#insulated leather work gloves

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

When it comes to cold weather, the main rule (regardless of gender or presentation) is: when in doubt, choose warmth and safety over style. 

Some basics: 

Layering is your best friend: Start with moisture-wicking base layers to keep sweat off your skin. Follow with insulating layers (like fleece or wool), and finish with a weather-resistant outer layer (like a puffer jacket or waterproof coat) to protect against wind, snow or rain.

Keep your sensitive areas warm: Make sure your hands, feet, and head are covered! Gloves, warm socks and a beanie can prevent cold-related discomfort or injuries. 

Waterproof: If you're facing snow or rain, make sure your clothes are waterproof. Wet clothes lose their insulating ability, so staying dry is a big part of staying warm! 

Reflective Gear: If you’re out in the dark or in poor visibility conditions, consider adding reflective elements to your outfit for safety.

People can react differently to temperatures. A temperature that feels super cold to you could feel comfortable to someone else, depending on what you’re used to (and some other factors). As a very basic rule, we can say: Gloves, beanies, and other cold-weather accessories typically become necessary when temperatures drop below 40°F (4°C). In more severe cold (below 32°F (0°C)), it’s even more important to wear them to protect yourself from frostbite and maintain body warmth. But it goes even in milder weather: if you feel uncomfortable or if it’s windy or damp, it’s a good idea to add these items for extra comfort.

With all that being said: Clothes are not just for safety and temperature control, they also help you express yourself - and that doesn’t suddenly change in winter. 

Dressing for cold weather doesn’t have to mean sacrificing your personal look. Whether you want to present more feminine, more masculine, or more androgynous, here are some tips to help you layer up and feel like yourself: 

(Note that these are suggestions, not hard rules. Style is highly subjective as everyone has different tastes, preferences, body types, fashion inspirations, budgets, cultural influences etc. I could suggest something here that you’d feel super uncomfortable in - if so, that’s not a sign you’re “doing it wrong”! Cherry-pick what feels right and ignore the rest) 

If You Want to Present More Feminine

Base Layers: If you want to wear skirts or dresses in winter, start with thermal leggings or tights! These can be nicely paired with cozy, long-sleeved tops or lightweight thermal shirts. (But also keep in mind that plenty of women, cis or trans, do not wear dresses all the time! Nothing wrong with choosing jeans!) 

Outer Layers: There are plenty of styles to choose from that have a feminine touch, such as a belted trench coat, a pea coat, or a long wool coat. Shawls are also excellent for adding a touch of style while keeping you warm! 

Footwear: Knee-high or thigh-high boots lined with faux fur or fleece can keep your legs warm and add a polished look to your outfit. Ankle boots with thicker socks are also a good alternative.

Accessories: Scarves, gloves, and beanies can be both practical and stylish. Knit hats or earmuffs can add a soft, cozy vibe to your look.

Style Tip: Go for a mix of fabrics like wool, faux fur, and knitwear to create texture and warmth.

If You Want to Present More Masculine: 

- Base Layers: Start with thermal undershirts or moisture-wicking base layers. Consider long underwear for added insulation beneath your pants.

- Outer Layers: There’s plenty of outerwear to choose from, like a puffer jacket, parka, or wool overcoat! (Faux) Leather or bomber jackets layered over sweaters can also add a masculine edge while keeping you warm.

- Footwear: You might want to opt for sturdy boots, such as work boots, Chelsea boots, or combat boots. Thicker socks can keep your feet warm.

- Accessories: Don’t skip out on scarves, beanies, or gloves for being “too feminine”. They can actually be great for adding a more rugged feel to your outfit! You just gotta find a color and style that fits you well. 

Style Tip: Focus on layering in a way that adds structure. Sweaters, button-ups, and jackets work great together for a sharp, put-together look. Play with dark, neutral tones and thick fabrics like wool or denim for extra warmth and style.

If You Want to Present Androgynous

- Base Layers: Neutral-colored thermal tops or turtlenecks can serve as great foundational pieces. You may want to pair these with straight-leg or loose-fitting pants that allow room for layering underneath.

- Outer Layers: Oversized coats, puffer jackets, or long trench coats can work well for an androgynous look. Try layering with oversized sweaters or fleece pullovers for extra warmth.

- Footwear: You could go for sneakers, lace-up boots, or loafers paired with warm, thick socks. But really, any pair of shoes can work for an unisex outfit. 

