#but they were born more anatomically correct

[hey-its-sybarite]

People who can ride bikes are practicing some kind of dark art. Two wheels? One behind the other? Balance and movement and spatial awareness and tracking other people’s movements in your surroundings? No. I routinely careen into doorframes while walking, that’s how well balance + movement works for me. My brain never got into proprioception like it shoulda.

A horse has four legs and usually listens to you. Balance only matters when you move faster or it spooks.

[three-realms-archive]

Let's Form an Idol Group

(Check the end for a fun commenting idea which might turn into more of these, if there's interest :D)

“So. Maybe a band wasn’t the best idea.” Asmo began, pushing the last of several clothing racks he had selected from his walk-in closet into the House of Lamentation’s ballroom. The inhabitants of the House of Lamentation were sat on various chairs around him; wearing expressions ranging from buzzing with excitement, to complete disinterest. “But Levi has introduced me to the wonders of idol groups; and my beautiful, fabulous self has decided that this is our family’s calling! Let's talk outfits - ”

“Concept! Concept first.” Levi said, interrupting his younger brother’s monologue.

“Right, concept!” Asmo corrected himself, taking a seat on one of the many chaise-lounges in the House of Lamentation. He sat against the plush pillows dramatically, in a way which made Satan roll his eyes - but you stifled a giggle when the fourth and fifth-born both leaned back and crossed their legs in almost the exact same way.

“I’ve seen a bunch of idol concepts before.” You spoke matter-of-factly, as you put your phone back in your pocket. The start of the conversation had inspired you to quickly text a song recommendation to someone. You continued. “It might be best to decide if you want to go cutesy - or badass - or maybe some inspired kind of theme.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Leviathan nodding enthusiastically in agreement with you. Finally; something he could do with his family that could hold his attention.

Satan raised an eyebrow. “Inspired?”

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah! There’s been dark vampire-y vibes, high school settings, beachwear. It’ll be, like, the main part of our hit single! Though sometimes it permeates into merch, and stuff.”

“A-Ah! Merch! Yes - we need merch!” Levi squeaked, suddenly doodling in the binder that you swear wasn’t in his hands a few seconds ago. In your peripheral vision, you could make out his scribbled lines to be a line-up of seven, anatomically-accurate body drawings (from the hair, it looked to be his brothers); as well as some hastily scrawled merch ideas. Light sticks, tote bags, photocards… and ‘Beel-inspired instant ramen’? You decided not to ask.

Asmo was also looking at the third-born with stars in his eyes. “Yes, big bro! MC! That’s the spirit! I think our theme should be Cutie and Elegant Asmodeus, so that’s all settled. Now - “

“How come you get to decide, huh?” Mammon interjected, leaning against the doorframe. He had pretended to not care when Asmo had first called a family meeting and announced his plan to turn his family into an idol group. But, from the way he was intently listening, he was 100% into the idea. “We should have a cool concept. Something badass and awesome.”

“That’s no different than the first band we tried to form over phone chat, and look where that went.” Satan interjected calmly. “How about a story-inspired concept? Fairytales, or film noir?”

“Ooh!” You piped up happily, much to Satan’s delight and Mammon’s visible dismay. “This girl group once did a love song inspired by a bunch of famous movie scenes. I totally see us as idols in a video like that.”

Lucifer shook his head. He, like Mammon, had spent most of the conversation appearing disinterested by sitting at a table to do work. But even the Avatar of Pride was drawn in by the conversation, and you smiled fondly as he looked around at his brothers bonding with a softer-than-usual gaze. Even if he did visibly cringe at the word ‘idols’ and ‘us’ in the same sentence.

“If I may. Perhaps you all should consider coming up with something unique. It would be a selling point to do something new and innovative, no?”

Asmo and Levi nodded enthusiastically. Belphegor (who was sleeping on your shoulder until Lucifer had started to speak) and Satan grimaced. You and Mammon looked at each other, thoughtfully.

Suddenly, Beel walked in. Only you and Belphie had noticed that he had walked out of the room earlier with a rumbling stomach as soon as Asmo had started talking.

Now, the Avatar of Gluttony had returned, holding a comically-large tub of sorbet, shovelling a hefty scoop into his mouth using what looked like a ladle. Between bites, he seemed to be mumbling something.

“… boom, boom, boom - bah, bah, bah - cookin’ like a chef, I’m a five-star Mich - oh. Hey, MC.” Beel sang absentmindedly, stopping when everyone in the room turned to look at him. Lucifer nodded to him in acknowledgement. Levi and Asmo had heard what he was singing and grinned excitedly. Belphegor, who saw what you had texted to his twin earlier, snickered. You smiled. “Did you like the song I sent you, Beel?”

Beelzebub looked straight at you, an slightly-embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks at the thought of his family hearing him singing. Nevertheless, he shot you a boyish grin. “Yeah. I can only really remember that part, though, for some reason.”

(it doesn't seem like asmo to just stop trying to form his boy band, so i headcannon that he does a fortnightly attempt to make his dreams come to life. we have overture now tho, so i'm gonna say that was all asmo - and maybe levi's - doing. i thought it would be nice for the brothers to partake in some of levi's interests, too :D) (pls comment below if you got any of the kpop references! as a hint for one of them, i don't think i can call myself a stay but i love stray kids' music and really respect the members for being so talented - but that lyric was the first one in my head when i thought about beel ahaha)

(edit: whoops fixed the cookin’ like a chef lyric ahaha)

Comment below one of the following and I might turn some into writing, or a bunch of small snippets, if I get enough:

A name for the brothers' K-Pop group!

A concept for the brothers' debut!

A silly or unique piece of merch their group would have!

[the-feminist-philosopher]

We've all heard the argument "sex is a spectrum." The common retort to this argument is "where's the third gamete." If that's the question you're asking, you're misunderstanding the meaning of "spectrum," because it doesn't refer to a multitude of gametes. Because sex is not just biological. And you agree with me on that. Hear me out.

Sex is also social because we have created social systems around sex. We have created a social system that says certain bodies must present a certain way based on their gonadal function often presumed from the appearance of their genitalia. It's the idea that if you were born with the ability of spermatogenesis (the creation of sperm), then you must be called a male as that's simply the language we have. And if you're male, then you must be masculine. You must "look masculine" and "act masculine," and we- society- will call all these actions and presentations "being a man." There are a lot of things that thus threaten this masculinity from being infertile to refusing to be called a man to refusing to be masculine as someone who was assigned that prescription at birth. This is all part of a social system.

We've created norms and expectations and systems around simple anatomical differences and divided these into discrete sex castes. Our divisions simply are not biological.

"The ideology of sexual difference functions as censorship in our culture by masking, on the ground of nature, the social opposition between men and women. Masculine/feminine, male/female are the categories which serve to conceal the fact that social differences always belong to an economic, political, ideological order. Every system of domination establishes divisions at the material and economic level… It is oppression that creates sex and not the contrary. The contrary would be to say that sex creates oppression, or to say that the cause (origin) of oppression is to be found in sex itself, in a natural division of the sexes preexisting (or outside of) society." ― Monique Wittig, French author, philosopher, and feminist theorist who wrote about abolition of the sex-class system

What is "biological" and "factual" according to a patriarchal society is not that which is "materially" true. The idea that there are two discrete sexes; that there is a natural binary sex essence, is a patriarchal myth. For 60+ years, feminists and legal scholars have understood that one of the ways that people justify oppressing people of any alternative gender or sexuality is by saying that it originates in the authority of nature itself; that it is biological; that male v. female is simply "biology."

A lot of biologists suggest sex is more complex that it seems. Some have suggested that it may be better described as bimodal rather than binary. For a lot of people, their chromosomal make-up might say one thing, but their gonads and reproductive organs say another while their secondary characteristics might say something else. New technologies in DNA sequencing and cell biology are revealing that almost everyone is, to varying degrees, a patchwork of genetically distinct cells, some with a sex that might not match that of the rest of their body.

Additionally, sex-caste isn't alone assigned by gamete. Some people are infertile and do not have the capacity or potential to produce sperm or ovum yet are nevertheless assigned to a sex class at birth. Because doctors don't look for whether an infant is capable of spermatogenesis or oogenesis. They also make determinations based on the appearance of genitalia and then presume the function of the gonads based on that. And there is no way any feminist worth their salt would ever argue that we have NO harmful social norms around the function and appearance of genitalia.

The Platonic ideal that sex characteristics have a universally correct way to look, and that we should do everything to uphold this standard, is how we get intersex people forced into genital surgeries at infancy and it's how we get a society that ostracizes those who do not physically present or develop as the most stereotypical version of their assigned sex, like women who bald or cannot have kids or grow prominent facial hair.

