess the anniversary of my grandmother’s death hit me harder than I expected.” he took my hand in his, 

“You could have said something.” I responded to his concerned expression with a sad smile and looked down at our joined hands.

“I wanted to try working through it myself. I thought it would last a couple of days and I’d be back to normal.” my gaze became distant as I thought back

“Her leg of lamb stew was legendary. Not even my aunt could recreate it. She’d been cooking it on the day she died.” a small forlorn crease grazed my brow, “Two months after she died, I think it was on her birthday, it was taken out of cold storage and we all sat down to eat the last meal she ever made. It was… almost like a last goodbye. There was such a finality to that meal. I was only nine years old.” a single tear ran down my cheek, Chakotay gave my hand a comforting squeeze, “Her death changed my whole world view.”

“In what way?” His gentle question refocused my gaze. I shook my head slightly.

“I don’t remember.” It was true, but I knew for certain that I wouldn’t have grown into the person I had become if it wasn’t for her influence on my life, as well as the influence of her death.

“She meant a lot to you. I’m not surprised things didn’t just go back to normal for you after two days.” I smiled fondly and sighed, looking up and seeing his caring expression,

“Thank you for having this dinner with me.” he smiled softly,

“Of course. I’m glad I did.”

We sat for a while, my thoughts starting to gather again.

“A while back I programmed a traditional malva pudding recipe into the replicator data banks, well, our family recipe. Would you care for a piece?”

“I have no idea what it is, but I’m willing to try it.” I chuckled, getting up and heading to the replicator.

“It’s a traditional South African dish. My version is a bit different from what you’d find described in an historical database,” I sat back down with two plates of the syrup laced pound cake type dessert.

“Usually it’s served with custard or ice cream, but I think that just dulls the flavour.” one bite and a smile spread onto my face.

“I haven’t ever had anything like this. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” I shook  my head.

“Sorry, commander, that’s a family secret.” he chuckled.

“I might just have to order you to, ensign.” I laughed at him.

“Good luck with that, Chakotay.” it was a little startling to both of us to hear me call him by name, before that, I never had. That sounds bizarre, but it’s true.

“Chakotay,” it still sounded odd, my plate made a thud against the coffee table “I think we need to talk about some things.” he nodded, placing his plate down beside mine.

I took a deep breath. My chest tightened in anxiety. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I knew we needed to address some things about our relationship but I feel like I couldn’t quite describe them.

“I… “ I looked down trying to find the words, “we need to discuss… ‘us’, the nature of our relationship. What we… want out of this relationship, where we see it progressing. How we respond to the crew and commanding officers about… this.” he held my fidgeting hands in his and flashed me a soft, concerned smile.

“Well, I believe we’ve come to be close friends.” the smile that responded tried to hide my slight disappointment, “But, as for what I see in the future of our relationship… “ he looked down at our hands, “That’s a little more… sensitive.”

I gave an empathetic smile and chuckled, “I know the feeling.”

He sighed. “I care about you, a lot.”

“And I you.” I gave a small smile.

“I’d absolutely be happy to continue as friends,” he locked eye contact, searching for my thoughts, “but I’d hoped we could work towards a romantic relationship.” I grinned. I couldn’t describe the relief that I felt.

“Me too.” he beamed back at me and almost seemed to blush.

One of his hands released mine and came to the side of my face, my now free hand lay on his chest, beside his neck, against the undershirt exposed by his unfastened jacket. The warmth of his body against my skin brought a slight flush to my face. His thumb padded over my cheek. My fingers fiddled with the pips on his collar.

I looked up at his handsome face, his gentle, calming eyes focused on mine.  My fingers itched to trace along the lines gracing the skin around his left brow bone, cheek bone and temple. He was frustratingly close to me. I so badly wanted to reach out and touch those dimples that smiled at me. His eyes enthralled me. 

I took another risk, letting my other hand rise to meet his face, the tips of my fingers lightly dragged along his tattoo. He seemed to sigh into my touch, which made a contented smile cross my face. My heart fluttered, I felt so peaceful.

“I don’t think you’ve told me, why the tattoo?” he smiled.

“My father. He wore it to honour our culture, I wear it to honour him.” my heart swelled.

“That’s so pure.” he chuckled bashfully. I gave him a thoughtful smile.

“You’re a good guy, Chakotay.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before today. I like the way it sounds when you do.” it was my turn to blush.

“Chakotay, what are we gonna do about this?” I chuckled. My palm settled against his cheek.

“Well, what I would like to do about it, is to kiss you.” how suave, I’d been smiling every few seconds that evening, now was no exception.

“I’m not quite there yet, Chakotay.” I liked the way it sounded too, “I hope this can tide you over for now.” I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll hold out for you.” he took my face in his hands and gave an equally gentle kiss to my forehead. My hands rested on his shoulders. A gleeful smile spread across my lips.

[vincenzonova]

Hey I was just wondering but where did you learn your anatomy from? Any book recommendations or other tips/advice/artists to study?

I pick up stuff from all over the place- my dad is an art professor so when I was younger I got to sit in on some modeling classes and such so I don’t have any specific book recommendations. BUT! I do have an entire pintrest board of anatomy studies: https://www.pinterest.com/officialvince82/anatomy-references/body-type-references/ 

As practice, I like redrawing anatomy studies so I always have a fresh memory of muscle anatomy. It’s probably not as good as having an actual teacher but there’s also tons of youtube artists you can follow who have good instructions. 

Another thing I recommend if you’re feelin spicy is fast gesture drawing, which this website is great for: http://www.quickposes.com/gestures/random basically you draw a human body from reference as quickly as possible. It’s a little daunting and having a timer is super annoying but after a while human proportions just become muscle memory, plus you can train yourself to draw movement. Bonus: you’ll have a bunch of pose references for future pieces. 

I’m not super duper great with educational advice but I hope this helped!

[nellie-elizabeth]

Grey's Anatomy: Snowblind (16x15)

I don't know what to even think at this point?

