#ct ember

[the-starry-seas]

For the Aces Squad: What's their favourite critter (if they have one?) For the Valkyries: Do they believe in any superstitions?

ooh hi!

For the Aces - Racer's favourite are her siblings (affectionate, usually). She also thinks furbies should count, partially because they are an animal to her, and partially because she likes making people wonder what goes on in her head.

Fury is ambivalent about everything but banthas, he pays equal attention to his two Tusken spouses and their banthas LOL you can find him in the bantha barn at any hour of the day or night.

Blue was never an 'animal guy' but then he married a devoted ferret dad and decided those little guys were the coolest actually.

Ember was a fan of stingrays from the first time he saw them, and then his first date with his future husband was guarding a sea turtle nest (there are many benefis to being a marine biologist) so he loves those too because his husband loves them.

Whisper has always been a frog stan first and a human being second. Or third or fourth. Xe also likes massiffs quite a bit and has four including xeim service dog!

As for the Valkyries... idk 🤔 I checked out some common sailing superstitions and some of those apply! Re-naming a boat is bad luck and they've named all their boats the same thing. Saying good luck on a boat is actually bad luck, and so is saying goodbye (you are to say GO KICK HIS ASS BABY instead, perfectly acceptable). Cats are good omens! Keep some kitties on board!

Also googling old superstitions and seeing 'no girls allowed' made me laugh. No I don't think they would believe in that one. I think just about all of them do believe in ghosts, but then again ghosts are canon in Star Wars, so I don't think that would be considered to be a supersition, in-universe.

[the-starry-seas]

Absolutely and xe times the first wearing to be when Blue's up in the middle of the night so xe can hear him shriek about it. After that sometimes you kinda just have to step over Whisper curled up in xeim frog costume like it's a nest. Perhaps surprisingly, Ember is the one who approves the most. If there's a turtle version, he wants one.

Frog costume PNGs

[havaria]

Július utolsó szombatján belenéztem a tükörbe, és a nyakam nem stimmelt valahogy. A bal oldalon vastagabb volt mint a másikon. Nem fájt semmit se. Hétfőn leballagtam a házidokihoz valami magyarázatért, aki átküldött az fülorrgége nénihez, aki azt mondta, hogy reggel hétkor legyek a Kék Golyóban.

Kedden reggel a fej-nyak daganat osztályon a doki hosszas küzdelem utan szert tett egy kis darabra torkomból. Mivel egy gyógyszert is csak öklendezés árán tudok bevenni, ezért tőlem elég nehéz ilyet szerezni. Neki is csak hosszas lidokain szprézés, majd lidokain injekció beadasa után sikerült. Igen, beleszúrt a számon át a torkomba. Úgy, hogy közben saját kezűleg húztam ki a nyelvem a számból, mert neki már nem volt több keze.

Aznap még átküldtek citológiara is, ami egy ultrahangos mókázással kezdődött, de aztán itt is nyakonszúrtak ahogy kell.

Ekkor még azt hittük cista, mert a citológia leletből erre lehetett következtetni.

Kaptam egy MR beutalót is. Sose voltam ilyenben. Nagy gép, motoros ágy, kedves népek. Azért megszúrtak ők is. Kanülön kapom a kontrasztanyagot.

Az MR-ben volt az első beszarás. A nyakamat fotózták és ehhez a fejemet egy ketreccel zárták körül, smi valahogy része a gépnek. A cuccból ki lehet látni, de azért centikkel van az arcod előtt. Ezután ezzel a kalitkával együtt betolnak a csőbe, ami az MR gép. Egy bő húsz percre. Az utolsó percekben már nagyon a pánik szélén álltam, de itt még nem csúsztam bele. Fuck you, claustrophobie!

Pont két hét telt el, mire meglett a szövettan. A doki nem sokat köntörfalazott. Amint ültem, csak annyit mondott, hogy rosszindulatú. Aután ültünk ott egy percet csendben. Aztan még elmondott par dolgot. Azt, hogy HPV alapú. Szóval ennek is a szex az oka. :) Meg azt, hogy jók az esélyek, de ez akkor olyan kötelező mondatnak tűnt.

Dóri kint várt a folyosón. Vele a dokitól imént tanult módon közöltem a hìrt, aztán kultúráltan nyugtatgattuk egymást kicsit.

Másnap jött a hír, hogy az onko-team sugarterápiát javasol.

Ezután négy hétig meglehetős hedonizmussal ünnepeltük az új helyzetet. Lenyomtunk egy balatoni hétvégét a barátainkkal, egy bringatúrát a Toronyszobába, Szobra, és egy hetet az olaszoknál, amiből két nap Velencében volt szállásunk. Jókat ettünk, jókat ittunk, jókat beszélgettünk. Dórival nagyon jól tudunk már utazni. :)

Ebben a négy hétben azért még volt egy labor,egy CT, meg egy megbeszélés a radiológus dokival. A CT nem olyan mint az MR. Sokkal rövidebb, nincs az a hülye ketrec, de itt is van kontrasztanyag. A szurkálasra elég gyorsan közömbös lesz az ember.

A radiológus dokinal kiderült, hogy azért ide kelleni fog a kemó is. Fasza. Ja, és elküldött még egy előkészítő CT-re is, ahol egy maszkot is kapni fogok, ami kell a sugárkezeléshez.