So, "spectrum" just means that gonadal sex (like the process of spermatogenesis or oogenesis), chromosomal sex, genitalia, and sex characteristics manifest and develop in people in different ways. It just means that there is no Platonic Form of 'female' or 'male;' that there is no universally correct course of sex development or outcome. It means that it is perfectly legitimate that you do not have ovum yet have ovaries and a uterus. It means that it is valid that you were born without a uterus or maybe with two uteri. It means that it is valid if you develop an endocrine disorder during sexual development. It means that it is valid if you have XY chromosomes and yet also a uterus and ovaries. It means that it is valid whether you have small breasts or large ones. It means that it is valid when you grow facial hair as a woman or go bald as a woman or gain weight in your gut rather than hips as a woman. It means that any development and outcome and presentation is acceptable because there is no ideal developmental outcome.

“Hormone and chromosome research, attempts to develop new means of human reproduction (life created in, or considerably supported by, the scientist’s laboratory), work with transsexuals, and studies of formation of gender identity in children provide basic information which challenges the notion that there are two discrete biological sexes. That information threatens to transform the traditional biology of sex difference into the radical biology of sex similarity. That is not to say there is one sex, but that there are many. The evidence which is germane here is simple. The words ‘male’ and ‘female,’ ‘man’ and ‘woman,’ are used only because as yet there are no others.” ― Dworkin, Andrea. Woman Hating. New York: Dutton, 1974. 175 – 176.

Sex is simply not identifiable through singular biological characteristics because a person's sex is made up of multiple biological characteristics and they may not all align as typically male or female in a given person.

Below, I've included a couple of quotes that I found particularly striking in papers that touch on this:

"…there are unnecessary and potentially inaccurate linkages made when binary categories of sex are exclusively drawn on to interpret sex-associated biology. The use of binary categories of sex in this way can inadvertently contribute to the normalization of culturally recognized 'typical' biologies and undermine capacities to see variation even within these categories defined as 'normal.' When used in this way, the categories themselves are interpreted as proxy for pathways and thus biological differences are concluded to be 'sex-based,' as opposed to driven by some other mechanism." "Although many contemporary human biologists reject a de-contextualized and simplistic biological determinism (see Smith, 2021 for a recent example), in many ways, when it comes to gender/sex, our field continues to conduct research and provide interpretations of data reinforcing essentialist and reductionist views and concepts."

"Our collective failure to recognize the overlapping nature of much of human biology, even that directly linked to 3G sex, such as gonadal hormones, has ramifications not only for our research paradigms, but also in our greater (and connected) sociopolitical worlds."

"…human bodies and identities resist static categorization. Hormones vary and function in complex ecological and social environments, brains and bodies develop over time in response to varied experiences and inputs, and societal structures of gender norms, race and racism, and sexuality influence and mediate human biology. As the common-sense notion of binary categories for human gender/sex are destabilized, our discipline is well-positioned to meaningfully explore the complexity of gender/sex in terms of human variation and to understand that variation within a sociocultural context, including race, sexuality, and gender diversity."

DuBois, L. Z., & Shattuck‐Heidorn, H. (2021). Challenging the binary: Gender/sex and the bio‐logics of normalcy. American Journal of Human Biology, 33(5), e23623.

"It is acknowledged that an argument against incorporating human sex diversity into the medical program can be made based on programs already being content-heavy, given the alleged rarity of sexual ambivalence. Here it should be noted that the actual incidence of DSD is estimated to be between 1.75% and 4% (Jones, 2018). This may be 'higher than most people outside the medical field (and many inside) assume it is' (Dreger, 1998). The incidence of DSD, however, is highly dependent on the definition of DSD that is used. Using an 'inclusive' definition of DSDs such as 'a wide range of gonadal phenotypes, such as partial or complete gonadal dysgenesis and ovotestis, and external genital phenotypes, such as hypospadias, clitoromegaly, and ambiguous genitalia or fully masculinized or feminized genitalia that are discordant with karyotype or gonadal phenotypes,' changes the estimated incidence to one in one hundred live births. However, the incidence alone is not of primary importance in an argument for including biological sex diversity in anatomy/medical education. Teaching sex/gender beyond binary provides a better understanding of the complexity of sex and, importantly, assists in introducing (or re-enforcing, depending on the students’ educational background and personal experience) a more comprehensive theoretical framework to understand human biological variation in general – in all its forms and all levels of biological organization."

Štrkalj, G., & Pather, N. (2021). Beyond the sex binary: Toward the inclusive anatomical sciences education. Anatomical sciences education, 14(4), 513-518.

To sum up the quotes: biological variation often overlaps and there are inaccurate linkages made when we draw on our binary sex categories to interpret sex-associated biology, leading us to interpret these binary categories as a proxy for outcomes and pathways and thus leading us to disproportionately conclude that our differences are "sex based" rather than driven by another factor like, say... the environment. Biological averages and sociocultural norms can be mutually reinforcing.

[gumnut-logic]

John spun the polished wooden wheel of his ‘bird and relished as she responded ever so smoothly. The waters weren’t the blue of the deep oceans but they had their own beauty.  His right eye acknowledged the green-tinted turquoise, but his mechanical left eye saw so much more as it skipped across the spectrum in pure reflex. He couldn’t help but be captivated by the beauty of the world around him in such a rainbow of technological advance. Even seeing through the steel glass of Five’s forward ports.

Travelling this close to the coast also provided much spectator sport for the various different fish in the area. Gordon would no doubt be cataloguing in his lab.

The thought of Gordon was in itself somewhat depressing. His frogman brother continued to blame John for what had happened to Alan.

Not that John had any argument with that assessment. He was to blame, but it was unpleasant to see his brother suffering.

To see them all suffering.

Scott had dashed John’s hopes of their father’s assistance, but now the Commander was back on board, John could finally take some action.

Preparing his Thunderbird for long distance travel at speed was something he enjoyed and took great pride in. Virgil may be the mechromancer in their family, but John had his own skillset. His ‘bird kept them all safe and hidden. She served as their base as they travelled the seas and, on rare occasion, she could even crawl ashore.

But for the majority, she was simply their home.

Even when Gordon left food scraps on the floor.

Again he was thinking of his younger brother.

A sigh as he angled to dive a little deeper to avoid one of the newer steam crafts with a much larger draw than the older ships.

“John?”

He startled as Eos strode onto the bridge.

“What do you think of this arrangement?”

He stared at the automaton. She had obviously been into Virgil’s spare parts locker again. His engineer brother would likely soon appear outraged yet again. But this time it appeared she had had a little more success is finding what she was seeking.

Unfortunately, the result required John to avert his eyes. His artificial eye whirred in its socket, flicking through the spectrum until it settled back on normal sight. “Eos, if you so choose to wear an anatomically correct body, you will need to clothe it.” While she was still the deep gold of brass and the silver of steel, she had obviously taken some time to form the metal into a good simulation of the feminine body. “Mere decency requires it.”

“Really? I shall take that as a compliment.” The metal woman actually spun on the spot, cackling. Yet again John found himself questioning his past choices.

He hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol in the year since waking up with a hangover, one cursed by god, to realise he had invented, in his drunkenness, a creature that had nearly seen the death of all of them.

Scott was still wary of Eos and the automaton kept well away from the Commander fearing he may tear her limb from limb out of spite.

John doubted he would. He had given his word, after all. But it didn’t hurt to have a little threat in the creature’s life if it helped keep her under control.

And then there was Virgil.

It was always Virgil.

The mechanic become engineer born mechromancer was the centre of all of this. John had suspicions that perhaps his brother’s fingers had been involved that night. Virgil had been as drunk as he, yet took no blame for what was obviously an artificial life form.

Spark lit fingertips were capable of many things. His brother had proven that with Gordon.

Memories of those early days still kept him up at night.

Their fish brother should have died. Both legs gone, innards messed up enough that he couldn’t feel what he had lost.

But he had survived long enough. Long enough for Virgil to craft in metal. Enough for his brother to lay those sparking hands on that broken body and do whatever it was he had done.

Scott refused to speak of what happened and he was the only one with the pair of them at the time. All that John knew was that their eldest brother had had to carry Virgil from the room and that the mechanic had been laid up for over a week afterwards.

But Gordy was breathing.

Their brother clung to life long enough for his broken body to heal. He would never regain his legs, but Virgil soon fixed that as well.

Gordon’s gait was very recognisable as his mechanical limbs propelled him smoothly wherever he wanted to go.

Virgil refused to talk about it anymore than Scott, and Gordon claimed he did not remember.

John was caught between his need to know and the blessing of still having his brother.

The brother who currently hated him.

“John, why aren’t you looking at me?”

“Because you are indecently dressed, Eos. If you choose to sport a female body, you will need to cover it.” He toggled a number of switches, checking the communication relays he had launched into high altitude on approach to New York the previous week. The mechanisms were high enough to be hidden from all but the most sensitive instruments, ie. International Rescue’s, and yet still provide the necessary connections with London and the sister cities of their agency network.

“What is the point in that? How will I show what I’ve created if I have to cover it up?”

“Become a seamstress.”

She paused at that and tipped her head to one side. “That is an interesting thought.” Another pause as she obviously processed the concept. “I will need fabric.”