Cons:

I've gone on record saying that Tom Koracick is better than Owen Hunt in every conceivable way, but especially as regards Teddy Altman. But come on. This whole love triangle/quadrangle/pentangle or whatever is getting seriously out of hand. You've got Teddy and Owen, and then Owen and Amelia, Amelia and Link, Teddy and Tom... it's a freakin' mess, and I wish all of these people would get over their bullshit and just sort out their lives. I know that this kind of thing is par for the course on a show like this, but it just goes to show that there's a right way and a wrong way to write trope-filled stories. I've enjoyed plenty of love triangles and messy situations on this show in the past, but this is one that I cannot abide. Teddy is going to feel guilty as shit, Owen is going to find out Amelia's baby might be his, Link is going to cry about it some more... I'm already so exhausted.

Nico has been deflecting with Levi, not addressing the issue about him not being out to his parents. I've got to say, I really like Levi, but I'm feeling frustrated about Nico. They haven't given him as much time to develop, so when he basically gives Levi an ultimatum, telling Levi to stop trying to change him by forcing him to talk about his feelings... it's really hard to see both sides here. I honestly think that's a writing issue. I like Nico. I want to keep liking him, and I want to learn more about him whether or not he and Levi stay together. I just wish their story was being handled with a bit more care, especially after so many great Levi-centric story-lines in recent weeks.

Are they going to kill off Alex? This isn't a complaint about the episode, just a - what the fuck? My guess is maybe he found out he was terminally ill or something, and wanted to leave so Jo and Meredith wouldn't have to watch him die. I know the actor bailed out, and maybe there was drama there, who knows? But from a story-telling standpoint, Alex's exit has so far been very bizarre, and troubling to say the least. This guy has sixteen seasons' worth of development under his belt. It's completely bonkers that he would run off and abandon his wife. It doesn't track with reality at all.

Pros:

Teddy going over to Tom's and kissing him is really annoying, but I loved their silly snowball fight earlier on. Tom's speech about how he's been trying to get in the club for two years really broke my heart. I think a lot of people have maybe felt that way in their lifetime, at some point. I know I feel it where I work, and I used to feel it doing theatre as a kid - like I was never quite in the center of things. Tom is a good man, and Teddy liking him is so sweet. It's just... clearly I'm supposed to think that Teddy kissing Tom is a bad thing, the kind of thing that is going to backfire on her. And here I am, wishing she'd just kick Owen to the curb!

As frustrating as the Alex situation is, I do like Jo and Link's friendship getting more screen-time. Great acting from them both in that final scene, where Jo talks about how she's pretty sure Alex left her, and Link rushes over to offer comfort. They have such good energy as friends who support each other no matter what. I'm glad to finally see that come through.

Bailey essentially adopts Joey, the foster kid who recently turned eighteen. I am actually all about this. Of course it's partially something she's doing in reaction to her recent miscarriage, but also it's built out of several episodes of buildup and trust. And it's like Bailey says - she has extra room, extra food, extra money, extra love to give. (She probably should have discussed it with Ben first, but I suppose that they do have a tradition in their marriage of making big life decisions without talking it over!)

Richard's story-line offered a couple of big surprises. He bonds with a resident and offers to let her do a surgery, only for Levi to stop them just in time - turns out, the woman is not a resident, but his missing patient who he has been tracking all through the hospital. This woman, Tess, has been sick throughout her whole life, and her repeated diagnoses meant that she couldn't finish med school. She just wanted a chance at following her dream. Richard ends up telling her that she still has that chance - she has more obstacles than most people, but she can still make it. And then Richard confesses that his hands have been shaking, and that his days of surgery are over.

This is a lot to process. I really liked Tess' story, and hope she does find a way to make it as a doctor. It's absolutely insane that she was about to cut someone open, but it worked within the confines of the story. And then there's Richard. He has been through hell recently, what with his marriage falling apart, getting fired, etc... and now this. He has a great speech about how his career defined his life more so than any of his relationships, and how he's not sure who he is without it. But he also knows that he got to do what he loved for a long time, and that he's still got a lot of life left to live. Richard is such a natural teacher and nurturer; it seems clear that he still has a future working in the medical field in that capacity, even if his time in the operating room has come to an end.

Then there's the DeLuca situation. He is rightfully and naturally quite upset with Meredith for saying he might be sick like his father, and even points out that he doesn't throw alzheimer's in her face every time she forgets something. And yet, as much as I want to be on Andrew's side here, there's the fact that he went out in a blizzard and walked several miles to fetch a liver for a patient, since the roads outside are all blocked off. He walks three miles both ways without gloves, saving a little girl's life but also doing damage to his hands. Jackson is adamant that Andrew needs to follow instructions or he could lose his hands, so this is clearly serious business. I'm worried for him, and I can totally understand why Meredith and Carina would be concerned.

Cormac and Meredith continue to bond over their dead spouses - I could definitely see this going in a romance direction, and it seems like that's where it's headed, but at the same time, they are also just good for each other because of their shared life experience. Cormac confesses to being lonely - he hasn't been with anyone since his wife's death. Meredith talks about the complexities of that first kiss, first "I love you" after her husband's death. I don't know if Meredith and Andrew are done for good, but Meredith's behavior here felt kind of... wistful, like maybe she can be grateful for what they had and know that it's not meant to last. I don't know if that's where we're headed, but I'm totally pulled in to the story. (Thus proving that a well-developed love triangle is possible!)

Also - the mentions of Cristina were delightful as always. She feels a lot closer to the core of the story this season than she has in a good while. And we even got a Twisted Sister reference!

There are probably details I've missed here - like Maggie confirming Teddy's suspicions, showing once again that she can never be trusted. Or Jackson making up from a fight with Vic that probably happened over on Station 19. I liked this episode, for the most part - I liked that for once, the big "disaster" of a snow storm didn't actually cause most of the drama of the episode. It was more contained, more character driven.

And next week, we get to find out whatever sort of ending they've cobbled together for Alex. I am... dreading it, y'all.

7.5/10

[the-angriestpineapple]

brewed & beards - ch 6

Kirishima tries to help Uraraka train when she asks, and he gets over his jealousy enough to actually become her friend.

Chapter Six - Genuine Kindness

One of Kiri’s favorite classes this semester is his nutrition class. He hadn’t been wrong when he told Uraraka the other night at pizza that nutrition was really important to him, and learning the science behind what made good food choices was fascinating. He even really liked his teacher, Professor Taishiro. The man seemed to always be eating something in class, jovially telling his students on the first day that as long as they cleaned up after themselves, he didn’t mind if they did the same.