Ezen a ponton kezdődtek a szar dolgok. Nem a rákkal. A pánikkal.

A fej nyak daganatok sugárkezelését úgy csinálják, hogy a munkadarab áll, szerszám mozog, azaz te rögzítve vagy a munkaasztalra és a gép körülötted mozog mint egy ipari robot az autógyárban. Időnkent a munkaasztalt a folyamat közben bedugják egy CT-be is. Veled együtt, igen. A fejedet úgy rögzítik, hogy kapsz egy maszkot, igazából egy sisakot, ami a tarkód felé nyitott, a fejedet, arcodat nyakadat viszont teljesen körülöleli. Ez a sisak úgy készül hogy egy hőre lágyuló sűrű műanyag, rácsot ráformáznak az arcodra és a nyakadra. Egy millimétert sem tudsz benne mozogni, miutan megszilardul. A kezelés során a sisakot, benne a fejeddel 5 ponton bajonettel rögzítik az asztalra. Egy kezelés 15 percig tart. Hello claustrophobia!

Én már a sisak készítésekor, az azt követő CT közben ledobtam az ékszíjjat. Akkor még sikerült annyira rendbe raknom magamat, hogy be tudtuk fejezni a műveletet, de tudtam, hogy ebből baj lesz.

A kezelés szeptember 23-an, hétfőn kezdődött. Ezt a posztot kedden írom, miközben folyik le a kemo. Három órát tart, van idő pötyögni a telefonon.

A terv az, hogy 35 sugarkezelést kapok és három kemót. Hét hétig tart a műsor. Minden hétköznap sugárkezelés. Ez ma kezdődik, mert tegnap még nem volt kész a sugarkezelési terv. Bocsi. A három kemó öt-öt napig tart. Első nap folyadadék, második-harmadik méreg, negyedik-ötödik megint folyadék. Délutan négyre jósolja a nővér a rosszullétet. A hányás elleni gyogyit négykor és késő este kell bevenni.

Ha lement a kemó, megyek az első sugárra. Az előbb vettem be életem második xanax-át. Az elsőt tegnap, de hát ugye a terv...

Drukkoljatok, hogy ne legyen pánik a gép alatt!

Nagyon kell pisilni az infúziótól. Már kétszer voltam kint, én meg az állványom, de ez nagyon durván tölti a hólyagot.

[wolverina2002]

"You´re not my brother" - "No, the asshole just wore my face"

Crosshair is not the brother Hunter remembers from their short time together. Crosshair would say Hunter only ever met a mask named CT-9904. Reconnecting is hard, but they try.

Tags Crosshair & Hunter | Crosshair & Tech (mentioned) | Crosshair & Wrecker (mentioned)

Crosshair | Hunter

Introspection | Reconnection | Clone Troopers as Brothers (Star Wars) | Hunter Needs A Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) | Crosshair Needs a Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) | Hugs | Sneak peak | One Shot | The Author Regrets Nothing | Vitiligo

Crosshair is not the brother Hunter remembers.

Not that there´s much to remember, if Hunter is honest with himself. A few months they spend together, at most. Three months? Maybe. Not much time.

And yet, Hunter thinks, enough time to get to know somebody.

Enough to know that they´re changed, now, four months after a desastrous fight Hunter only realized much later was the last drop in the barrel.

"You´re one of us now, not one of Them."

"Maybe I want to be."

Three months. Two on Kamino, one at war. Enough to know a person?

Hunter isn´t sure anymore.

The Crosshair Hunter remembers is stiff, rigid spine clenched jaw permanent frown stiff. Not a muscle twitching, not a stray hair out of place.

The Crosshair in front of him is not slouching, but relaxed, shoulders devoid of tension, a slight smile on lips no longer pressed thin with strain. Toothpick between his teeth.

Somewhere, someone shrieks. Might be Torrent´s batshit crazy togruta tagalong. Might be local wildlife. Hunter´s head snaps up, body tense, coiled to spring into action.

Crosshair doesn´t even flinch. Doesn´t dignify the jowled protest of a reg, cut off by the soft forest floor colliding with their face, with a single glance. Just dumps more cleaning solution onto a rag and reaches for another part of the rifle on the tarp in front of him.

A piece of familiarity, almost. Crosshair spending hours cleaning a weapon, taking it apart and putting it back together. The smile is that of a stranger, to Hunter.

The Crosshair he remembers is a man with a mask like face. Impassive, blank, unreadable. Wrecker earned a grimace, or a raised eyebrow sometimes. Tech might get an indulgent smile that never reached his eyes, eyes sharp as shattered glass and burning ember. Hunter himself earns a disdained sneer if he´s lucky.

A smile flashes over Crosshair´s face. An eyeroll, fond or Hunter will eat his helmet. Not even micrexpressions, but out in the open, carefree, easy. A hand run over short, tussled hair.

Four months, Hunter thinks. I should know you. And yet all I see is a stranger.

A stranger wearing lower armor in charcoal-black like the Batch, but with bold deep blue instead of red. Navy-sea-sky-summer-blue. Torrent blue.

A stranger wearing sleeveless blacks, revealing the multicolored, intricate tattoo covering his left arm, wrist to shoulder. Last time Hunter has seen it, it only went up to his elbow.

"Traditional mandalorian art style", Tech said when he saw it. "Although not done the traditional mandalorian way. Meant to spiritualy provide support and strenghen a permanently injured limb."