“Speak to Virgil.”

“Oh.”

Her tone was entirely suspicious. “What?”

“Um, I don’t think Virgil likes me at the moment.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I may have borrowed something I shouldn’t have.”

“Borrowed?” He tried not to sigh. This was a far too familiar story. Apparently, John would need to delve into his supply of Jamaican coffee again.

“Acquired.”

“Can you put it back?”

“Not really. It is bolted on here.” He looked over in reflex and was rewarded a view of her metal posterior.

He shut his eyes and hoped their detector equipment would warn him if he was going to hit anything. “Eos, please put some clothing on.”

As if to emphasize the moment, there was a sudden bellowing roar that had a distinct baritone to it from elsewhere on the ship.

In response, Eos scuttled out the door, very much the automaton more than the graceful woman her new shell claimed she was.

Another sigh.

Apparently, he had two brothers who now disliked him.

The sooner they started on this expedition, the better.

-o-o-o-

[marvelmaniac715]

This is my third fic in two days. I usually don’t write this often, but inspiration has really been hitting me lately. This fic is more of a sad one, it’s based on a fic idea that I’ve seen on Tumblr but I can’t quite remember which blogs posted about it, so apologies if those people find this fic, if you posted about it I’ll edit this post and credit you :). Basically, it’s another ‘what if’ scenario, specifically ‘what if Chucky had been there when Glen was shot?’ For the purposes of this fic, Chucky is there outside the Tilly house in doll form, the fic picks up just after the gun shot and is entirely from Chucky’s pov. Even I’ll get sad writing this, so be warned :(.

————————————————————-

Everything was moving in slow motion, that’s how it felt at least. A gunshot went off, a bullet fired. Then the world went silent. Chucky was vaguely aware of someone screaming, but he didn’t know where the sound was coming from. 

Could it be Tiffany? No, she didn’t scream like that. Maybe it was Glenda? Poor kid, they’d put up with so much in such a short amount of time, and now their twin was- no, Glen was fine, they were fine. It took longer than he’d like to admit for Chucky to realise that the person screaming was him, and all at once his lungs burned.

He screamed louder than he ever had before, louder than when he had been set on fire. He didn’t even stop for breath, just wailed until he no longer could. All of his heartbreak and fear and panic merged to create that one agonising scream. Something in Chucky’s mind had irreversibly snapped, and (barely thinking through his actions) he leapt forward and pressed his hands to Glen’s chest to staunch the flow.

“C’mon kid, you’re fine, you’re gonna be alright. It’s just a gunshot, I’ve had them before, I’ve lived, I never died. You’re gonna wake up, you have to wake up…”

His voice tailed off. There was nothing else he could say. Regret and grief coursed through his mind. This was his fault. All of it. twenty four years ago he had made the mistake of not using a rubber. He’d insisted that because he was ‘made of rubber’ he’d be fine, completely forgetting that a few minutes earlier he’d boasted the fact that he was ‘anatomically correct’. 

He didn’t regret the fact that his children had been born, but he regretted the fact that he was their father, they’d never have a normal life. He’d put his children in harm’s way because of his bloodlust, and now they were paying the price. He’d wanted a child ever since he was one, but look how he’d destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

He turned his head to fix Nica with a hateful glare. For a brief moment, he considered tearing her throat out. But it wasn’t worth it. Why would it be? Nica hadn’t intended to shoot his child, she’d been trying to shoot Tiffany, who had been torturing her for over a year. At least when he hurt people he made it relatively brief, he didn’t drag it out for a year, he did have some humanity for god’s sake. One could argue that Sarah Pierce had been captured for almost a year, but he’d genuinely believed that it was out of love. He was so foolish back then.

He couldn’t blame Nica. He did blame Tiffany though, she hadn’t been quick enough to push Glen out of the way, and she was the one who’d driven Nica to this point in the first place. In a way, this all led back to him, and when Chucky realised this, his grief increased tenfold. He’d inadvertently let Glen get shot. He’d never forgive himself- Wait, what was he doing? His child was bleeding out and he was thinking of himself.

Chucky looked back down at Glen and suppressed a sob. Then his mind went numb. He was distantly aware of screaming at Tiffany to ‘fucking do something, call an ambulance!’ But time seemed to float rather than steadily tick by. He gripped tightly to Glen, as if the kid would slip away if he loosened his grip. He was trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but his tiny doll’s hands were useless, they probably had no effect on the wound.

Chucky returned to his incoherent rambling, trying to reassure Glen that they were fine, doing anything he could to keep his child awake. He didn’t even know what he was saying, but he knew that if he stopped talking, stopped trying to interact with his child, Glen could fall unconscious and potentially not wake up again.

He didn’t let go until the ambulance arrived, and that was only because he didn’t want to freak out the paramedics, allowing his child to receive proper medical treatment. And when the ambulance rolled away with Tiffany, Glenda and Glen in it, he sunk to his knees and howled.

[radikalandfriedrich]

The one about a bike, a beer and a skinny-ass sparrow

Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star

Pairing: Owen Strand/Ty O'Brien

Rating: PG-13

Tags: Humor

***

From the first day they meet, Ty realizes that Owen is a huge pain in the ass. This is evidenced not only by the fire captain's constant brandishing of his skills (and, as his broken nose suggests, his fists), but also by his senseless, almost childlike willingness to go into the epicenter of any disaster as if he were the only rescuer for miles around. His instinct for self-preservation must have burned up somewhere in the ruins of one of the Twin Towers that damn September morning, along with his belief in his own value to this world. It just lays in a flat layer of ash on the ruins of the business center, and now Ty has to drag his skinny ass out of every trouble Owen gets into.

“My ass is not skinny!” Owen gasps for air indignantly when Ty has the temerity to speak his mind out loud.

He is standing in the middle of the firehouse, and he looks quite funny to Ty: a wet T-shirt with sweat streaks under his throat and armpits, tousled hair standing up in all directions, gasoline-stained boots and hands black with grease. It seems that Owen's new friend has decided to show some character.

“I didn't say that,” Ty shrugs, “I just suggested replacing the seat with a more anatomically correct one”.

Owen grimaces, as if Ty's words hurt him physically, and deliberately turns the radio up to full blast, which is met with a grudging curse from someone from the 126th crew on the floor above. Judging by the female, albeit low-pitched voice, Ty concludes that Owen has even freaked out Captain Vega with his disco.

He squats down next to him, critically examines the muddy wheels and sighs. His father used to say that a motorcycle is better than a mistress and twice as good as a wife. What he sees in front of him makes him realize why Owen never got lucky with women.

“Actually, I came by to remind you about the beer.”

Owen sighs and leans his head back. For a moment, Ty even feels sorry for him, but he's a big boy and old enough to learn how to fix his own toys.

“If you want, you can come over to my place today, but don’t ride this. I don't want to have a three-meter distance between my house and a potential accident site.

Owen snorts and reaches for the radio with a dirty hand, but a second later he curses and kicks the bike's stand as I want to ride my bicycle starts to play ironically throughout the firehouse.

Ty decides to walk away. The last thing they need is for Owen to completely destroy his two-wheeled friend.

***

At the last minute, their plans change. Owen says into the phone that he hasn't been able to figure out how to fix the bike, and he's not going to cheat on him with a car or, God forbid, a taxi. So Ty has to get dressed in a hurry and go to his place.

Although the homey atmosphere, linen T-shirt, and plain gray sweatpants make him seem softer, Owen is still the damned Owen he was born to be. He's probably had a glass or more while waiting for a drinking buddy, so when he bends down in front of the bottom shelf of the fridge and wobbles a little, Ty decides that coffee will be enough.

“I understand that living alone does its own thing, but wouldn't you like to have a little privacy in this matter?” Ty asks, looking at the cover of a men's magazine with a gorgeous blonde woman clutching her arms to her chest and squeezing saltwater from a blue swimsuit.

Owen turns around and rolls his eyes.

“It's TK’s.”

And Ty, of course, sees that here, on page seventeen, is an article with tips from a fashion expert on how to dress for a wedding, but Owen is so drunkenly clumsy and a little confused in his own kitchen that he just wants to pelt him with jokes, because it feels like touching mimosa leaves.

“That's a very lame excuse, considering that your son is about to marry a man,” Tai drawls and starts flipping through the magazine out of boredom. He's not too impressed with the content, but the articles are really good. At least the part that isn't covered with photos of half-naked girls.

“It is,” Owen turns and raises index finger, “a legitimate one, since I've been experimenting with my preferences lately.

Ty just raises his eyebrows in response. The coffee machine hisses loudly, blowing steam over the cup with the 126th emblem, and suddenly stops. Owen glares at it, and something in his eyes tells Ty that in a few more minutes, the notoriously difficult nature of firefighter-rescuer-captain-and most importantly-mechanic Strand will force him to go deal with the coffee machine the same way he dealt with the bike, which is to break it the hell up. So Ty rests his elbow on the table and props his chin with his fist, distracting Owen from the tempting idea of going without coffee for at least a week.