Professor Taishiro was talking about macros and how they transfer into energy, and Kiri was totally listening, absolutely. He was only vaguely thinking about his resolution that he is unable to hate Uraraka. His mind wasn’t swarming with the petty part of him that still wants to hate her, but at the same time Bakugou has been nothing but rude to him and honestly he even seems pretty indifferent to his own girlfriend, would he really want that kind of partner even if he IS jaw-droppingly beautiful? It’s a stupid thought either way. Uraraka is a small, soft girl and I’m a big, muscular boy –

“Kirishima?”

Kiri starts and stares into the concerned face of his professor. A quick glance around the room tells him that he’s been sitting here mumbling to himself for long enough for class to have ended. Kiri swipes a hand down his face, wincing apologetically at the teacher. He’d woken up late today, very unlike himself, and barely had time to throw clothes on and make it to class on time. His red spikes take three minutes to set, not even counting the time it took him to sculpt them, so his hair was uncharacteristically limp around his shoulders.

Taishiro frowned at the boy. “Have you been feeling well, Kirishima? I’ve noticed that you were very distracted today. We do have a school nurse on campus if something is the matter.” Kiri’s cheeks flushed and he shook his head a littler harder than necessary.

“Ah, no, I apologize Professor. I’ve been distracted with some, uh, relationship troubles.”

Taishiro’s frowned deepened and he perched on the desk directly to Kiri’s left. “Relationship troubles. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, you’re an adult now. But I would like for you to keep in mind that you are here at school to learn, and to build a foundation for a career. A very promising career, if my impression of you is correct.” He smiles kindly, and Kiri feels ashamed at how much he’s been letting this situation get to him. He makes a mental note to apologize to his other professors and to Mirio as well.

“I am so deeply sorry, Professor Taishiro.” Kiri immediately stands and deeply bows. “I promise to focus on school work from now on. You’re right, I shouldn’t be letting other people affect my future like this.”

His teacher chuckles and gently pushes him to stand upright. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Kirishima, I just want to make sure you know what is important. Now head on out, and have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kiri gathered up his books and gives another short, quick bow before heading off to an anatomy class. He really needed to get himself together.

---

He spends his lunch that day in the dorm room, eating some leftover rice with canned tuna. It’s a simple meal but a very comforting one for him, and he doesn’t mind the quietness of being in the dorm without Hanta and Denki. He loves them dearly, he truly does, but sometimes a guy just needs some peace and quiet.

He blinks as his phone goes off and he looks over to it. A text from an unknown number? He balances his bowl and chopsticks in one hand as he reaches to his phone to swipe the message open.

???: Hey Kirishima! It’s Uraraka, I meant to get your number when we were all out the other night but I forgot. Mina gave it to me, I hope you don’t mind! ;^^

Kiri didn’t mind in the least, really, he was totally okay with his friends being able to reach him if they needed to. And he considered Uraraka his friend now. He quickly typed back that it was absolutely fine with a smiley face.

Uraraka: Great! So I wanted to ask if you have time to help spot me at the gym tonight – Bakugou’s working and I’d really like to get some training in. If you aren’t busy?

Kiri smiled softly. He really had to admire her drive, it was inspiring. He said that he’d be at work tonight so he’d be able to help her train, no problem. She sent back a bunch of hearts and fist emojis, and it actually made Kirishima laugh. He was actually headed there once he finished lunch, so he let her know that and quickly shoveled the rest of his rice and tuna into his mouth. He brought the bowl to the bathroom to rinse it quickly – he didn’t want the room smelling like tuna – and then packed up his gym stuff to head out. A text from Uraraka said that she also had no classes this afternoon so she could meet him there.

The gym Kirishima worked at was only a few blocks over from campus. He actually had to pass the coffee shop to get there, and he couldn’t help peering in as he quickly walked by. He didn’t see Bakugou but he did see Mina and Jirou laughing about something behind the counter. He smiled. It always made his heart warm to see his friends happy.

He arrived at the gym and waved to the employee behind the counter (it wasn’t Ojiro today) and headed to the locker rooms. He dropped his stuff in an open locker and changed from his walking shoes to his gym sneakers, already wearing what he planned to work out in. He paused in front of the mirror as he headed out and looked at himself. He wore a tight fitted tank, loose gym shorts, and his hair was done up in his trademark spiked style. He grinned at himself, his mouth full of teeth that he’d always felt were slightly sharper than normal, and flexed. He was strong and he looked good, any bro would be lucky to have him! He gave his reflection a confident nod and strolled out into the main area of the gym.

“Oh, Kirishima! Hi!” He looked over to the weight area where Uraraka was already, waving a hand frantically and beaming. He returned her grin and jogged the rest of the way to her.

“You ready to get pumped, Uraraka?” He struck a pose, his fists clenched.

“Yeah!” She punched the air, reminding him a little of Mina. She giggled. “I brought along the plan that the trainer here gave me – that Bakugou wrote all over and changed – but I wanted to see what you think too.” He accepted the paper from her and skimmed it, eyes glancing over angry red scratch-outs accompanied by blurbs that said things like ‘waste of time, do this instead’ and other completely different instructions on there. Kiri winced.

“Well, it’s not that Bakugou’s suggestions are bad…” Uraraka’s face fell a little. “The just seem to be geared toward someone who is built more like him. Or me. Not so much like you. Actually, what the trainer suggested you start with is more on point for what you could be doing. How much can you bench press?”

Uraraka’s frown turned into a proud smile. “Fifty pounds so far! I want to be able to bench, like a hundred by the end of the school year.” She punched into the air again and Kiri grinned.

“Hell yeah, we can totally aim for that! Here’s what I think you should do. Lemme get some paper and a pen.” He went to the desk to grab them, and then he and Uraraka crowded around the sheets. He carefully re-wrote what the personal trainer initially put down for the most part, altering it slightly to include the lightest of Bakugou’s suggestions and a few suggestions of his own. No reason to completely piss the blonde off when he sees his girlfriend’s altered training plan. “Do you have a nutrition plan too? I know you said that you don’t really cook.”