An injury caused by Crosshair being handed a fully powered sniper rifle way too early. Colorfull rings frame Crosshair´s wrist, ellbow, shoulder, runes and intertwining lines between them. Crosshair never told them what the colors mean, or where he got the ink done.

Well, he never told Hunter. Tech might know, close as they are.

Three months, since they´ve last seen each other. Three months have made a stranger out of Hunter´s taciturn squadmate.

And yet, Crosshair tolerates him. Even sought him out to settle down next to him, in the sun, to clean the arsenal of weapons stored in his pack.

Another difference. The Crosshair Hunter thought he knew scoffed at Wrecker when he asked Crosshair to help him with his weapons, and followed up with snide comments.

"You gonna do something about that?"

Hunter glances down at the decee, half taken apart on a tarp in front of him, long abandoned in favor of trying to piece together the puzzle that is the man in front of him.

"You´re not a reg, Crosshair! You´re one of us!"

"I never was anything but a reg and I´m done lying to myself!"

Crosshair meets his eyes, now. Steady, bright, clear. No pain, no rage, no bitterness, no darkness deep enough to swallow Hunter whole. Only Tech knows the reason Crosshair takes medication. Hunter asked once and got a brawl for it. He hopes it´s the medication that´s making Crosshair look more like a person and less like a vengefull wraith.

Because if it wasn´t sickness, it´s the team that was the problem. And Hunter isn´t sure how to handle that.

(He knows it wasn´t the team, per se. Crosshair wrangled with Wrecker cheerfully enough and adored Tech. Hunter was the problem, although Hunter isn´t sure what he did.)

(That´s a lie. He knows, but he can´t put it into words. The regs. Crosshair´s health. Their last fight.)

"It´s either us or them, Crosshair. You can´t have both."

"I really hope I´ll be there when you find out what you just said, Sergeant Hunter."

"Hunter?"

"You´re not my brother."

It slips out, escapes unbidden, puts voice to the coiled, confused thing in Hunter´s chest. He flinches, ducks his head, waits for the strike. Knowing Crosshair, it´ll be deadly.

It doesn´t come. Hunter looks up, finds Crosshair´s eyes. Steady, so steady.

"No, the asshole just wore my face."

Hunter has heard that joke before, from countless regs just at the edge of his hearing. It´s old, so old, and worn out. He doesn´t laugh, feeling like he´s looking through a window at another world. Crosshair smirks, an easy thing. Tech used to be the only one able to coax that out of him. Hunter shouldn´t miss those times, not when Crosshair was in so much pain.

Pain Hunter only sees now, when it´s gone from the sniper´s spine, shoulders and face and he´s smiling like a man actually comfortable in his skin, white splotches, purple strechmarks, tattoos and all. Hunter´s jealous, a little.

"You weren´t happy", he says softly, talking to his neglected blaster rather than Crosshair. "I just ... I never figured out what I did wrong."

Even with his eyes averted, he knows Crosshair´s eyes never leave him. That, at least, didn´t change. Crosshair´s focus is all-encompassing and impossible to escape. It used to make Hunter´s skin crawl.

Somewhere, Wrecker laughs over the shouts of Torrent playing some weird game of chase. Crosshair´s gaze doesn´t budge.

"You really want an answer to that?"

Steady, calm, measured. No sneer, no sarcasm. Officer tones, for all that Crosshair wears the rank of private with a weird sort of pride. Hunter wonders who taught him that.

"Please. I ... I´m scared I´ll repeat my mistake."

Crosshair had somewhere to go when Hunter messed up. Had a whole squad of ARCs willing to throw down for him. Wrecker and Tech don´t have that.

"Stop listening to Nala Se."

Hunter´s head snaps up, staring at Crosshair. The sniper´s steady gaze refuses to waver.

"What does she have to do with anything?"

"All that talk about you three being superior to the regs. Special. Flawless. That´s bullshit, Hunter."

"It´s not."

It comes out on instinct, automatic. A truth Hunter clings to. Crosshair shakes his head, puts down the pipe cleaner and the small rifle part and with one swift move pulls his shirt over his head.

There´s new ink on his chest, a strill in the unique geometric style of mandalorian tattoos curled up over his heart, in deep blue and light green and cinnamon brown and pale yellow. Hunter is surprised to see that it´s tail is done in dark red. Batch red. Their red. It´s important, in a way Hunter can´t fully grasp.

"Look at me", Crosshair says softly. "And ignore the ink for a moment."

His tone is steady, coaxing. The tone he used when teaching Wrecker a basic card game and Tech how to card count. Hunter looks.

The white splotches haven´t grown, but they´re more noticable now. Crosshair has a slight tan, the strechmarks have faded and he´s put on weight and muscle.

"I´m not perfect. I´m too tall, I have a genetic predisposition for anxiety and vitiligo, not to talk about my whole batch being defective in one way or the other."

He meets Hunter´s eyes, straight on, serious. Sniper´s eyes, sharp and impossible to escape, impossible to avoid.

"I´m the best sniper in this entire army. The best Vhonte Tervho has ever seen. And the only reason I ever lived longer than two hours past decanting is that Nala Se thought I´d be more interesting to study alive than dead. If I hadn´t gone to see a medic at the time I did I´d be blind by now. I´m a reg, by your own definition of not having been enhanced deliberatly, bred in a standard tube on a standard CC template, and I could wipe the floor with all three of you. I know several ARCs who could do the same, no enhancements needed."