“Have been experimenting?”

Owen looks away, smiles briefly and shyly, and lowers his unmanly long eyelashes.

“A midlife crisis? Being around young people? Being around TK? I don't know. I guess now it's more about the search than the final stop, you know.

Not that Ty is surprised by such frankness from a not-so-sober man, but Owen Strand's main trait is still with him even when he's drunk - he knows how to surprise.

Ty nods and reaches for his cup. Obviously, the coffee machine doesn't take kindly to nighttime guests, because the amount of invigorating drink can only get a sleepy mouse drunk. But, considering that the only reason he agrees to drink coffee at midnight is because Owen is too drunk for this time of day, so the stronger the better.

“I understand. And I really hope that one of the Honor Dogs hasn't been the object of your experiments.”

Owen grimaces, tiny wrinkles appear on his nose. He places his cup under the trickle of aromatic coffee and stretches, closing his eyes.

“A man should separate hobbies, work, and spiritual passions.”

“And in which of these categories do you put sex with strangers?”

Owen laughs, flashing a straight row of perfect white teeth (or maybe veneers) and shakes his head, still not opening his eyes. He looks like a sparrow in his roomy pants and unusually large T-shirt, but it's best not to say it aloud.

“He was not a stranger. We had been drinking beer every Friday for three weeks in a row. We're almost old friends now.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ty takes a sip of coffee, keeping his eyes on Owen. “You said the same thing about the Honor Dogs.

Owen turns to him, one eye open, as if to say, “Let's not bring that up.”

“But we weren't bored.”

Ty isn't quite sure who Owen means by this vague “we”: either the two of them against a gang of crazy bikers or himself and his Friday night lover, but he doesn't argue. Anything involving Captain Strand can't be boring. Owen smiles at him again, rests his palms on the tabletop and pulls himself up so that his T-shirt rises slightly, and his pants slide down below his waist, revealing deep pits in his lower back.

Ty squints his eyes, dazzled by the crystal glow of the kitchen, though perhaps it's Owen's teeth. He chooses the most inappropriate moment for this, because at this very second there is a creak of leather on marble, followed by a dull sound of falling and a faint “damn” coming from somewhere on the floor.

“Owen?”

Ty leaps to his feet and rounds the table only to see Owen stretched out on the tile, rubbing his hand over the spot that had obviously cushioned his landing. He grimaces and looks at Ty from under his brows as if he is waiting for another joke, but it's hard to comment on this because it already looks like a mockery of the universe. The secondary flash of fear for Owen's life and health passes, giving way to a kind of almost parental irritation and fatigue.

“When I said I was constantly having to rescue your skinny ass, which is a magnet for adventure, I meant it,” Ty sighs and holds out his hand to Owen, but he seems to be clinging to the only two words that matter to him.

“Skinny?” Owen asks again and shakes his head as if he doesn't believe what he's hearing. “Neat? Maybe. Round? That's closer. Fit? It can't be otherwise when you carry equipment every day and use the stairs instead of the elevator. I would have gone with “worked out,” but I'm afraid Texas men don't compliment other men's asses like that.

“Do all the men in New York call their asses 'worked out'?” Ty asks, tilting his chin up a bit, trying his best not to smile.

Owen doesn't seem to understand the context and synonymic difficulties.

“Want to check it out?”

And yes, it's not a grown man talking again, but a disheveled boy who for some reason is always trying to prove to everyone that he's the best of the best, except that Ty doesn't really care that this is, in fact, another boastful “Look what I can do” and not an invitation. But who is he to say no to Captain Owen Strand himself, who seems serious about showing off his ass in the middle of the night just because someone doubted his, God forbid, elasticity.

“Well, if you're offering...”

Ty throws up his hands, looks directly into the blue eyes, which seem to be only now beginning to understand what he said, and feels something very similar to excitement. His stomach is in knots waiting for Owen's answer, and his skin feels like it's being doused with ice water. Yes, that's it, that's excitement. Ty has time to wonder why every conversation with Owen turns into a tense card game, if not a competition, when Owen throws his head back, twitching the corners of his lips. His gaze warms, but in a moment, where the fireplace's quiet, gentle flame had been, a raging flame erupts. Owen leans back on his elbows, looks intently into his eyes, and, squinting a little, says:

“Take off your jacket.”

Ty raises his eyebrows, thinking that Owen's challenge to him will come back to haunt them both in the near future, but he says out loud:

“Okay”

And throws his jacket on the floor.

***

Ty goes out into the yard in the early morning, sits on the stairs and lights up. The sun is shining thinly on the horizon, and the treetops are slowly swaying in the light wind. The door behind him opens almost inaudibly - Owen is more sensitive to smoke than any detector.

He sits down next to Ty on the top step without giving a word, purses his lips when he sees the cigarette clutched between Ty’s fingers and wraps himself tighter in his robe. Whether it's velvet or satin, Ty isn't sure, but it's definitely burgundy. Like the wine they uncorked around 2 am.

“What?” Owen asks, his voice raspy with sleep and alcohol, and coughs into his fist, frowning at his cigarette. “It was from my ex-girlfriend.”

“From her or her?” Ty asks again and takes another drag, feeling the smoke and laughter tickle his throat.

Owen shakes his head but smiles. He looks up to where the early birds are starting to chirp happily, letting everyone know that a beautiful new day has begun, and Ty can't even tell which is bluer: Owen's eyes or the sky.

“By the way, it's time to tell you that you were wrong,” Owen says without looking away.

“I was right,” Ty shrugs and shakes off the ashes on the rose bushes nearby, “You do have a skinny ass. But it's worked out, so you weren't lying.”

Owen presses his lips together, grimaces, and slaps him on the knee.

“I'm afraid I'll have to refrain from riding the bike for another week after this.”

Ty stubs out his cigarette and throws it into an empty seedling pot.

“Because a man should separate hobbies, work, and spiritual passions? ”

Owen presses his lips together thoughtfully and then nods.

“Exactly.” He leans over to Ty, kisses him briefly on the chin, scratching his skin with his fresh stubble, and adds, “But you could use some fresh air.”

Owen gets to his feet, rubs his long-suffering ass, and walks to the door, leaving Ty sitting on the stairs. The hem of his robe almost disappears behind the door when Owen turns around, points at him with an open palm, and explains:

“Beer. I'm still craving for beer. We tried everything last night except beer.”

Ty also stands up. He pulls up his jacket collar, turns to Owen, and sighs.

“This is where I admit defeat. You've definitely tried everything tonight more than I have.

Ty turns around, walks down the stairs, and crosses the cozy courtyard, thinking about what they will do and talk about when he comes back and rescues them both from a hangover.

Owen's motorcycle, parked next to his car and covered with a thick tarp, makes him smile and roll his eyes. He doesn't seem to have fully realized that this skinny-ass sparrow is now his problem.

But Ty doesn't mind.

(My original work is in Ukrainian and this is a translation. If you find any mistakes, feel free to correct me in comments or DM me on Twitter.)

[hikapoi]

Hey, Hika :D To the artist meme - 5, 6, 25. I always like to read when you talk about your drawing process.

I will start with this first since.. all three of those numbers were asked for the most! XD

5. What’s your favorite thing to draw?

Maybe you can guess? I really love drawing clavicles (neck area) and deltoids (the shoulder-arm muscle area). I don't know if I pay that much attention to clavicles in reality but I like deltoids. I feel like if I can get a good shape I can feel good about my art.

Also maybe it's not a favorite thing but I'm very particular about how I draw hair. My mom used to point out she liked how I draw hair when I was younger and I thought it was interesting she could notice that. I feel if I don't draw hair a certain way to match a ref, it can't be the character so I especially spend a lot of time on it. Unfortunately that's also why I go insane when doing a comic or drawing an oc. It is the #1 contributor for screaming "I'm inconsistent!"

6. What’s your least favorite thing to draw?

The crotch area? LOL I never know how that should go because it's one of those things that just gets awkward the more you focus on it. It looks flat with no detail but then if I spend more time on it I get caught up on how off it looks.. And then if I spend TOO much time on it then it just looks bad and very obvious I tried to work on it (or is that my imagination??) I just can't win with this general hip area so I don't like it. Similarly I run into the same issue with abs.

I feel very mixed about boobs. I LOVE them but I can never seem to draw them big enough no matter how many revisions I go through. I get caught up in a loop too where I'm like, "Is this anatomically correct AND big??? Do I have the right to decide if this is correct even as a woman and inexperienced boob artist??" sigh I rly wanna draw attractive bodacious babes too...