- Accessories: Neutral-colored scarves, simple beanies, and fingerless gloves can add to an androgynous look. Minimalist accessories like oversized scarves or gender-neutral caps are both practical and stylish.

Style Tip: Aim for a balanced mix of structured and relaxed pieces. Try loose layers on top with more fitted pants, or vice versa, to create an effortless, warm, and non-gendered appearance.

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[hb-writes]

Frostnip

Summary: When Charlie wears her very stylish, but not very well-insulated, boots to play in the snow with Marcus and family, she has to end her play early because of frozen toes.

Prompt: "Get off! Your feet are cold!"

Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter (OC)

Content Warning: Nothing, really. Medical-ish stuff, I guess.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

Charlie flexed her foot as she toed off her boot, a quiet hiss coming from her lips as she set the foot on the floor, bracing herself against the wall to work the other boot off. It was nearly silent in the house, the quiet punctuated only by the shouts and laughter accompanying the snowball fight happening just out back between Marcus and the kids.

Dumping her coat and gloves and hat beside the door, Charlie shuffled across the kitchen, her feet feeling heavy and stiff as she went.

"You're still working?"

She stopped to lean against the wall, her face turned back towards the door and the yard beyond it as she heard their niece let out an infernal screeching that had Charlie wincing.

Harvey didn't so much as flinch. How he was working over all the noise, Charlie didn't know, but he was still planted at the same spot at the dining room table where he'd been when the rest of them headed out into the snow nearly two hours ago. And he still didn't pull his eyes from the laptop to look at her now.

Charlie eased down onto the end of the bench and pulled her feet up, peeling off her wet socks, once again hissing as her hands ghosted over the chilled skin.

"Are you almost finished?"

Charlie hugged her knees to her chest as Harvey's eyes kept skimming over the screen as if he hadn't heard her.

"Hello? Harvey?" Charlie reached out down the bench, waving a hand at him. "Can you hear me? Harvey Reginald—"

Harvey's eyebrows raised as he continued reading whatever was on his screen, considering that answer enough since Charlie stopped herself from saying his full name.

As far as Harvey was concerned, he didn’t need to explain that what he was doing was important. Charlie knew he wouldn't be camped out at their brother's table during their visit if it wasn't, but she’d already interrupted him with three questions in a row and Harvey was starting to wonder if she was ever planning on stopping.

"What happened to you playing in the snow and leaving me alone for a few hours?"

Harvey finally pulled his eyes from the screen to look at his sister. Charlie's cheeks were still flushed and her hair was a tangled, snow-dampened mess. And Harvey was partially grateful he'd been caught up with work, trapped inside rather than rolling around in the snow with his siblings, niece, and nephew.

"I was cold. And unlike some of us..." Charlie rolled her eyes as she released her legs, stretching them out down the bench. "My auntly duty quota has already been fulfilled so—"

"Goddamn it, Charlie! Get off," Harvey shouted as Charlie tried to fit her frozen toes between his leg and the bench's cushion. "Your feet are cold!"

Cold was an understatement. Charlie's feet were freezing, the touch of her skin cool enough that Harvey could feel their deep-seated chill straight through the fabric of his jeans.

"All of me is cold," she answered as she pulled her knees back to her chest, hugging them there. "And they're kind of tingly." Harvey watched as his sister poked at the skin of her feet, watching them intently before wrapping her hands back around her toes and raising her gaze to meet Harvey's. "I guess leather boots aren't the best option when it comes to insulation."

Harvey huffed, tension creeping into his shoulders. "Tingly, Charlotte?"

"Yeah." Charlie shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"And were you limping over here just now?"

Charlie opened and closed her mouth in quick succession, not quite sure how he'd managed to notice that when he'd very clearly been focused on his computer and ignoring her.

"Let me see," Harvey said, and he held out a hand, enduring Charlie's delaying for only a moment before he grasped both of her legs around the calves.

"Harvey, stop!" Charlie shouted, grabbing the table edge for support as Harvey hauled her down the bench, placing her feet in his lap so he could take a better look.

"Christ, Charlotte, I told you to stop wearing those goddamn shoes," he said, his own fingers gently testing the cool skin.