Hunter. Hunter needs to breathe. Breathe, and then focus. Slowly, he pieces together what Crosshair just said. The vibrant, calm, steady sniper in front of him ... dead but for something as simple as splotches on his skin.

"My abilities happend entirely by accident due to the genetic melting pot that is Manda'yaim, and you want to tell me things like your senses, Wrecker´s strengh or Tech´s smarts can´t happen too? The only difference between you guys and mutated regs is that you have the privilege of not getting any drawbacks."

"Wait", Hunter croaks out, overwhelmed. "We don´t ... there are drawbacks."

It rushes out of him like it wants to run, and shame follows on the words like a familiar friend. Crosshair looks at him, steady, unwavering.

"Then what´s the difference?"

Hunter ... Hunter´s sure there is one. There has to be, right?

But does it matter if there is or isn´t a difference? Crosshair isn´t Tech, for all that they always seemed the closest. This isn´t about definitions and technicalities. But about what then?

Once, Hunter would´ve known. Or thought he knew.

"Does it matter?"

It´s a whisper, a question never dared to be uttered anywhere near the white halls and dark rooms of Kamino. Hunter almost expects it to echo in their small secluded clearing, loud and damning.

But the only thing that echoes is Crosshair´s laughter, small but bright and so, so full of life.

"No!", he barks, eyes dancing with light.

It doesn´t matter. Not when whatever Hunter just breathed into existance, what he´s just beginning to grasp, makes Crosshair laugh like that. Makes him sound alive.

They fall silent. Birds twitter in the trees. Torrent cheers and laughs in the distance. Hunter lets the silence linger, lets it sit between them, there but comfortable. That´s new too, silence never used to be comfortable between them.

"I´m sorry", Hunter finally says, carefully choosing his words. "That I didn´t know how to be a good Sergeant to you. Or a good brother either. I ... I still don´t know how to be either of those things."

He´s talking to the parts of his blaster again, unable to look at Crosshair. Suddenly, familiar slender fingers appear in his field of vision, finish taking apart his DC-17m in seconds. He glances up.

Crosshair´s eyes are sharp, like a knife´s blade instead of shards of glass. His face is all determination and something Hunter can´t parse, not yet.

Maybe he will, one day.

"Help me finish cleaning these guns", Crosshair says, a faint spark of something in his voice. "And then I´ll introduce you to a few people who helped me figure out how to be a functional human being."

A smirk, a taunting head tilt.

"Who knows, they might repeat the miracle. Insane enough to try."

The laugh is punched out of Hunter´s chest and a lot more watery than he´d like, but he smiles and gets to work.

He´s still not sure what exactly is wrong, still can´t put words to all the things that are different now and that he doesn´t understand, still isn´t sure what exactly he said that day, but ... Crosshair is no longer a distant stranger.

Hunter feels like he might be able to get to know this brother, now. Figure out who Crosshair really is, and who they can be, outside of Kamino.

Clone Force 99´s Sergeant and Torrent´s ARC sniper.

It´s not going to be easy, but then again, nothing ever is.

[chilligyu]

cursebound | magic au | fantasy, drama, romance fic preview | jeonghan/reader | 3.5k status: 20% finished based heavily upon howl's moving castle, ella enchanted, and embers by ethan hibbs

He looked back at her from the treeline, a mysterious glint to his eyes. "The Wastelands aren't safe for humans, especially not damsels desperate to be freed from curses." "I'm aware." She said, steeled to his thinly veiled threats. He shrugged. "Fine then. But be mindful of your footprints, if you lose them it'll be too late for you Cursebound."

anticipated final word ct: 12-15k

[silverwings22]

Angel With A Shotgun Chapter Masterlist

1: CT-1022 2: Angel 3: Who Loves You? 4: Sunny Days 5: The Color of Joy 6: Stolen Goods 7: The Deal 8: A Pound of Flesh 9: All That Remains 10: Where She Belongs 11: Princess on her Throne 12: You See Me 13: Ori'vod 14: Oya Manda 15: Cin Vhetin 16: Who Shot First? 17: Ashes and Embers 18: No Victory 19: Blood to Drown the Desert Sands 20: Buir Be'Koty 21: Gone With the Rising Sun 22: Tranyc 23: The Legend of Angel Gar 24: Fallen Bounty 25: Dar'Manda 26: The Best People Are 27: Aliit 28: Collection 29: The Burden of the Survivors 30: Angel's Wings 31: Ghost of You 32: Favors Owed 33: Nothing At All 34: The Price to Love So Much 35: One Father to Another 36: Aay'han 37: The Manda'lor 38: Hail to the King

More to come!

[cinnamonfm]

{ SAVANNAH LEE SMITH, 22, CISWOMAN, SHE/HER } Is that HENRIETTA ASTOR? A JUNIOR originally from GREENWICH, CT they decided to come to Ogden College to study GOVERNMENT. They’re THE FALLEN PRINCESS on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

001 – the basics.

full name: henrietta pearl kennedy-astor (no relation to the kennedys, other than name) nickname(s): heni, hen, etta, ettie, hettie date of birth: 01 november 2000 place of birth: greenwich, ct hometown: manhattan, new york sexuality: bisexual, though i’m pretty sure she thinks she’s mostly straight religion: agnostic, lapsed catholic

002 – the girl.