25. Do you like to draw in silence, or with music?

Definitely WITH MUSIC. Music is my entire inspiration and driving force throughout the creative process. If a drawing idea was born out of me "feeling" the music, I must listen to that track from sketch to completion even if it means playing it on loop for 24+ hours. I feel I cannot draw what I am envisioning without that theme so if I want to quit listening I gotta finish the piece. It works the other way too, if I know I need to draw something for a theme I might listen to a song that I think might match the general feel of the idea for awhile until I think of something. And then once I do, I am of course still listening to that song while drawing XD

Thank you for being interested in my process!! <3 The meme is right here if you want to ask me more questions or answer them yourself! https://hikapoi.tumblr.com/post/708522112589119488/artist-asks

[puffitale]

I’m Australian - I picked other, mainly because I was more of a generic baby doll girl - the best baby doll we had growing up was called Emma that my sister randomly found in Video EZY (Aussie rental chain - the early 90s). We had Magic Nursery Twin dolls that came in a sack that you wore like a belly to replicate being pregnant - it had a mechanism that simulated the kicking and heartbeat part - not so sure about the morning sickness, piles or bit where you puddle yourself a little when you sneeze. This was aimed at children.

I personally have no issue with being open about pregnancy and childbirth to young children. You don’t have to get gory with the details, but it’s a perfectly natural part of the human experience.

Furthermore, I found my unicorn in a Clint’s Crazy Bargains in Cowra…An anatomically correct baby boy doll. Named him Jack. My sister completely dismembered him and no one took the time to put him back together - dispute all the times Emma was put back together after her decapitations when we needed to drain the water out of her after trying to bath her. My sister still hasn’t apologised for her war crimes…

Anyhoo, before i went on my tangent, I was actually going to highlight the many popstar dolls anyone post the era Kenner started making random ass celebrity dolls. Being a late 80s baby, my prized possessions were my Baby Spice doll and the red and black out fit from the Born to Make You Happy video Britney doll.

end an argument for me

and for the sake of my data add your region/country, reblogs would help for proving my bias wrong

[jcmarchi]

Researchers produce grafts that replicate the human ear - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/researchers-produce-grafts-that-replicate-the-human-ear-technology-org/

Researchers produce grafts that replicate the human ear - Technology Org

Using state-of-the-art tissue engineering techniques and a 3D printer, researchers at Weill Cornell Medicine and Cornell Engineering have assembled a replica of an adult human ear that looks and feels natural. 

Pictured is the intricate, left-ear plastic scaffold (anterior view at left, posterior view at right) that was created on a 3D printer, based on data from a person’s ear. Image credit: Spector Lab/Provided

The study, published in Acta Biomaterialia, promises grafts with well-defined anatomy and the correct biomechanical properties for people born with congenital malformations or who lose an ear later in life.

“Ear reconstruction requires multiple surgeries and an incredible amount of artistry and finesse,” said senior author Dr. Jason Spector ’91, chief of the Division of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery at NewYork-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Medical Center and a professor of surgery (plastic surgery) at Weill Cornell Medicine. “This new technology may eventually provide an option that feels real for thousands needing surgery to correct outer-ear deformities.” 

Spector worked on this project with long-time collaborator Larry Bonassar, the Daljit S. and Elaine Sarkaria Professor in Biomedical Engineering in the Meinig School of Biomedical Engineering, at Cornell Engineering. 

Many surgeons build a replacement ear using cartilage removed from a child’s ribs, an operation that can be painful and scarring. And though the resulting graft can be crafted to resemble the recipient’s other ear, it generally does not have the same flexibility. 

One way to produce a more natural replacement ear is to enlist the aid of chondrocytes, the cells that build cartilage. In earlier studies, Spector and his colleagues used animal-derived chondrocytes to seed a collagen scaffold, a key cartilage component. Though these grafts developed successfully at first, over time, the well-defined topography of the ear—its familiar ridges, curves, and whorls—was lost. 

“Because the cells tug on the woven matrix of proteins as they labor, the ear contracted and shrank by half,” Spector said. 

To address this problem in this study, Spector and his team used sterilized animal-derived cartilage treated to remove anything that could trigger immune rejection. This was loaded into intricate, ear-shaped plastic scaffolds that were created on a 3D printer, based on data from a person’s ear. The small pieces of cartilage act as internal reinforcements to induce new tissue formation within the scaffold. Much like rebar, it strengthens the graft and prevents contraction. 

Over the next three to six months, the structure developed into cartilage-containing tissue that closely replicated the ear’s anatomical features, including the helical rim, the “anti-helix” rim inside the rim, and the central, conchal bowl. 

“That’s something that we had not achieved before,” Spector said. 

Spector and Bonassar conducted biomechanical studies to test the feel of the ear. This confirmed that the replicas had flexibility and elasticity similar to human ear cartilage. However, the engineered material was not as strong as natural cartilage and could tear. 

To remedy this issue, Spector plans to add chondrocytes to the mix, ideally ones derived from a small piece of cartilage removed from the recipient’s other ear. Those cells would lay down the elastic proteins that make ear cartilage so robust, producing a graft that would be biomechanically much more similar to the native ear, he said.  

Source: Cornell University

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

[droodlebug]

@invisiblespoon ive got you covered ‼️

Centaurs aren't something i draw All the time but I've always loved speculative biology for fantasy races, so years ago I did this little outline for how I think their bone structure would look. Like i said, much more catlike since they'd be likely be predators rather than prey animals with the addition of the human torso and need to be able to adjust and lay comfortably in the wild. Both human and horse spines are too rigid to just fuse together and keep the same shape; it would completely obstruct movement. They need a spine that is able to healthily bend to go straight up and to curve around, which means more a lot more vertebrae.

It does change the shape to be different than a horse or human, really, but thats what happens when you change the amount of vertebrae in an animal! Its like a cat vs a manx cat. A manx cat with no tail vertebrae has its spine rounded. This moves its organs around and leads to organ failure pretty commonly, but i digress. I think centaurs would have two ribcages, both for structure and to account for the extra energy needed to fuel the body. Horses alone already dont have lungs big enough for their bodies, so the entire lower ribcage would be devoted to bigger, stronger lungs. The upper ribcage would be devoted to their heart.

The spine structure being changed would give them the wiggle room to be able to lounge properly!

You may have noticed they also all have paws. thats more of a personal choice, because I am unsure how well hooves, the toes, would be able to balance in an animal that is bendy and twisty. As well as their newfpund predator status I give them, hooves are Not ideal for hunting because of how much sound they make. Though, they do have very rough, keratin covered hands mimicking hooves so they can dig and tear into things in a unique, if not totally efficient, way. Very few animals irl are 100% efficient

Here's my centaur character Efua in a couple good sketches of her body. She has feathering on her limbs that she keeps wrapped out of the way and her hair trails down her neck in a mane. These were drawn without any references so they arent the most anatomically correct but well. I think she's cute and I like showing her off.

Centaurs don't have upper breasts. That wouldnt make sense to evolve to pick your baby up to feed them when theyll be born able to move mostly on their own. Human babies are only undercooked bc our heads are too big to go through an adult body. Centaurs are already pushing a little horsey body out sooo I dont think the head would be too much an issue.

and theres my addition to my rambling about centaur biology 👍

traditional centaurs are so like wild because theres like no way they would thrive. horses and human spines are both much too stiff to allow decent grooming with the shape they have and the way they would connect given the human torso is sitting straight up..

horses also notoriously are fragile. they walk on their single toe. they store oxygen in their bones because their lungs are not strong enough to fully supply their body, which is a large factor in why breaking any bones is so detrimental to a horse. also they break bones super easily because they have very small legs and, again, walk on a single toe. their hearts struggle to support their bodies and are a regular source of issues. horses pretty commonly may get too scared and die of a heart attack, as most prey animals are want to do.

granted, a centaur is probably not a prey animal anymore. but there would need to be so much rearranging of the internal organs to make it viable. personally i like to think of them having the majority of the human torso be lungs while a larger heart is in the horse chest. the digestive system snakes through them and the stomach and most other primary organs remain in the horse tummy. also, it would be prudent to strengthen the legs and have larger feet to accomate for the extra ~50-60lbs added from the human torso. anything that would help them thrive in various environments rather than disabling them in a way that does not allow them to safely travel most places lest it give them a life-ending injury. the world would already not be made for them due to their size, adding onto that seems unfair and not super frasible. Also, most importantly, their spine needs to be adjusted to be more flexible and curved to allow for better, more natural resting positions and ability to take care of themselves. the way the two segments would connect would ideally be more like the curvature of a praying mantis.

anyway all that to say i draw centaurs with bodies shaped a lot more like cats, due to the spine mostly

[saintkevorkian]

“Vandermassen also argues that tarnsgen-der people support the idea of gend3r identity as being biologically rooted, as they do not identify with their anatomical sax despite being raised and their behaviour reinforced according to their anatomical $ex.”

--this is because gendar is farce forced on everybody to perpetuate the illusions of men. Since the distinction at issue (belief systems re: masculine vs feminine behaviour) draws its primary influence from social noise, it doesn’t sit well with everyone. Why reify it? to oppress groups we’re not allowed to call by name any more--women and homosexuals.