Uraraka shook her head. “Um, not really. I basically either eat whatever is in the cafeteria or whatever Bakugou makes. He makes really good meals though, and rarely ever eats anything unhealthy.” Kirishima nodded, ignoring his heart flipping over Bakugou being health conscious. What a stupid thing to be attracted to.

“Well I imagine whatever Bakugou makes you is probably fine. As for the cafeteria…” He started writing down food pairings, Uraraka focused completely on what he was saying, and his professor’s words from this morning rang in his head about how he could have a very successful career of this. When he handed her the completed paper, she folded it gently like it was precious and tucked it into her bag. It gave Kiri a sharp spike of pride. “Alright! Let’s see how you handle that fifty pounds on the bench and see if we can up it a little today.”

“Sure thing! Let’s go!” Uraraka jumped excitedly and hopped over to a weight lifting bench, immediately going to start putting weights on the bar. Kiri couldn’t help but feel like he was definitely in the right career.

That feeling floated him through the rest of Uraraka’s training (they got her up to 55 pounds) and home to the dorm. He walked in to Mina regailing Denki and Hanta about how Bakugou had almost blown up their chemistry lab that day. It makes him laugh, and the sadness is less than he expected. He knows that he is strong enough for this to pass.

[planetsam]

Malex Prompt: Alex has been relearning how to train due to his prosthesis (fighting, working out, shooting, etc.) with the help of a military friend. Michael finds them training outside of the cabin.

“Breathe through it. Come on, just give me a few more breaths.”

Michael frowns as he comes around the side of the cabin. He’s not expecting what he sees. A very attractive woman is standing over Alex, pressing both her hands onto his leg. Alex is laying on top of a massage table, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and hugging his other leg into his chest. He’s obviously not very comfortable in the position but Michael has a feeling the sweat that darkens his t-shirt and sticks out on his forehead has a lot more to do with the weights and exercise ball that are resting nearby. The woman doesn’t let him up as he breathes and finally she relaxes, pressing her fingers along the sides of his kneecap.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him.

“Like crap,” Alex says, releasing his leg.

Michael feels his frown deepen. Alex admitting physical pain is rare. Almost as rare as him being in shorts. Alex was never a shorts kind of guy, but it’s taken Michael longer than he wishes to realize that Alex isn’t comfortable showing his prosthetic. He’s actually more comfortable showing his missing leg, not the device he needs to walk. The injury is preferable to the help. It’s a quintessentially Alex thing to do. The woman glances over and their eyes lock. Surprise flares on her face but she immediately shifts her weight. Given the amount of pressure she’s clearly capable of putting, Michael has few doubts she’s prepared to kick his ass. The change in pressure has Alex pushing himself up and following her gaze. He too immediately goes defensive, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Guerin,” he says.

Michael raises his hand and slinks out of the shadows he definitely wasn’t hiding in. Of course Alex would be doing all the exercises and fighting to get better. Alex isn’t the type who would let a major life altering injury siderail him for a decade. Michael wishes that he hadn’t left his hat in his car. Or was late instead of early. There’s nothing to do but come stand in front of them.

“I’m Michael,” he introduces himself.

“Lily,” she says, “I’d shake your hand but I’m lotioned up,” she looks at Alex, “back down. We’re not done.” Alex’s face falls but he lays back, fighting to keep his face straight as Lily goes back to manipulating the limb, “so how do you know Alex?” She asks.

“We grew up together,” Alex cuts in, “we reconnected after I got back.”

Quantifying what they are hasn’t exactly been a strong suit for either of them. Friends isn’t adequate, lovers isn’t honest. Actually the only thing they’ve ever truly named each other where the other can hear is family. Michael is okay with that, except when other people ask for an explanation. Family is a weird word for both of them. And he’s not sure how to tell Alex he’s in love with him and also refer to him as family. So ambiguity is a great fall back.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Stretching him out,” Lily says, “Alex?”

“I overcompensate on my leg,” Alex says. He’s flung an arm over his eyes, “and the muscles get tight.”

“Oh,” he says.

He knows Alex is missing a leg. He knows it every second of every day. Alex takes responsibility for going to war but Michael knows he was a catalyst for that decision. It’s hard not to blame himself for Alex’s predicament. And Alex who is obsessed with being strong enough—whatever that means—refuses to let Michael feel guilty about it. Refuses to be treated differently about it.

“I’m around a lot. Can I help?” He asks abruptly. Alex’s arm rises and Lily looks at both of them, “I’m a mechanic,” he adds, “I’m good with my hands.”

Lily bits down on her lip. Michael realizes that she’s waiting for Alex to say something. That’s good and consent is important but Michael can feel the awkwardness. Shit he didn’t want to make it awkward. Just when he’s about to apologize and make up an excuse to get the hell out of there, Alex drops his forearm back over his eyes.

“His hands are freakishly strong,” he says.

“Stronger than mine?” Lily asks, pretending to be offended. Alex nods, “I’m going to remember that,” she tells him and produces hand sanitizer from her pocket. Michael shoves his hands out and cleans them, “I’m just going to show you how to assist Alex stretch.”

Michael nods and focuses in as she explains and points where to put his hands. Or he tries to focus. He hasn’t exactly been allowed to touch Alex in a really long time. Which, to be fair, he more than deserves given his behavior. He’s been clear that he’ll go as slow as needed, but he can’t pretend it’s not difficult to keep from touching him. Especially when they are right next to each other more and more. Alex will sit next to him, but Alex isn’t big on showing a lot of skin. He likes being covered. They both do. It’s fucking twisted and they both know why, even now that there’s no one to put marks on their skin.

His fingers hesitate only a moment before he puts them onto Alex’s knee. He’s under no illusions that Alex is suddenly going to communicate what hurts, but his plan of carefully watching is thrown for a loop when Alex’s breath catches. Michael knows from him that his body temperature is unusually hot. But he thinks if it wasn’t, Alex would probably know his hands better than anyone’s. It’s weird to see all ten of his fingers neatly flattened against Alex’s skin and when he’s directed to put his hands on top of each other, it’s his left hand he presses to Alex’s flesh.

“Now gently apply pressure,” she instructs. Michael slowly leans his weight onto his hands, “a little more,” she says, “you’ve got a long way to go until you hurt him.”