+ intelligent, loyal, resourceful, quick-witted, eloquent, cunning, astute, observant - fault-finding, rigid, insincere, scheming, unyielding, vindictive enneagram: 3w4 mbti: esfj temperament: choleric-melancholic

character inspiration(s): blair waldorf (gossip girl), cordelia chase (buffy the vampire slayer), paris geller (gilmore girls), quinn fabray (glee), summer roberts (the o.c), heather ratner (chuck), claire standish (the breakfast club), heather duke (heathers), regina george (mean girls), mini mcguinness (skins), lucille bluth (arrested development), alex russo (wizards of waverly place), amber mariens (clueless), sharpay evans (high school musical)

primary trope: the fallen princess secondary tropes: lovable alpha bitch, always second best, manipulative bitch, deadpan snarker, death glare, defrosting ice queen, good all along, bitch in sheep’s clothing, anti-hero, moral myopia, stepford snarker, jerk with a heart of gold, inferiority complex

how they embody their trope:

(brief neglect mention tw) Facades, facades, facades. In hindsight, it’s a wonder her first words as a toddler hadn’t been scripted for her and pre-approved by the Astor PR team. She’s the only child of two lawyers - with her mother serving her second term as New York’s attorney general and her father ensuring that multi-million dollar corporations were able to skirt around their social, environmental and fiscal obligations. They’re not American royalty, not by any means, but the Astor name carries a certain weight, and her parents would sooner give up all their worldly possessions than let her forget it. It wasn’t her parents who brought her up, so much as their expectations. Perfect grades, perfectly behaved, perfectly aligned with their wants and needs. The Astors hadn’t really wanted a child. What they’d been in the market for was a trophy. Henrietta, by virtue of her upbringing, is a perfectionist. Nothing she ever did as a child was good enough for her parents (not that they’d ever say that, but she could sense it), and nothing she ever does as a young adult is enough to meet her own impossible standards. She’s spent considerable time and effort constructing a vision of herself that she feels comfortable portraying to others, a thin veneer to keep herself hidden from onlookers - a never-ending performance. And part of that was being Greer’s best friend. After all, you’re only as good as the company you keep. She’s yet to take an actual tumble, but with Greer missing, the paint job on the facade that is Henrietta is slowly starting to crack. It’s only a matter of time before it starts chipping, too. 

general personality: 

Were I to use one word to describe Henrietta, it would have to be sharp. It’s her defining characteristic - she’s all edges, all the time. Sharp wit, sharper tongue. At least that’s the curated version of her. The one you’d get to see. Beneath the high school mean-girl persona, behind the rolling eyes and raised brows, she’s genuine and vulnerable and has the capacity for care. But she’s been raised to believe that kindness is a weakness, something for others to exploit, and so she’s extinguished that flamed. Stubbed the embers into the ground with her foot. Because it’s easier to keep people at a comfortable distance this way. This way, they won’t get too close. They won’t be able to see her for the lonely, insecure person she’s tried so desperately to keep under wraps.

003 – greer.

If there is such a thing as a universal truth, it is that teenage girls exercise cruelty rarely seen outside of cartoony depictions of hell. And if the Manolo-toting schemers of gossip girl were anything to go by, Manhattan girls were the absolute worst. Henrietta had thrown an uncharacteristic fit when her parents had broached the subject of moving (in the middle of the school year, no less) - tears wiped on the back of cashmere sleeves, voice choked with adolescent desperation. Were they trying to ostracise her from her peers? Ensure she’d stand out like a sore thumb? How did they expect her to find friends, when social hierarchies and cliques had already fully solidified by now? The answer to the latter was, unsurprisingly, Greer. Henrietta had hardly set foot on the grounds of her new alma mater, before Greer had linked elbows with her, flashed her a bright smile, and announced to anyone who’d listen that this, this was her best friend now. Maybe, she’d told herself as she returned home from that first day, moving hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Ever since that first meeting, the two of them had been practically joined at the hip. If Greer was there, you could place a pretty safe bet that Henrietta was there. Joint birthday parties in their early teens, trips abroad over the summer holiday, secrets shared behind walk-in-closet doors. They were inseparable. It was the sort of friendship others looked at through either a lens of envy or aspiration. Or both. Perhaps that’s why Henrietta feels so guilty over how restricted she’d felt since traipsing in Greer’s footsteps all the way to Ogden. It wasn’t that she didn’t still love Greer in that platonic way a best friend does, because she really, really did, but college had just highlighted just how much her existence had been fashioned as an extension of Greer. It wasn’t like the power dynamic had ever been even, not even back in New York, but something about the new backdrop to their relationship had lit up its flaws like a starry night sky. Getting to bask in Greer’s light also meant existing in her shadow. It was always Greer, and then Henrietta, half a step behind. It was hard not to feel like an afterthought. An asterisk at the end of a lengthy paragraph.  004 – family.

(see here) To say that Henrietta’s relationship with her family teethers on being strained, would be an understatement. Everything she does is with the express intent of getting their approval, and yet, she’s never so much as gotten a nod in recognition. Everything she achieves, her brother (four years her senior) has already done. And better at that. During her formative years, they were too concerned with getting Evangeline elected as attorney general to let their children be children. And now they’re too concerned with getting her re-elected to see the damage that did to them. 