--this new brand of activism takes the trouble of citing dodgy historical examples based on the probably correct belief that you won’t verify these data. it’s from a generation of people who grew up in the world of ideas and cannot conceptualise that not very long ago homo sapiens lived in a primarily physical world. if people live short, gruelling lives sans internet access + uni indoctrination they spend comparatively no time whatever at the ole navel gazery. this is why words like trensmisogyny are ridiculous too --there’s evidence of misogyny in some of the oldest written documents; its inception was probably a generation or two after people stopped being nomadic, when early politicians discovered that a single famine can wipe out their 300-strong city and stronger cities have more robust child populations --viz., misogyny is oppression of people based on biological category. (end of nomad life led to two innovations worldwide-- writing and politics. early writing was mainly used to record how many goats you had and early politics was mainly a town arbiter dealing with small-claims squabbles--marx was sort of right, just impractical to apply several millenia on. if anyone is interested i can talk more about how strict reproductive norms get evinced in english etymology and a bit about chinese radicals. more to the point, this new brand of activism is really thinly veiled propaganda and people who have time to repeat pop political philosophies might ask themselves whether they’re not just lapping up illogical and counterfactual nonsense -- growing up in the 90s identities were quite limited cf today: they were categorical and impulsive, not the sedulously curated second-heads people carry around on sticks to try and convert you. the advent of that would definitely be born not of the questionable early internet but of social media where you became your own brand etc. so you have explosions of identity politics and what i’ll call lip-service political action (in this area people put up lots of posters in their gardens or decorating their automobiles for ‘black lives matter’ (a sort of banal phrase which isn’t as profound as people seem to think; ‘black lives <3’ would have been stronger bc to your typical american their mornin cup of joe also matters but there’s no comparison really; it’s not that people have forgotten their dusty and never-used humanitarian beliefs only they seldom interact in any meaningful way with the issue and they don’t read either which is a recipe for ignorance really) but i seriously doubt many of these Visible Supporters made donations; also donations don’t help that much unless lots of people make them eg any donation will begin to seem like an imposition long before it’s enough to pay a single month’s rent to put this culture in perspective. moreover if you haven’t any money there are public forums and policy debates (well yuppies will just come and scream their heads off nowadays so maybe they should say ‘this is not a rave’ on the tin lol); you can volunteer in various understaffed community programmes, or you can apply to research/write news articles ...i think their standards are really low atm. if you’re not doing these things then your signage is an exercise in hipocrisy

--of course s3x stuff is biological only the politics here is ridiculous. here’s a litmus test: would gay people still be gay if not for a weird second head kept groomed on the table for social purposes? yeah bc homosexuality exists as a natural and persistent variation through nonsapient species therefore identity is nonessential to s3xual orientation

--please as long as it’s consensual do whatever you like with whomever you fancy in bed but consider that having an eye over one’s head gazing constantly at oneself whilst At It might be a perversion of the potentially-useful tool known as consciousness

[blackyote]

Planting a Seed

@rqmdae Here’s my submission for Trans Hunter Week, Prompt 1: Childhood. Or, in this case, “childhood.” lol

-------------

Belos had been waiting long into the night, but one couldn't rush these things.

Much like a child in the womb, it was up to his creation when to greet the world and take that first lungful of air. The gestation wasn't nine months, thankfully, but the parallels still intrigued him. Most of the grimwalkers were "on time," emerging within a twelve hour window. Some had been early. Some late. This one was past due, letting midnight creep towards dawn.

Lights were set up to help both of them see, their soft glow darkening the shadows of the cave in contrast, lending everything a fuzzy, dreamlike quality. Eventually, something in the still life shifted. Belos couldn't be certain at first. He had to step closer, peer through narrowed eyes. Something was pushing from underneath the soil, making a little mound that receded, then came back twofold. Clots of dirt tumbled away, revealing pale skin that turned into fingers, knuckles, a hand.

He stepped back. It was important that they emerge under their own power, like a baby griffin pecking through its eggshell. He heard sounds of effort as the hand groped blindly, pressed its palm to the dirt, and gave leverage for the head to rise. They blinked, squinted, and shrank back as if the cave near blinded them. It probably did, after weeks in the ground.

He could barely breathe for the sight of them. The sandy shade of their hair, the jawline, those eyebrows... He had finally gotten it right. There he was, naked and reborn. After all these years.

The child shivered. "Cold," they said, the word squeaked from fresh vocal chords. Belos nodded, stamping down his excitement.

"Come, child. Let's get you up." He extended a hand, and the grimwalker paused, taking a moment to assess the first person they would ever see. Their mouth hanging open like that revealed a gap in their front teeth. A deviation from the blueprint, but it somehow made this face feel all the more familiar. Belos smiled.

Encouraged by this, the child reached out, accepted the hand tentatively. Theirs was small, skin soft and cool to the touch. Dirt remained wedged under perfect fingernails.

As they let themself be lifted up and out, skinny shoulders gave way to a slender torso, narrow hips, and it was here Belos' grip tightened, making the child gasp, the stirrings of alarm on their face.

"But how..." So many had been born right here, all anatomically correct. He replayed the process in his head, wondering at the ingredients, the amount, their quality, the temperature... What could account for this?

But as he stared, the child began to shrink away, sensing something was wrong. It snapped him out of his bemusement long enough to gently release her, saying, "Shh. It's alright, it's alright. Here-" A well-worn blanket lay folded on the table for this very purpose. He spread it out, draping it carefully over the child's shoulders, covering his mistake. She gripped it tightly, looking around now, a million questions in those magenta eyes.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you? But you're safe here," he lied. She looked up at her savior, already capable of understanding as a child her size ought to. Her own mastery of language would take a few days, but it was easy to keep her concealed until then.

"Where?" she asked with a wince, clearly unnerved by her sudden self-awareness. Most of them were.

"I'm your uncle, the emperor, and you're in my castle. You will live with me now, understand?"

Her eyes widened, awestruck. "Prince?"

Belos chuckled. Interesting, that she would use that word. "In a sense, yes." He knelt down, placing hands on her shoulders. "The Titan has big plans for you, little one." Did she know on whose bones she stood? Either way, the wonder on that face was unmistakable. So easy to plant a seed.

"Big," she whispered, and held the blanket tighter around her small frame, comforted by this promise. Belos brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek, and smiled.

[sofiaa01753684]

〔 j o u r n a l 2〕

26 | O8 | 22

Hirohiko Araki

Hirohiko Araki is an illustrator and creator of history known for works such as "Jojo's Bizzare Adventure", "The goregeous Irene" and "Baoh". It is well known that unlike other mangaka and illustrators of this type, Araki has a more anatomically correct and realistic style.

Hirohiko Araki, born in Sendai on June 7, 1960. He made his debut under the pseudonym Toshiyuki Araki (荒木 利之) in 1980 with his Busō Poker one-shot, and began his professional career with the short series Mashōnen B. T., Baoh: The Visitor, and Gorgeous Irene.

The JoJo's Bizarre Adventure franchise is one of the most iconic in the world of manga/anime. Master Araki's work has been used as inspiration for many subsequent works, especially in the shōnen. Many are the works and concepts that influenced Araki during his life to finally create his greatest franchise. Join me as we delve into the inspirations that brought JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure to life.

JoJo's drawing style changes over time, shifting from classic 80's action story characters to androgynous but much more elaborate and detailed drawings. This development is all the more remarkable when one also considers the details of the illustrations of earlier works such as Cool Shot BT and Poker Under Arms.

However, it wasn't until Bao: The Visitor that the style that would characterize the early JoJos caught on. In its early days in the 80's, the fashion for super strong and powerful men was at its peak, with films starring Stallone and Schwarzenegger or manga like Fist of the North Star.

In addition to the drawing itself, JoJo's also has a quite striking color selection. This is because Araki studied the color theory of Paul Gaugin, a post-impressionist artist he knew in his youth, and for whom he has shown great admiration.

At the beginning of 2009, the Louvre Museum organized an event called “Louvre invites comics”, where works by Nicolas de CrécyW, Éric Liberge, Marc-Antoine Mathieu, Bernard Yslaire and, of course, Hirohiko Araki were presented. The mangaka's fondness for the world of fashion is not unknown, since he was young he was interested in the fashion magazines included in the library of his house. Among his declared favorites are Dior, Versace and Moschino. who he said was fascinated by how he mixed beauty and humor.

Araki also takes inspiration from the musical world, having characters called "Killer queen", "Scary monsters", "King Crimson", "Aerosmith", "AC/DC", etc... This has caused several Copyright problems since in the anime had to change the names to others from the original concept.

That's why I really like Araki's work, since in addition to making very entertaining stories that I really enjoy, I'm also introduced to characters with names of bands or songs that I like and, in turn, they introduce me to bands/songs that I can hear.