She had complained about cold feet just about every time they'd gone out in the city during the last few weeks. They didn't keep her feet warm on the snowless, and slightly-warmer, streets of New York. He didn't know why she'd think they'd be enough to keep her warm while traipsing through a foot of snow for over an hour. Why she hadn't just worn Katie's old snow boots, especially after Marcus went through the trouble of digging them out for her.

Harvey's lips pressed into a straight line as his fingers continued assessing the bone-white skin of Charlie's toes, transitioning mottled pink just beyond. There were no blisters and no swelling. No hardened skin. Thankfully, she had come inside when she did. Harvey glanced at her. "Does it hurt?"

Charlie swallowed, shaking her head, quickly, almost as if the answer was a reflex. A lie, Harvey figured, and he waited for her to elaborate, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

"I don't think so. I…I can't really tell."

Charlie couldn't feel any pain. She could tell her feet were cold because the skin had felt cool against her fingers, but aside from that, there was only the tingling sensation. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but Harvey eased her feet off his lap and stood at the admission, lifting her from the bench without warning.

"Harvey, I can—"

"Walk?" Harvey asked as crossed the kitchen and eased her onto the counter. "I don't think so, Frodo, you barely made it across the Shire." 

Harvey turned on the faucet, one hand held under the water for a few moments to gauge the temperature as the basin started filling.

"Is this really necessary?" Charlie asked.

"Would you rather we amputate?"

"I don't think you're really qualified," she answered, muttering to herself about Harvey not being capable of healing, like Aragorn.

Harvey glared at her, and Charlie held his stare. He was the one who had started the Lord of the Ring references.

"And it's not really—"

"Is there tingling anywhere else?" Harvey asked, interrupting Charlie before she could insist that his efforts were unnecessary. "Your fingers? Are you cold?"

Charlie shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, part of her determined to be fine, even as the hairs on her arms rose beneath her shirt.

"Yeah?" Harvey tilted his head. He hadn't missed her shivering or the way her hands kept rubbing at her arms...the way her cheeks were still bright red with cold. "You're telling me the truth?"

Harvey slipped out of his sweater before Charlie could answer him, wrapping it around her shoulders. Charlie was poised to fight him, to point out once again that he was being over the top—first, by carrying her around and now, by playing mother hen—but the weight and warmth of the knitted cardigan felt nice so she didn't complain. Charlie twisted in her spot at the sink's edge, fitting her arms through the sleeves as Harvey eased back against the kitchen island across from her. Once she settled, he grasped her cold feet once again, giving them a second once over.

He glanced up at her. "Can you move your toes?"

"Yes, Harvey," Charlie groaned, wiggling them for emphasis, though the movement was somewhat less enthusiastic than she intended, her toes stiff and heavy.

Charlie swallowed, avoiding her brother's gaze. So what? Her feet were cold and they were tingly. And maybe she'd been stupid to wear the boots, as Harvey had suggested, but...

"I'm—"

Harvey cut her off. “If you tell me you’re fine, I’m gonna—”

"You're gonna what? Yell at me?" Charlie scoffed, waving a hand. “Be silent. Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said...Be silent. Keep your—"

Harvey gave her a look before releasing her feet. "You're really still quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?" He stepped forward to turn off the faucet, dipping a hand into the water to test the temperature once again, ensuring it was warm but not too hot. "You probably have frostbite. You think this is some sort of joke?"

"I don't have frostbi—"

"Enough." Harvey cut her off, his voice rising just enough that Charlie remembered herself. "Get your goddamn feet in the water."

"Fine, fine." Charlie held up both hands in surrender before leaning down to start rolling up her pant legs. She twisted on the counter, lifting her feet above the sink and hissing as she eased her toes below the waterline.

"All the way," Harvey prompted when she held her feet just an inch into the water, the sensation already uncomfortable.

"I'm doing it!" Charlie scrunched up her face, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation as she complied.

"Wiggle those toes."  

"I am!" Charlie grit out and Harvey glanced into the water to confirm.

"How long do I have to—?"

"Until the color comes back to normal and the tingling goes away. Or thirty minutes—whichever's longer."

"Hmph," Charlie answered, wrapping herself tighter in Harvey's sweater. "It's starting to burn," she told him, the tingling in her feet giving way to a searing pain.

Charlie started to lift her feet, but Harvey set a hand on her leg, stopping her.

"It's supposed to," he answered.

"How do you know?"