005 – brief summary of events. 

coming soon.

006 - wanted connections.

exes (derogatory) - these two used to date, and now they can barely stand to be in the same room as each other. can they even remember why? who knows, but that doesn't stop them from bickering all the same.

what could have been - what's worse than almost being something, but never quite getting there? these two never had the timing thing figured out

academic rival - the nelly yuki to her blair waldorf. someone heni feels like she has to outperform, all the time. could even be one-sided.

the project - no idle rich girl is complete without someone to take under her wing.

behind closed doors - someone heni gets on with, and likes spending time with, but for social reasons (and because she's the worst) she doesn't want to be seen with publicly

the light feminine to her dark feminine - she's always been a pack animal, and now that greer's off somewhere? being her counterpart is up for grabs.

[harpywritesfic]

three is the most perfedt number i do not take crtiticism. three is the perfe ct number of:

drinks

pizza

friend group ,embers

hours of naptime per day

hours of productivty

protafongists

threesome participants

a secret other thing that deserves menting but should not be names

[vipleaseus]

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[heidelberger]

8

53 %!

Ha hegyet másznék, akkor most érnék fel a csúcsra, hiszen még le is kell jönni. Ez azért kicsit más, de innen is le kell még jönni épségben ....

Reinhold Messner mondta egyszer, hogy a " A jó hegymászó nem az, aki fiatal. A jó hegymászó az, aki nyugdíjas, de még mindig mászik."

Ez az én filozófiám is.

A szó legszorosabb értelmében is, mert nyugdíjasan is hegyeket szeretnék mászni. És átvitt értelemben is. Én nagyon szeretnék megöregedni. Bárkinek ajánlom figyelmébe, aki fél megöregedni, hogy van más is, amitől félhet az ember. Más vágyam sincs, mint az öregedéstől félni.

Holnap sűrű napom lesz, 14:00 kor CT, utána rögtön kezelés.

Mondták, hogy menet közben lesz CT, úgyhogy legyen, ezen nem múlik. Ha jól értettem meg, kialakulhat agyi ödéma is, de ezzel úgy vagyok, hogy érezném. Mivel nem érzem, ezért nincs. Az orvosok meg nézzék csak a fejemet belülről, ha ezt kell tenni.

Mindezt a 0.99 -en, nem is 7-8000 m felett...

Ezen apropóból teszem ide az egyik kedvenc képemet (saját fotó, 2023.08.11. Grossglockner Havasi gyopárral) Hasaltam érte elég sokat, mire meglett a jó szög.

Előzménynemolvasóknak megsúgom halkan, hogy a HIT az alagsorban van (el van ásva), magyarul ez mondjuk -1 lenne a liftben, itt 0.99. Imádom....

[the-starry-seas]

SO ACES SQUAD! I saw on the picrew post that Blue talks to the flower bushes and I need to know what he talks about with them. And do they have names????

Fury is a cook??? Tell me more???? 👀👀 Does he have a favorite thing to make??? What was the first dish he ever made and how did it turn out??

Racer! As a fellow Oldest Sibling/Sister I gotta ask- what’s her favorite way to annoy each of her kih’vode? Because I love annoying the little shits as revenge for all they’ve put me through

Whisper- I am just. So intrigued by xeim. Would xe like a chew toy to bite on?? They’re very soothing and I have a few xe can borrow :3

I am in love with Ember to be honest. He seems like such a sweet baby. I would like to wrap him up in a blanket burrito and give him many cookies to nom on

Yesss my first squad, they'll always be famous to me <3

Blue mostly talks about problems because then nobody talks back to him. The man just needs to vent at something, once in a while. But he also tells them that they're nice plants with pretty flowers, because he heard that saying things like that helps them grow better. He also talks to them about his boyfriend a lot. The family has some very strongly held Opinions about Blue's taste in men. (Well, taste in man. Singular. He married the first dude who showed interest in him and they're strangely cute about it.) The plants do not have names but he's particularly fond of the blueberry bush that his man gifted him.

Fury is a cook! And a baker! He loooves everything with strawberries, it's the polycule's favourite fruit so he gets really good at every dessert he can find. He also likes a lot of spiced food and gets very good at a jalapeno, cheddar, and bacon sourdough. He will eat any kind of sandwich on that bread. But his favourite favourite is grilled cheese with grape jelly. He made it in the GAR after good missions and now it's a traditional celebratory food for the squad. That was his first attempt at his own recipe, so to speak, and it became everyone's go-to comfort food.

Racer is very good at annoying people. Blue is easily annoyed by her because she's chaotic and loves explosions and keeps sneaking bombs onto their ship/into their house. Fury cannot be annoyed by her 99% of the time, they are far too alike, but sometimes she tries to bother him into doing chaos with her while he's hyperfixated on something else and he gets snappy with her. Ember hates how she just goes through his closet and steals all his cute shirts, but he can always steal them back. Whisper has bitten her so many times for just picking xei up in a hug and spinning xei around like a dreidel, or just being too loud in xeim general vicinity, and she has yet to learn any better.

Yeah xe loves chew toys! I hc that xe does have a chew necklace that xe gnaws on while xe's staked out somewhere cause it gives xei something to do. Xe also likes rubik's cubes and has the kind that has those different tactile bumps that match the colours.