Michael ducks his head, embarrassed at how wrong she is before he forces himself not to read more into this than what is actually happening. He pushes his weight firmly unto his hands and Alex makes a noise. Before he can jump back though, Lily holds out a hand and directs him to stay there. She takes Alex’s other leg and carefully manipulates it, until Alex makes another noise.

“Breathe,” she says to Alex, “deep breaths.”

“I hate both of you,” he says.

“We’re going to hold this here,” she says and glances at him, “you know that’s—“

“Alex for ‘ouch’?” He offers.

Alex raises his arm to shoot him a truly venomous look that Michael answers with a smile before Alex groans and throws his arm back over his eyes. Most of his weight is on his palms. Before he can think about it, Michael gently strokes his pinky down Alex’s leg, doing his best to time it with his breathing. He’s not sure if it helps but eventually Alex relaxes into the stretch and he almost loses his grip when he feels his muscles go. He definitely jumps and Lily smiles and Alex presses his lips together in an effort not to laugh.

“Sorry—“ he starts and looks down at the leg under his hands with confusion, trying to remember everything he read. Reading about it only works if he doesn’t think it’s Alex.

“It’s just the muscles,” Alex says. Michael looks up and nods, “it feels weird,” he says, “I’m not used to it yet.”

“You will be,” Lily assures Alex, a smile passing between them.

It occurs to him that Lily doesn’t know if he’ll be around. That it’s very possible that he won’t be. Or it is on paper anyway. He has no intention of not being there until Alex is used to everything and long, long past that. Until him not having a leg is more normal than when he had two. Or they figure out how to get Max to regrow him one or something.

He plans on being there. That’s the thing.

“Why don’t you roll over?” Lilly says.

Michael mourns the loss of contact as soon as he has to take his hands off of Alex. He tells himself the shiver that works up Alex’s body is just because of the temperature change. Slowly and steady, that’s what he told himself. He watches as Lily tightly rolls up a towel and slides it under Alex’s hips as he rolls over. Michael’s usually distracted by other parts of Alex’s anatomy when he’s rolled over. The back of his leg is smooth. If Michael thinks too hard about it, he gets a headache from thinking the back of Alex’s leg is on the front of it now. Lily gently supports the leg until Alex taps the table.

“Here, support this while I get another towel,” she says, “don’t move it up.”

Michael carefully takes the weight of Alex’s leg. He glances back to see Alex turned and looking at him. Their eyes move and he tries to smile. But he can feel that thing starting between them again. Son of a bitch, he can tell Alex feels it too. He watches his throat work and his lips part as he tries to calm himself down. Physical therapy is not the time for it. For this tension, for everything else. Michael makes sure he’s got a good one handed support on Alex’s leg and moves his other hand up. Alex’s eyes widened.

“Do not—“ he starts.

“Are you still?” Michael asks.

“Guerin,” he warns.

Michael lightly scratches the back of Alex’s leg, right under the knee.

As it turns out, Alex is still ticklish.

At least for him.

Michael doesn’t push it but Alex still snorts with laughter when he tickles under his leg. If Michael wasn’t aware that Alex is probably the only person who can get him to be ticklish, he wouldn’t think much of it. But most people skimming their fingers up his sides or asking if he’s ticklish are dismissed. But when Alex does it accidentally, the sensation is unmistakable. Giggling isn’t something he does around people either.

“Okay okay,” Lily breaks it up with a smile, “put his leg down,” she says and slides the other towel under his hips, “I’m guessing you two got into a lot of trouble in school.”

“I did,” Alex says, “he got me out of it.”

“So you were the well behaved one,” she says looking at Michael. He shrugs, “you’ve been very helpful.”

“I’d do anything to help Alex,” he says without thinking.

Lily smiles and Michael looks at her for as long as he can before he finally has to look at Alex. There’s something soft in his eyes that Michael hasn’t seen for a very long time when he looks at him. And something in his own chest seems to open at the sight of it. He shambles closer to the front of the massage table. As long as he lives he’ll never forget when Alex reaches out and catches his hand. Lily’s sigh makes both of them look back at her.

“I’m sorry, that’s just—“ she sighs again, “I’m a romantic. You two make a very cute couple.”

Alex squeezes his hand.

“Thanks,” Michael says.

“Let’s see if we can get this leg a bit higher with this great moral support,” Lily says coming back to business. Michael tightens his grip on Alex’s hand as he groans. He leans down so he’s closer to Alex’s head, which is cushioned on his forearm.

“Breathe,” he says.

“I hate you,” Alex says.

“I know,” Michael tells him, covering his other hand with his free one, “but do it anyway.”

So Alex breathes.

[turquoisemagpie]

Truce.

(OCs story.)

(chapter one: When Peny Met Salli) 

A tiny bottle. Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink. Don’t take it’s cap off. Watch out for the man in black. Peny had repeated this list in their mind for so long it was starting to pulse to the beat of their footsteps like a bad rap song. They couldn’t believe how easy this mission was turning out to be; considering how many devils they had met had warned them of interloping with the notorious ‘man in black’, it was a surprise that they hadn’t been properly sneaking through his abode this whole time. Then again, they hadn’t technically started the mission yet. Once they got the bottle they needed, that was when they predicted the really fun would start. They began to wonder why the devil who asked this favour was too scared to retrieve this stolen bottle themself. And if this notorious man in black was such a thieving tyrant, why hadn’t the whole community of them decided to gang up and take him down themselves? And if he was that formidable, why the hell did they think a layabout intrusive ink demon would be more successful in returning what was taken from them? Peny guessed it was probably their own ‘personal reasons’; that dress looked too lavish to get covered in dirt when undertaking ‘such a monumental task’. Peny smilingly shook their head in concluding that since the Fraudulentus started actually using humans’ property, the devils suddenly became less ‘devilish’ in their ways. Peny then chuckled as they imagined a cult of humans, all darkened and serious in their satanic ways, summoning one of those devils; how gobsmacked the cult leaders would be as a devil in a beautiful dress sashays out of the flaming pentagram like a scene from Swan Lake. Humans expect devils to be the children of evil? They would probably see an eviller creature looking in a mirror. Peny shook their head as their thoughts went off topic, just in time to avoid tripping over another snaking length of wires. ‘All wires lead to a necessity.’, they reminded themself, ‘A tiny bottle. Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink. Don’t take it’s cap off. Watch out for the man in black’. They decided to follow it down the maze of slim corridors in this old forgotten place.