[femmesandhoney]

if only tras would stop using sex and gender interchangeably then we probably wouldn’t be here. like, you don’t have to use dehumanizing language to refer to females (but not do the same to males). if you’re a biological female then abortion rights will affect you. if you’re a biological male then it won’t. it’s literally so simple, and if your gender dysphoria/low self esteem is so bad you refuse to refer yourself, and the rest of your sex, as the medically correct sex with correct anatomical terminology then you should probably be in an inpatient therapy program.

it's even more mind numbing when they define sex and gender correctly, shockingly, and then still come out with the wrong conclusions. they'll take any chance to make gender the most important thing ever and sex some worthless thing that doesn't really affect us despite differentiating our biological realities. mysterious brain sex is more important i guess.

my trans identified friend always acknowledges she's female despite being trans and trying to present as a man. i've never not known her to ever act like she wasn't female. when she was just starting T and before T, she would easily talk about her periods and cramps and other female stuff bothering her. at the very least, i think that points to more mental stability within a person who identifies as trans than one who so venomously denies and fears reality so much. and isn't the whole point of transgender that you don't feel you were "born in the right body?" but somehow our bodies are the most neutral things ever and can be anything since sex isn't real now? literally they go off the walls confusing when they start tearing about the fabric of language and words and what they mean. snake eating its own tail typebeat.

[trashyswitch]

Putting Elizabeth Back Together

Michael is finally taking the time to put Baby back together. After she's mostly finished, Baby surprises him with her curiosity and her advancements.

This fanfic has mentions of death (Michael's, William's and Elizabeth's) and references to PTSD. If you're sensitive to that subject, it is quite short and takes place while he's looking at the scooper.

As well, this fanfic prompt was suggested by another anonymous user. I hope you enjoy despite the slight dark themes! Although, this is FNAF...So...it's bound to happen.

Michael had calmly waited for the elevator ride to finish before walking out of the elevator with one of the boxes of scrap metal he had collected. Looking around for a moment, his eyes came across a hand truck in the corner of the building. That would be perfect for transporting! Michael placed the box onto the hand truck, and wheeled it over to the elevator. When it opened, Michael wheeled it in and placed all 7 of the boxes of metal parts onto the hand truck. Then in one quick trip, Michael brought everything further into the building. The best part was that it wasn’t that hard to push! If only he had this thing upstairs. Trying to open up the elevator while holding heavy boxes filled with metal that’ll slice you open, had quickly proven to be quite difficult earlier.

Michael walked a different way into the Pizza World rooms so that he didn’t have to try and crawl the hand truck through the tiny vents. He soon made it back to a storage spot that hadn’t been locked. Michael wheeled the stuff into it and decided to use this as his work station. Michael left the stuff inside the storage room and walked over to where the scooping room was.

He opened the door, and shivered at the look of the scooper. It was still a little stained with his own blood. The organs were gone, but you could tell something had happened in this room. Michael bit his lip as he felt the huge gaping hole that had been scooped into his gut. That scooper hurt terribly. Though the nerves were pretty much destroyed in the incident, he could still remember the phantom pain of the scooper hitting his intestines. How he wasn’t dead from physical trauma or even the internal bleeding, he will never know.

As Michael walked around the scooper to get to Baby’s body, he could feel himself disassociating and flashing back to the scooping incident over and over again in his head. The beeping...the impact...the pain, and the redness that filled his eyes just before he blacked out from trauma. It felt like he was hearing the beeping all over again. And he thought he had seen the scooper move a little bit. He tried to convince himself it didn’t actually move, and it was just his imagination. But his head was telling him to RUN!

Michael suddenly felt the back of his foot stop against something, making him lose his footing. Michael came crashing down onto the animatronic parts, making an ear-ringing metallic crash. It felt like 8 separate symbols had smashed almost at the same time! And the sound physically HURT. Michael groaned as his ears slowly stopped ringing. Moving and opening his jaw seemed to help a little. Michael got himself back up with help from the wall, and looked around for Circus Baby’s upper body. He couldn’t see it with the other animatronics. So where was it?

Michael took some time to look around, and soon found Baby’s head without the hair. It was hidden in the far corner of the scooping room on top of a maintenance desk. On top of that, Michael found more parts of Baby: her middle chest piece with the red sleeves, the fan that belonged in her belly, her full red skirt, and one of her hands without the plate covering. It looked like a black skeleton claw without the plates covering it. Using the legs and an arm from Funtime Foxy, Michael started bringing the supplies one by one to the storage closet to start working on putting Baby back together bit by bit. On top of that, Michael started collecting tons of wires from the other animatronics and putting them into a pile. With a few rolls of electrical tape at his disposal, he’d be able to make the wires longer.

Michael started off with the neck, chest and arms. Michael grabbed a voice box from Ballora’s chest and placed it into Baby. With that in place, Michael placed Baby onto the desk and placed the arm down beside it as well. He put the flashlight into his mouth and removed the chest plates from Circus Baby to replace the fan. But a strong smell emitted from Baby. It made Michael wince in disgust. If he still had a stomach, he probably would’ve thrown up. But Michael continued anyway until he accessed a storage unit of some sort.

This sent Michael mixed feelings. He knew his father was capable of murder and kidnapping, which made the storage tank all the less surprising. But...is this where the smell is coming from? Michael grabbed a metal cutter and attempted to open it. But when he couldn’t, he looked around for an easy access opening. Thankfully, there was one. Michael opened it up and found…

A red bow in the bottom of the storage unit.

Michael sighed as he grabbed the bow and put it into his pocket. He knew exactly who’s bow it was: Elizabeth’s. Michael removed the containment unit from Baby’s body and threw it out the window. No more murder. No more kidnaps. William’s murderous tendencies can end with him. Next, Michael found a metal claw thing that had been hidden inside Baby. He removed it, pulled it out and got a better look at it. Hmm...I wonder what this was used for?

With some time and patience, Michael soon got the upper part of her body done. But it wasn’t without its complications. The Foxy arm that Michael had planned to use for Baby, had a separate attachment option than Baby’s arm. This had annoyed him to no end. But the moment he looked at the leftover claw, Michael started to experiment with it. Could the claw be used as another hand option? With a little tweaking and wiring, it could! Even though it looked like something even more murderous than his father’s blueprint plans, it did make Baby look more complete.

Michael soon laid the upper body down on the desk and started attaching the legs. Funnily enough, the legs were similarly reattachable just like Baby’s legs. Though Foxy’s legs looked more slim than Baby’s did. Baby had some thick legs. But with the new set up and the arms (kinda), the legs seemed to look anatomically correct. So, Michael connected them and stood Circus Baby back up.

It was...not as pretty as it started out. Well duh...It most likely wasn’t gonna be as nice-looking. The nice-looking one was also a secret killer. At least it actually looks like it commits murders. Michael started up the Servos motor, and watched as the animatronic quickly came back to life. Circus Baby lifted its body, opened its eyes wider and started moving its hand and arms around.

“Hello! Welcome to Circus Baby’s Pizza world. Are you ready for the show? I can sing, I can dance, I can even make you ice cream.” Baby greeted.

“Hello again Baby.” Michael greeted with a smile.

Baby moved her left hand up to her chin. “Do I know you?” She asked.

Michael nodded. “I worked here a week ago. Eggs Benedict, as Handunit called me.” Michael explained.

Baby held her hands in front of her belly, and tilted her head to the side with a smile. “Welcome back Mr. Afton.”

Michael’s eyes widened. How-

“I recognize you now. You’re much too big to fit in my storage tank. You must be fully grown.” Baby told him.

Michael bit his lip and awkwardly nodded. Thank goodness for that. “Do...Do you know my name?” Michael asked.

“You’re the first born son of Afton. He talked about you while he was building me. He didn’t know I was aware at the time.” Circus Baby explained.

Michael nodded and started to detach the chest again. Michael grabbed some wires and started connecting them to Circus Baby’s neck. “That’s funny. My father barely noticed me, and was too embarrassed to talk about me.” Michael admitted.

Baby looked at Michael as he weaved the wires into the chest and replaced them. “What are you doing to me?” Baby asked.

“Fixing you as best I can.” Michael replied.

“Where is Mr. Afton?” Baby asked.

“He…” Michael sighed as he removed a faulty wire. “He died a decade ago. He got into a wearable animatronic, and…” Michael made a raspberry sound and did a ‘cut the throat’ signal to represent death.

“Oh.” Baby replied. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Michael guffawed and snorted at those words. Baby quickly lifted her head up to look at him in worry. Michael’s smile dropped as he saw Baby’s facial expression. “Sorry. He...did some really bad things. So: it was a relief to hear he died. He deserved his death.” Michael explained.

Baby looked down, looking really sad. “I did something bad once.” Baby admitted.

Michael nodded. “I know, I know. You tried to give a little girl ice cream, and you ended up killing her.” Michael added.

“I didn’t know I would do that. I didn’t know my ice cream would be used to kill a child.” Baby admitted.

Michael placed his hands onto her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “I know that. And it’s okay. You were created by an evil man who killed children with his bare hands. You are not to blame for what happened to Elizabeth.” Michael told her.