Ember is such a sweetheart. He does love blanket burritos, especially with his husband. But the best place to chill is in the bay window blanket nest with their baby girl cuddled to his chest. They live on the next planet over from Tatooine and everyone visits each other all the time. He's also a ballet dancer, fire dancer, and a woodworker! The whole family's got little carved animals hanging around. They're good luck charms <3 And he carves their tiny darling Kote's crib, too!

[warsamongstthestar-keen]

Chapter Forty

Once everyone's done eating, they each begin to move around the ship, gathering up their gear, personal effects. All the leftover food, and water. They each grab an empty pack, filling it with the stuff lying around the ship. Oati and Ember make their way over to the helmets hanging from the zip cord. Without turning to look at them, Ari'abel calls back, "We're taking those plants with us, and that's an order."

Ember looks at his brother, and states quickly, "Sir, yes Sir."

They carefully take the makeshift planters down, tucking them under their arms. Eh walks over, his helmet that is still painted the orange of the 87th battalion sitting securely on his head. Once everyone is ready they venture out onto the planet's dusty surface. Jeff glances up to the precipice of the cavern wall. "How, exactly, are we getting up there? We don't have nearly enough zip cord for that."

Cody sighs, because he knows the answer, but, internally begs that Keen has another option. His worst fears are made manifest when she leaps up, landing just outside the canyon.

Hotrod and Ember are the first to be Force-lifted to liberation by their Jedi Saviour, followed by Oati and Jeff. Cody tries to prepare himself, but he still wasn't ready for the weird sensation of being lifted by an unseen entity.

Once everyone's up, the Jedi Master leads them to where her ship sits, nestled amongst a few outcroppings of rocks. The second Eh's eyes land on the Corundum he smirks. "I remember some good nights aboard this ship."

"Yeah, well. Marginally nice I guess is more accurate."

In mock pain he raises a hand to his chest, and indignantly states, "You wound me."

She rolls her eyes, as she boards her ship. "I got a few more planets to check out, whether or not you want to. You can either stay on the ship, or you can come with, I don't care."

The Troopers glance at each other as she walks onto the ship, and shrug, following her. Getting into the cockpit, the Clones relax. Hotrod leans forward, reaching out for the controls, only to have his hand slapped away by the Jedi. He pulls the hand back, turning to look at Ember with a pout on his face.

Cody rolls his eyes, reaching around the Jedi in the pilot's seat, easing open a compartment. He grabs a laser pen and immediately removes the cap, leaning back to write a quick thank you on the cockpit's ceiling. Keen can sense the confusion from the other Clones gathered around the Marshall Commander. Leaning back in her seat, she half turns her head to address the other boys.

"It was a tradition before each mission that whatever Clones, or Jedi, were on board the ship, they could leave a message. It sort of spread, so that, whether it was a mission or not, I'd always find a Trooper or two writing, or doodling, on the ceiling. Feel free to take advantage of it."

Without further prompting, Hotrod grabs the pen from Cody, shooting up to his feet. He reaches up, carefully leaning over his vode to draw a picture of a Republic Bomber. Eh steps around the others, as they wrestle for the pen, choosing instead to admire all the graffiti he didn't see during the war. Most of the messages are standard things like, 'Wrecker was here' or 'Plo's Bros', one even says '501st is the best'. He smiles, admiring everything, until his eyes land on a drawing in the corner. It's quite large, and detailed, surrounded by small messages. It's a woman with short hair, in what are basically her skivvies, posing,  "Is this a pin-up drawing of you?"

Ari'abel glances at where he stands, "Yeah. Um, CT-5555, or Fives, of the 501st division, was trying to hide from someone, I think it was Cody, or Rex, but it could've been Echo.... Anyway, I guess he thought my ship was the safest place. Must've been here for hours, given how detailed that drawing is." She gestures with her head to it. "Rex was pissed when he saw it, and I'm surprised he didn't shoot Fives. He calls me to my ship, and it's the middle of the night. And when I get to the Corundum, I just stand there as he yells at Fives. Then, dear sweet Rex, he turns to me, and he offers to have Fives scrub it off," She spins around in her chair, facing the other Clones. "But, you know me, Eh, I didn't like ever removing a note, cause, it always made the boys happy to think that someone cared, so, I made a deal with Fives. The drawing can stay, on the condition he adds the funniest mustache he can think of, which is why I have a handlebar mustache in that drawing."

Cody, who had leaned against the wall opposite the art, says, "I'm pretty sure there was more to that deal, though, General."

The Jedi Master quickly spins her chair around to face the Commander, "Look, what Fives chose to wear in the privacy of 79's is his own business. Just don't ask me why the standard punishment for misbehaviour in the 501st was to wear a frilly pink dress. I will deny any, and all involvement."

Jeff was clearly the winner in the fight for the pen, because a mere moment later, he launches to his feet in triumph. Keen watches, as, in a neat, tight scrawl, he writes, 'It was murky, dusty, and sandy, Cody was being a dandy. We crashed our ship, and I almost broke my hip. We thought we were done for, till a Jedi came to our door. She took us away, and we shouted hooray!'

Cody, who had also been watching him write, crosses his arms, grumbling "I am not a dandy!"

"Yes,you are. But it's alright, you're a sweet dandy."