The corridors didn’t have ceilings themselves but Peny could just about make out the roof of the place, very high above, and curved like the ceiling of a large cathedral. And from the high ceiling were a number of large rocky stalactites, and from the tips of them flowed thousands of cables that spread out to the mazes of rooms and hallways below like a huge spider’s web. They noticed how some of the wires collected into a cacophony of twisted branches that led to certain corners of the whole place. Where those branches hit the floor was probably where Peny needed to be. So they followed the wires as it grew to a larger serpent of snaking cables through the maze. Finally they reached a wide room. The cables and wires they had follower split off to crawl and slink onto randomly scattered roundtables that held messy piles of towered TV screens and thick large books. Some opened book looked as if they had many pages ripped out that had been either crumpled up into balls or left to float to the floor. Passing by them, Peny caught glimpses of what some pages read. There were diagrams of anatomies, of human, animal, hybrid and demon. There were instruction and blueprints from everything, from how to wire a computer motherboard, to how to hold a forbidden demonic ritual, to how to cook a great apple pie, to a scout’s guide in how to start a fire when lost in the woods. This man in black was clearly a man with a love of collecting information, that would probably explain why he steals from devils, and probably other demons too. But what was it all for? Peny headed for a table that was stacked with boxes of all sizes and shapes, some of them stuffed with files, some of them decaying and only holding moss and mould, and some of them closed up tightly as something within them was glowing out of the seams of their corners. Peny picked up one of the glowing boxes and began to tear them open. “A tiny bottle.” They muttered to themself, “Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink. Don’t take it’s cap off.” They looked inside the box to find it full of rocks of different bright colours and cuts; they were sure some of them were diamonds and gold, and some of them could even be wyverns’ blood. The whole contents of the box alone would make a seller very wealthy indeed. They closed the box and pushed it aside, stuffing a few nuggets of emeralds and fools gold into their pocket. They were going to steal something anyway; may as well take advantage of the situation and get useful supplies. They opened another box. Luckier this time; bottles. They shuffled through them careful not to break any of them. “A tiny bottle.” They picked up the larger bottles and put them aside so only the smaller ones remained. “Like a liquid galaxy of blue and pink.” They found said bottle; a stubby circular-bodied vial of a gluey liquid that slowly swirled in a spinning disk of blue and pink glittery dust. Peny smiled on seeing it and picked it up carefully. “Don’t take it’s cap off.” They wrapped a short bandage around its top to keep the cap on when it would bounce around in their pocket. They began putting all the bottles away back in their box when the sound of a deep rumble stopped them. They looked above them as uneven rings of electrical light started swelling faster and faster from the tip of one of the wired-up stalactites. Before properly thinking Peny hid under the table, just as there was a flash of light and a soundwave of a fractured lighting strike and the wires that connected to the stalactite lit up like neon bars of every blinding colour possible. A surge of sparks flowed through the cables that led to the grounds of the room of tables, and there was a crash of thunder and lightning as a dark figure appeared in the centre of the room. Peny pulled the wires hanging off the table above them over like a makeshift curtain. “…And watch out for the man in black.” They finally whispered, as the dark hooded figure stepped out of the small light show of electricity.

As the man in black strolled towards one table to empty his pockets, Peny took out a shard of a white and red glowing crystal, and as quickly and quietly as possible, began to draw out circles and symbols on the floor around them, glancing up only to make sure the man in black hadn’t heard the random screeches of the crystal on the stone floor. The man in black merely took a few books from a pile on his table and began to flick through them. He clicked his fingers and the TV screen in front of him turned on instantly, showing only black and white flashes of static. He ripped out a page of a book and held it again the TV screen. After staring for a moment at the illuminated page his grip on it tightened to a fist as he crumpled the page up and threw it out of his way, growling in frustration as he did. He ripped out another page and did the same. This time he spun the page upside down and turned the dials at the side of the TV screen; the white static changed colours to a purple hue. The man in black then reached inside his pocket and took out his phone and took a quick picture of the page against the screen. As he slipped it back in his pocket he froze for a second. Then he turned and stormed toward the table Peny was hiding under. Peny quickly scribbled in the last of the symbols needed, the markings began to glow brighter and brighter on the ground. Just as the man in black reached under the table and flipped it out of the way, sending the boxes upon it flying through the air, the ground beneath Peny suddenly opened up to a beam of light and they fell through. “Adios bitch!” Peny called, their voice thankfully faded away as they fell.

They fell for, what Peny considered, a worryingly long time. The thick mist of static that flew past them didn’t seem to be on their side. Usually by now large blocks of light, meaning doorways, would show up in the spaces ahead of whatever direction Peny was traveling to. If not that at least the static would thicken to form some kind of solid ground. But this time the ink demon seemed to be falling for infinity. Something must have gone wrong in the Crosspoint markings they drew; the haste of the moment probably caused them to add an extra line in a ruin or miss a symbol entirely. They screwed up somehow and they could end up paying dearly for it; the looming silhouettes of the Keepers were getting closer and closer. Peny had to get out fast, they’d take any escape at this point. They began to glide further to the outskirts of the static mist to find crack and crude doors. Often demons would try to get into the astrum realm without the Keepers knowing; they’d all fail, obviously, but the results of their breakthroughs would always remain. Peny put a hand out to brush the surface of a wall of static, and suddenly jerked to a halt as their hand grabbed the edge of a crack in the astrum. As the Keepers’ monstrous winged figures grew close enough to hear their howls of a million whispers, Peny quickly crawled through the crack and pulled themself into a more real world. They rolled onto the dusty floor of wherever they were and caught their breath as they stared at the large decaying cracks in the ceiling above them. They felt about their pockets and sighed in relief as the small bottle was still safe and sound; the risk really was worth it. They laughed the regret off as they sat up and stood themself up, taking a good look around the place as they brushed down their coat. It looked like they ended up in a house of the human realm, but it was in no way a house for the living. Everything turned grey in thick layers of dust, the walls were peeling, and the creaking wooden floor was litter with peeled plaster from the dampened ceilings. The perfect place for a horror movie. A perfect place for a demon to take a rest. They took the bottle out to properly check it hadn’t cracked; the bandage used to cover the top had gone, but apart from that, nothing drastic had happened to it. Slipping the bottle back to safety, Peny tucked their hand in their pockets and took a stroll.