"Boy Scouts," he answered, holding up three fingers in salute. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Charlie rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone as Harvey left the room, doing her own internet search for frostbite and scrolling through the results, only to find that Harvey was basically right.

Do not allow them to walk if it affects their feet.

Submerge the body part in warm water 15 to 30 minutes.

Pain is common during reheating.

"According to this, I maybe, might have a very mild form of frostnip, not frostbite," she said as he came back into the room with a towel and some other supplies. She held up the phone for Harvey to read, and he took it, scrolling through the article.

"Frostnip: a mild form of frostbite," he said, reciting a direct quote from the article as he handed the phone back to her. "Anything else you want to say, doctor?"

"Well, here..." Charlie scrolled further "...right here, it says you're supposed to give your child warm drinks." It also said to cover them with a blanket, but Harvey had as good as done that already by giving up his sweater.

"And a second breakfast," Charlie added, nodding toward the blueberry muffins leftover from breakfast that still sat on the counter behind him.

"Is that so?" Harvey snorted. "Boston Children's Hospital recommends second breakfast as a cure for frostbite?"

Charlie shrugged. "It says to make sure they're comfortable, and I think another muffin would make me comfortable. Warmed up with some butter...and maybe some hot chocolate..." Charlie pointed to one of the end cabinets where she knew Marcus kept the almost sickeningly sweet chocolatey powder. "Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty pretty—"

Harvey shook his head, cutting her unrelenting pleas off with the gesture, before going through the motions of making her hot chocolate. Harvey presented her with the drink a few moments later without a word.   

"My precious!" Charlie hissed. The steaming mug felt deliciously warm against her still chilled fingertips. Harvey turned from her to retrieve the muffin.

"You know, that's funny," Harvey said as he set the muffin down beside her on the counter, "because you kind of look like Gollum."

Charlie set the mug down, deciding to let it cool for a moment to avoid burning her tongue. "Jokes on you then, Harv—" Charlie picked a piece of the muffin top loose and popped it into her mouth. "—because people keep saying I look just. Like. You."

Charlie smiled sweetly at her brother as she picked up another piece of muffin, her attention spared to him long enough to realise that he had no intention of responding.

"After this can we—"

"After this, I have work to do and you're not leaving the couch. You—"

"Alright, alright," Charlie interrupted, sensing by Harvey's tone that he was preparing to go off on a lecture-y tangent. "We will sit on the couch."

Harvey raised an eyebrow at her 'we' even as she continued on.

"We can watch Lord of the Rings while you work," she offered, "Haley and Lucas have never seen it so we can fulfill your uncle duty while I rest my feet and you work and..." Charlie shrugged. "It's practically the perfect solution."

It was only half an hour later when Harvey had to admit he agreed with her because while Charlie, Marcus, and the kids lay passed out on the couch, all of them exhausted by the cold, Harvey finally had a chance to wrap up his work all to the film score of Lord of the Rings.

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

[beautifulterriblequeen]

TDP autistic-coded characters: Runaan

Inspired by this post, which gave me the kick I needed to create my own for Runaan. I’ve always kinda pictured Runaan as “Zuko but instead of befriending Aang he grew up and married Ethari.” 

I’m not going to go into how precious this headcanon is to me. You have headcanons that are near and dear to your heart. This one is near and dear to mine. Let’s go:

Physical traits

Sensory dampening

Autistic people often have sensory issues that result in them feeling overwhelmed, overloaded, or hypersensitive. It can result from a combination of mental and physical input, and autistic people develop a variety of coping mechanisms to deal with it.

One way to dampen an overload of physical sensation is with clothing. Loose and baggy works for some, tight and gently constricting works for others. It can turn overwhelming nerve input into a kind of white noise background so it’s easier to focus on other information.

Runaan wears a lot of clothes on missions, leaving only his face and upper arms exposed. I’m not talking about layers so much as skin coverage. While there’s a variety of coverage among the assassins, Runaan is the only one with long hair covering his neck, long pants, high boots, and gloves.

Though Rayla’s dressed very similarly to him, her hands are bare, giving her a more approachable and vulnerable look, as befitting a character trying to find out who she is. 

With all his layers of insulation, Runaan appears as if he’s trying to separate himself from, or protect himself from, the world around him.