He turns his glare to Keen, "I am not a dandy!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

[kjsadd]

Your brain develops based on sensory input—sight, hearing, sight, touch, etc. Eg, as a child you learn the language spoken around you, regardless of your genetic background. The EDS population moves “a little funky” due to joint instability. Gives them different input than the non-EDS population, which affects how the brain is formed and how it functions. 

Connective tissue disorders, the input you get from joints moving funny / inappropriately rewires the brain differently than someone who doesn’t have a CTD. Eg, for all people, if you put your arm in a cast, parts of your brain literally shut down because you don’t  activate it enough and don’t get feedback from your arm. We function in a feedback loop from sensory input to motor output, and your whole system, including autonomic and gut, is connected in that cycle. The biggest and most constant input is from resisting gravity and moving your body. We’re always doing both those things, so if your feedback loop is funky, your system is never working quite the way it should. And movement / gravity feedback “kisses” autonomic systems on the way to the brain, hence gut issues, hand mottling, POTS, etc. Do what you can to counteract that, get that feedback loop to improve via other systems. 

DMX (digital motion x-ray) scans can help see what the impact of your daily activities are, eg if you always sleep on one side. Shows what cervical spine does in 9-12 planes of motion. Upright MRIs or CTS may be less clear. Can tell what the neck is doing when they move. 

Romberg’s test. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romberg's_test

A body with EDS is like a house built with weak mortar. 

Dysautonomic issues with raised heart rate. 90, 100 beats a minute. If you take a beta blocker, you’ve altered the beta receptors on your heart and slowed the heart down, but that doesn’t stop the brain from telling the heart to beat at 100 beats a minute. All your sensory input is still sending odd readings 

At night, most people don’t taste or smell very well; shut them down. (Some are hyper sensitive.) But the proprioceptive is still active—if your arm is at a weird angle, it’s sending that message back to your brain. 

If you’re on a treadmill, and blood isn’t being delivered because you’re “biased toward higher sympathetic tone,” and you’re asking biggest muscles to work, but have vasal constriction going on in your peripheral veins, you’re going to fatigue pretty quickly. You go into anaerobic metabolism: your cells don’t have enough oxygen to work correctly, so you start to break muscle down to get a little fuel—that’s anaerobic. You start firing pain fibers, mostly C fibers, which is what your sympathetic nervous system uses to transmit. So you’re putting lighter fluid on the embers you’re trying to calm. That’s why when you hit your thumb with your hammer, your heart rate goes up; pain fires sympathetic. So we look at the autonomic first and get that under control, then try easy exercises. 

EDSers are often “cut down in their prime”—lots of drive when young, almost superhuman, but that eventually fails, then steep decline. 

[awigglycultist]

Idk how to feel about the hc that Travis Coulson is the Cineplex Teen bc like I absolutely get it!! Like yes ok character we've seen with no name, and a name with no face, put then together, makes sense.

But also in my mind his name is Cyrus Toby bc I made up the name Cyrus for him and EMBER made up the name Toby and put them together and that's CT, and also several ppl have been calling Toby bc of Ember so it's like. No that's just Toby wdym.

I want both but I can't have both

[localizee]

We take pride in bringing that vision to life.

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving by Shellie Harwood

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Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving is a collection of poems about #loss–through the death or vanishing of loved ones—but also as we bear witness to the tragedies heaped one upon the other in an increasingly turbulent world. Shakespeare wrote, “#Grief makes one hour ten”, for the path of bereavement can feel endless and hopeless to navigate. As we struggle sleeplessly through our sorrows, grief is that reflection of acute and shifting distress that accompanies our losses. If grief can darken the path through loss, so can it suddenly illuminate. Harwood writes: “From a distance grief moves like any other shadow–caressing first, then smothering the light”. This book is a poignant journey through loss and longing, punctuated by the dying friend whose beloved racehorse presses her head against his own…”She makes a sound deep in her throat. Grief sounds that way”.

Shellie Harwood is a poet, playwright, actress and teacher with a varied background in writing and theatre. She has taught Acting, Communication, and Poetry/Literature at universities, colleges and theatres in California, Idaho, Utah, Tennessee, and Connecticut. She has an MA in playwrighting, and has written several plays, including Ember Days, Vicious Union, and Another Bite of the Moon. Shellie has worked as an actress, performing throughout the country in regional and repertory theatres. She was born and raised in Idaho, but has spent much of her life moving about the country with her family. She is married, has one daughter, Morgan, and a son, Nicholas.

PRAISE FOR Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving by Shellie Harwood

In Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving, Shellie Harwood mines every conceivable form of grief for meaning: the suicide of one friend and the murder of another by a domestic partner, the death of a man after vandals ransack his beloved beehives, a child who disappears from his room, black children murdered by vigilantes or the police, a dying sister held in a mother’s arms, a lover left behind, war victims, a suffocating planet—even the poet’s heart, damaged by a blood clot. To Harwood, “Something’s always coming for us, / some pain we’d neglected to rehearse for.” Do those periods of darkness make the light times shine more brightly? Not that we see in these elegiac, often-startling poems. To the one, they express a yearning that all of us who grieve must unwillingly share: “Take me away to the world’s edge, far from the host of sorrows”—if only such a place could be found.

–B. Fulton Jennes, author of Blinded Birds (Finishing Line Press, 2022), Poet Laureate of Ridgefield, CT.

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