Baby tilted her head. “...Elizabeth?”

Michael nodded. “Yup. Her name was Elizabeth.” he explained. He looked down a little. “She was my sister.”

Baby looked down, hung her head and dropped her tiny pigtail connectors. “I’m sorry.”

Michael smiled empathetically and lifted her chin a little with his hand. “It’s okay. You remind me of her a lot.” He admitted. “Just...with no british accent.” Michael said with a chuckle.

Baby looked at him more and smiled.

“Now: I need to keep wiring you up and replacing any faulty wires. You’re kind of a mess right now, Baby.” Michael told her as he started connecting a wire to her neck.

“Okay. I’ll try to stay still Mr. Afto-” Baby stopped herself. She looked at Michael for clarification.

Michael chuckled and connected another wire. “Call me Michael.”

Michael took a break from all the wiring in the body, and decided to spend some time turning black wires and different-colored tube parts into makeshift pigtails for her. When he filled in the face with layered orange and yellow bangs, Michael put together a pony by wrapping another black wire around the start of both pigtails. After the pigtails and the bangs were complete, Michael returned to fixing the wires on her body. But when Michael worked on her neck, Baby began struggling to stay still.

“Michael, your hands feel strange against my neck.” Baby admitted.

“Feel...strange…?” Michael repeated slowly. He brought his hand up to Baby’s neck and touched it. “Like this?”

Baby smiled and tilted her head to the side the hand was on. “Yes!”

“You...You can feel something?” Michael asked, moving his hand to the front of her neck. Baby quickly pushed his hand away with her hand and...let out a quiet little giggle. It was hard to hear, but Michael was just able to catch it.

Michael decided to ignore it for now, and started weaving a few wires through the chest. That didn’t seem to cause a reaction. But as soon as the other side of the wire reached her side, Baby started wiggling and smiling a little wider. Michael looked up at Baby just once, and quickly started spidering his fingers up and down the left white side cover.

Baby’s reaction was immediate! She closed her eyes as she let out a squeal! She quickly leaned over and covered up her side with her arms. “Heeheehee!...” Baby opened her eyes and looked down in confusion. “It’s making me laugh.” Baby looked up at Michael.

Michael was looking at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Her laughter was...really innocent-sounding! And it reminded him a little of his mother’s laugh. “I...Wow!” Michael immediately ran back up and started tickling the side again. “Do you actually feel this?”

Baby closed her eyes and started giggling again. As her hands moved around to cover up her sides, Michael snuck around and started attacking them from behind. This caused Baby to squeal again and bounce around on the spot! “HEHEHEhehehe! Mihihichahahael! Ihihihi dohohon’t uhuhunderstahahahand!” Baby told him, shaking her head as she giggled.

“This is gonna sound nuts…” Michael paused for a moment and held his forehead. “But so far, you have the same ticklish spots as Elizabeth.” Michael finished.

Baby had her back to Michael while holding her sides a few feet in front of him. Curious, Baby turned her head around 180 degrees to look at him again. “Really?” Baby asked, turning the rest of her body 180 degrees to match her head’s direction.

Michael widened his eyes at the super wrong head contortion, but soon walked back up to her. “Yeah! Her sides,” Michael poked her sides and watched as Baby jumped and threw her pigtails up.

“Her neck,” Michael gave both sides of Baby’s neck a little tickle. Baby giggled and started laughing as well while bouncing on the spot and waving her head back and forth.

“And her hips!” Michael went for the orange pieces at the bottom right before Baby’s skirt, and gave them both a squeeze. To Michael’s surprise, Baby leaped a good 3 feet into the air and thankfully, landed on both her feet! But the moment Michael so much as touched her orange ‘hips’ again, Baby flopped backwards onto the ground like she had lost all the muscles in her legs.

Michael had bursted out laughing at Baby’s funny-looking fall. Baby had gotten herself back up onto her feet, and looked at Michael with growing curiosity in her eyes. “Do you have this same feeling?” Baby walked up to Michael and attempted to give his side a poke. While the finger touched the shirt, the shirt seemed to sink in, revealing something unusual about his body shape. Baby was about to lift up Michael’s shirt to see why his body was so thin, but Michael pushed her hand away and tucked his shirt in again. “No touching my lower body.” Michael ordered. He waved his hands up and down from the bottom ribs to the hips. “All of this is a no touch zone.” Michael told her.

Baby nodded in understanding, and proceeded to poke his ribs instead. Michael jumped and yelped, quickly realizing what she was doing. He tried stepping back to get away, but it didn’t take long for another yelp to leave Michael’s mouth as he discovered: He had backed himself into a wall! Baby smiled, opened her big claw hand and placed it around him! This caused Michael to get stuck in between the claw and somewhat pinned against the wall.

“I want to see if you jump and giggle when I poke you.” Baby told him casually.

Michael tried to get himself through the claw, but the claw spikes would scratch against his arms and dig into the already-dying skin. So he was forced to attempt escapes while she tickled him out of pure curiosity.

Baby started off poking his different ribs. Michael would yelp and jump with each and every poke, trying his hardest not to satisfy her. But the longer that she poked and scratched the ribs, the more his instincts would betray him. Soon, Baby would tilt her head at the look of a wobbly smile growing on his face. “You do grow happy when I poke your endoskeleton.” Baby reacted with a smile.

Next, Baby tried tickling his neck. Michael squealed super high-pitched and shook his head all over the place. Then, things got even worse when Baby remembered how Michael had squeezed her! Baby had started imitating the squeezing motion, which was making Michael sweat in fear and anticipation. Finally, after about 3 minutes of squeezing the air, Baby moved her hand to the ribs and gave them a squeeze.

“eeEEEEEHEHEHEHEHE! STAHAHAHAHA!” Michael bursted out laughing almost instantly!

Baby was impressed! “You sound like you’re having fun.” Baby told him as she continued squeezing and poking his ribs.

“IHIHIHIHI- BAHAHAHABYYYYYY! STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHI’M WAHAHAY TOO-TIHIHICKLIHIHISH!” Michael shouted loudly.

Baby stopped squeezing and leaned her body ahead a little. “What did you say?” She asked.

Michael’s laughter fell right to giggles the moment she stopped tickling. “Ihi...I said...Stop I’m way too ticklish.” Michael replied.

Baby straightened her back and tilted her head to the right side. “What is ticklish?”

Michael let out a few laughs and widened his smile a little. “Ihit’s...something I haven’t experienced in years.” He replied. “It’s...what I was doing to you. Tickling you, to be specific. Tickle is a noun meaning to touch someone in a spot that makes them laugh.” Michael explained. “E...Elizabeth...I tickled her a lot...especially as a toddler.” Michael explained.

“Ooh. So this-” Elizabeth gave his ribs another squeeze, “is tickling.” Baby asked.

Michael squeaked yet again and bursted out laughing again. “YEHEHEHES, TIHICKLIHIHING, FEHEHEHEELS LIHIHIKE IHIT, YEHEHEAH!” Michael replied, nodding his head.

Baby smiled and continued to squeeze his ribs. “I’m tickling you. I’m giving you a tickle squeeze.” Baby said out loud as she tickled him.

“OHOHOKAHAHAY, YOHOHOU CAHAHAN STAHAHAP NOHOHOW!” Michael tried to order.

Baby tilted her head and lowered her pigtails. “But why would I stop? You’re enjoying yourself the way children enjoy ice cream, or balloons. You’re laughing.” Baby told him.

Michael didn’t really want to admit it, but she had a point. He was actually enjoying himself. The years of not being touched properly, were starting to really get to him. And this random act of touch, was making up for all the years of lacking love. It felt...nice.

“OHOHOKAHAHAY. YOHOHOU- YOHOHOU’RE RIHIHIGHT. IHIHI LIHIHIKE THIHIHIS. YOHOHOU WIHIHIN.” Michael finally gave up.

Baby raised her pigtails and practically beamed upon hearing those words. ‘You’re right’! ‘You win’! She was right! She actually won! Baby placed Michael down and clapped her metal hand and claw together excitedly. “I won! I won! I won I won I won!” She declared.

Baby quickly pulled out a few balloons from another little storage unit, and started blowing up balloons with her fingers. Then, she tied them together and added string to them. Michael watched the funny celebration reaction as he got himself up off the floor. Then, to Michael’s surprise:

Baby handed him the tied bouquet of balloons. “Here.”

Michael looked at the balloons, in which the strings had been tied together near the bottom. Michael smiled and happily took the balloons.

...Only for him to tie it onto a dresser knob and squeeze Baby’s hips again.

Baby squealed yet again, and flopped backwards onto the ground, holding her hips. This time, Michael took advantage of the girl down and climbed on, to continue tickling her hips and sides. Baby was now a mess of childish laughter and cute little giggles. And thankfully, Michael never got a claw to the face! Who knew that putting Baby back together would be one of the best things to ever happen to him?