The house creaked and moaned as light breezes flowed through the broken windows and cracks in the walls. Peny found it a wonder that the house hadn’t been complete blown away in the storms of the past. As the slow steps of their heavy boots echoed along the decaying walls, Peny wondered what demon could possibly want from this place. The only reason why a door to this place was in the astrum fields would be that a demon regularly travels here. A demon that, like Peny, is very nimble in dodging the Keepers. Probably small, and quick, and very good at hiding. If that be the case, then Peny needed to be cautious treading on their territory and they kept an ear out for something following them. Peny reached inside their coat and pulled out a large golden framed lens, that looked like it once belonged on the end of a camera lens, and held it to their eye like a monocle. They looked around the place, in the shadows of corners, on the edges of doorways, on the broken lamps hanging from the ceiling. They sighed in disappointment as they saw nothing and put the lens away in their coat pocket.

They froze as the sound of sniffling became apparent.

Listening closer they realised there were soft whimpers and weak hiccups within the sniffles. Someone was crying. They sounded very young, and very small. The bandages around Peny’s boots slithered to wrap around the entire soles of their shoes, to soften Peny’s steps as they quietly snuck towards the corner were the weeping was coming from. They peeked their head around the corner. They saw the back of a young girl, sitting in the middle of the hallway floor, hunched over with her shoulders twitching with every small sob. Peny’s eyes widened. ‘Well,’ they thought to themself, ‘if I know any good horror movie, now would be a good time to take a 180 and just walk away from the scary girl in an old abandoned house.’ They shuffled back and turned to leave but paused as they thought further. ‘Although… the only reason people run away in those films is because they don’t want to die… That’s already out of the question for me… so what’s the worst that could happen?’ They turned back to take another peek at the girl. ‘If it’s a demon, I can reason with her. If it’s a human… I’ll probably end up scaring her out of this dangerous place. It’s a win-win situation.’ They quietly turned the corner and slowly strolled towards the girl. As they got closer, they could make out more of her, and wondered if this was some kind of set up. This child looked too ‘ghost-girl’ horror-movie cliché to be real. Long flowing black hair that most certainly would be covering her face, wearing a dress that was probably once white but became a dusty grey over time, and as Peny got closer to see over her shoulders, they noticed her hands were blackened with thick scars, almost like burns, and they held the remnants of a broken wooden toy. The wooden boards creaked as Peny took another step. The girl’s head perked up and suddenly the girl dived forward into the darkness of the hallway beyond her, completely disappearing. The girl left behind a piece of the toy she was holding and Peny carefully picked it up. It looked like an arm, the wooden arm of a string puppet.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Peny called out into the darkness, “You were crying. I was wondering if you were lost or hurt.” The was no response. “If it’s any consolation, I’m lost too. I’m not sure where I am. Do you know the way out of here?” Silence. Peny looked down at the doll’s arm and placed it back on the floor and took a few steps back. “You left this behind. You can take it.” Something shuffled behind Peny causing them to spin around in fright. Around the corner Peny had come from something small shuffled back to hide behind the wall. The fingers of a small scarred hand remained edging around the corner of the wall. “Is that you again?” Peny asked, wondering how she managed to get behind them without any notice. At no response Peny took more steps away from her, stepping over the doll’s arm so she could get it. Slowly the girl’s head peeked around the corner, her long hair hiding her face in utter darkness, except for the light reflecting off her eyes… or was it light glowing from her eyes? “I really don’t mean any harm.” Peny said calmly and honestly, putting their hands out to show no weapons of any obvious kind. The girl’s head tilted slightly, and in her cold bare feet she took a step out into the hallway. She took a few hesitant steps closer, her hands fidgeting the ends of her hair that flowed over her shoulders. As she got closer into the light Peny noticed how pale she was, almost like a corpse, and as the light hit her face Peny’s shoulders relaxed as they knew what they were dealing with. “You’re a demon, aren’t you?” Peny asked the girl. The girl stopped in her track, her blackened eyes looked at her in sudden fear. “It’s ok.” Peny said with a smile. They held up their hand and let a tickling flow of ink dribble from under their bandaged fingers, where the ink collected and morphed into the symbol of the demon realm in the palm of their hands. “I’m a demon too.” After a small pause, the girl took more confident steps towards Peny and stopped as soon she was standing over the doll’s arm. Her expression changed from shy fear to curious amazement. As the girl kneeled down to pick up the doll’s arm, she asked in a voice as humanly-childish as could be, “What kind of demon are you?”

“I’m a poison demon.” Peny answered, letting more ink gather in their hands until it formed a sluggish blob that they let weave around their fingers, “My poison is ink, so I’m an ink demon.” “I’ve not seen a demon like you before.” The girl said, “Where are you from?” Peny raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean, what realm am I from?” The girl nodded in response. Peny shrugged their shoulders. “Poison demons don’t have a realm. We just mooch about the place.” The girl giggled, probably at the silliness of the word ‘mooch’. She glanced up and down Peny’s body in admiration, not many demons look like Peny; this Peny knew as a fact, not really caring if it’s a compliment or an insult. Salli asked, “How did you get here? Not many people come here.” “I got lost.” Peny admitted, “I was crossing through from one dimension to another, and I must have made a wrong turn.” “Dimensions?” The girl asked quizzically. Her face lit up as she gasped and asked quickly, “Are you a spaceman?” Peny huffed a small laugh but stopped themself before they seemed dismissive toward the girl’s notion. They replied, “Sort of. I travel through a space. I travel through the space that no humans have travelled before.” “I’ve only seen space on TV!” The girl announced before asking eagerly, “What’s it like? Do you get to touch the stars?” Uncertainly Peny shook their head. “Not the space I travel through, unfortunately. I know of some friends who have travelled through the space you’re thinking of. I’ll be sure to ask them next time, and I could tell you what they say.” They smiled. The girl gave a small giggle. There was a moment of silence as the conversation came to a halt. Peny had never dealt with kids before, not even when they were alive, and only knew awkward silences as a cue to leave. They clasped their hand together, forgot the ink slug was still in their hand, apologised to it as it grumpily reform from the splatter marks, and finally told Salli, “I’m sorry if I’m intruding on your place. I can leave if you want this place to yourself.” Peny turned slightly in the motion of walking away. “No.” Salli said suddenly, stopping Peny in their tracks, “Don’t go. You don’t have to go… Not many people come here. Well… Sometimes humans come here, but I’m scared of them.” The girl nervously rubbed her hand along the rough surface of her arm. She looked to Peny and smiled. “But you seem nice. So you can stay.” Peny gave a small nod of affirmation. “Why, thank you.” Staying where they were, Peny couched down to her level. They let the ink slug drop onto the floor, where it flattened to a puddle and nestled into the gaps of the floorboards. Peny then hovered their hand over the floorboard where the ink suddenly ‘dribbled’ upwards back into the centre of Peny’s hand. With the ink back into a slug in their hand, they repeated this process. The demon girl watched in awe. During this the ink demon said, “My name is Peny. What’s your name?” The girl prized her eyes off Peny’s magic trick and answered, “Salli.” “That’s a cool name.” Peny said, smiling on seeing her smile proudly on telling her name. They looked down at the doll’s arm Salli was holding. “I heard you crying earlier. Was it because of your toy?” Salli looked down at the doll’s arm. Her smile fell. She then reached into the pocket of the side of her dress and pulled out the rest of the doll, which consisted of only a torso and a leg. As she stared at the broken doll, her lips quivered as she began to quietly sob again. Peny felt their dead heart sink on seeing how upset Salli had become. “Oh no. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Peny wanted to reach out an arm to comfort her, but thought that was a bad idea; they didn’t know if the girl wanted comfort. “Do you know how it was broken?” Salli sniffled and rubbed the tears from her eyes; her tears were blackened and stained her arm as she tried to rub them away before they could trickle onto the broken doll. She stuttered. “He was… He was broken… I fell. And he broke. I tried to get him back… I tried to get all his pieces back but…” She coughed out the last few words as her crying got more intense, “Something took his pieces away.” She buried her head in her arm and wept. Peny blinked a few times realising they were close to crying too. They took a deep breath and asked steadily, “When you say ‘something’, can you remember what it was? What it looked like?” Salli shook her head as it was still buried in her arm. “No.” She sniffed, “I couldn’t see them.” She pulled her head away from her arm, her tears stained her cheek. “I think… I think it wasn’t just one of it. I think it was a more than one. But I couldn’t see them. They were see-through.” Peny’s eyebrows raised. “Invisible?” they said with a dynamic bounce to their voice. They looked around the place, at the hallway behind them and at the ceiling above them. “Was he broken here?” they asked Salli, pointing to the floor underneath them. Salli shook her head and pointed to the darkness behind the ink demon. “No. I fell over there. At the stairs.” Peny looked to wear she was pointing and could barely make out a dip in the floor where stairs led downward. They turned back, to ask if they could check it out, but found the girl had vanished without a sound. They scanned the area she once stood, looking for footprint in the dusty floor, but saw nothing to suggest she ran. “Just here.” The girl’s voice called from the hallways behind Peny. Peny stood up and walked into the darkness toward Salli, wondering how she was able to get past them so quietly without them noticing. They reached the stairs and stared for a while at where Salli pointed. They looked up to see the house split into multiple doorways and corridors; whatever things took Salli’s doll had scattered to other areas of the house. They walked down the stairs and stood in the central cross-section of where the corridors split off.

“I think I might know what took your doll’s pieces.” Peny told Salli as the girl followed them, “It could be something else, though. You never know with things that dwell in abandoned houses.” They reached into the coat pocket and pulled out the golden framed lens again, the sight of it impressed Salli. Holding the lens in the air and looking through it through one open eye Peny finished, “But we can check to see what one culprit could be.” “What’s that thing?” Salli asked, reaching to the lens. Peny showed it to her, turning it in their hand so Salli could see all angles of it. “It’s called an Ambi lens.” Peny explained. “It’s so you can find creatures called Ambulans Caligo. Or Walking Mist as they’re know to few.” Peny held up the lens to Salli’s eye and the girl eagerly held it to gaze at the house through it. “They look like little people made of mist. They’re very light and move very quickly through the air, fading away as they do. You can only really see them when they are standing still, which they usually do in dark corners.” As Salli held the lens more confidently, Peny let go of it, but let a tendril of their bandage tie itself through the loop in the frame so it wouldn’t hit the floor if it fell; it was a very important device that Peny couldn’t afford for it to be broken. Then again Peny couldn’t afford it in the first place, they did steal it after all. Salli held the lens to her eye and used it like a monocle, the act of doing so made her pucker he lips slightly and hum deep mumbles; something a child would think a posh monocle-wearing gentleman would do. She giggled after doing so. She looked at the frame of it, letting her blackened scarred thumb rub over the delicate engravings of Celtic symbols in the gold. She looked up at Peny and asked, “What were they called again?” “Walking Mist.” Peny replied. “Do Walking Mist like dolls?” Salli asked. Peny shook their head and said, “Not usually. But they like small objects, objects they can carry. They like inspecting them for a while before moving on from them. They must have liked the look of your doll and wanted to inspect his pieces.” Peny looked into the rooms surrounding them. “If they are the ones who took your doll, we’ll find them hiding in the corners of these rooms. Let’s go and find them, shall we?” Salli nodded excitedly and unexpectedly took Peny’s hand in her, shocking Peny still for a moment. Salli led Peny towards the first few rooms as their investigation began.

The man in black stared at the crosspoint markings on the floor and kicked the powder of the symbols away into dust. He noticed one of the boxes had been opened as broken bottles had scattered everywhere. Whoever that was had taken something from him. Something he hadn’t used yet. Something he needed. Something he would get back before the thief has the chance to use it. As he coached down to take a closer look at the powdered crystal of the markings, a strip of ink-stained cloth blew onto his shoe. He picked it up and felt it in his hands, lightly flinching as he noticed the ink coming off into his fingertips. He knew who this was. He knew how to find them. And when he’d find them, he knew he’d enjoy making them pay.