About those gloves and leather gauntlets. It seemed a little odd (read: foreshadowingly important) that those gauntlets would get a mention in Callum’s Spellbook as part of Runaan’s look, but they’re in there. Runaan’s gloves are black, a nice dark undistracting color. When he moves his hands around in front of him, he won’t be visually distracted by the light hue of his own gloves. And he does use his hands a lot, as a major form of his communication with others, so keeping that contact to a comfortable level, both visually and tactilely, lets him touch and move as much as he needs to without overwhelming himself in the process.

Meditation

Meditation is another way to calm an overload of input, or to psych oneself up for something that will require a lot of focus.The first time we meet Runaan, he’s meditating while the others set up camp. 

Rayla’s been gone a while and he’s probably worried. It’s her first mission, and he vouched for her skills, so he can’t just go traipsing off to find her. He has to wait and trust her, so he spends his time calming and focusing. 

We also see him meditating in the dungeon, several times.

Even though the room was dark and quiet, all that sensory input from his injuries must’ve been intensely stressful. Falling back on his meditative coping mechanism was the only tool he had to handle the stress and pain of his environment and situation. But all his years of using this technique means that he’s pretty good at it. Every time Viren came in to pester him, Runaan was always able to keep his wits about him.

Stimming

Autistic people stim as a self-soothing technique when they’re hit with intense emotions--good and bad alike. They’re basically a way to anchor during a storm of feels until it passes, by doing something familiar and repetitive.

Runaan’s stim is clenching his hands. His hands are very clenchy when he’s stressed. With those dark gloves on, it’s not terribly noticeable, but they’re opening and shutting constantly when he’s worried over Rayla and how she’s endangering herself/messing up his mission.

Runaan is an elf of action. His skill set is entirely physical. When Rayla acts insubordinate on the mission, he knows he should punish her--a harsh physical tactic--but he quietly refuses to do so. Instead, he talks to her. And though he keeps his voice calm for the most part, he’s upset, nervous, off book. It takes him a while to be able to make eye contact with her (more on that later). And his hands start twitching, possibly because he’d be far more comfortable with a  physical fix to the situation, a tactic he’s far more familiar with but in this case he’s deliberately choosing not to employ.

Long hair

Devon Giehl confirmed way back when that Ethari braids Runaan’s hair for him (awww), and he’s really good at it. It’s possible that Runaan had a very different hairstyle, or not much of a style at all, before he fell for Ethari. Autistic people sometimes struggle with haircuts or complicated personal hygiene routines. Some very much enjoy the asmr of having their hair brushed, or the comforting weight of long hair. A warrior needs to see what he’s doing in battle. A Moonshadow needs to look stylish. Enter Ethari, who probably still cannot believe he gets to play with all this long glorious braidable hair every day. 

Maybe this beautiful hairstyle that we all love and adore and draw over and over in our art is Ethari’s creation, tactically designed to bother Runaan as little as possible. It’s not hanging in his eyes or tickling his neck or bugging his ears. He has a clear line of sight in all directions. No dangling fringe, unlike almost every other Moonshadow we’ve seen.

Those hair cuffs Ethari made keep Runaan’s side tails out of his way when he’s spinning in battle, too. There’s basically nothing that will get Runaan’s hair in his face.

And he hasn’t cut it in a very long time.

Interaction Issues

Processing time

Runaan comes across as a stoic and calculating character. He uses silence and stillness on the regular. These techniques can be used deliberately to give an autistic person time to process new information. Autistic people can have processing issues, hearing issues, and comprehension issues, and our first instinct upon hearing new information can be to blurt, “What?” because we don’t collect all the details on the first pass. Letting the mind continue to process for a few extra seconds can help to fill in the gaps, though. Remember this iconic moment? 

Runaan takes 17 seconds to make his way from “Give me the egg” to “Don’t do this.” He stands dramatically, the clouds part, it’s all very epic. But he could’ve acted the second that Rayla defied him. He didn’t. Looks like he genuinely needs a minute to process what Rayla is doing and how to handle it. It’s very unlike her. He wasn’t expecting it. He has no plan for this. He has to stop everything and think. So he holds still and keeps his reactions under wraps, until he has formulated a plan. Runaan lives by plans and rules. More on that later, too.

The Kiss

 Autistic people can be sensitive to being approached and touched. And martial arts training does wild things to your personal space. You have none and all at the same time. It’s vastly more comfortable to keep everyone at arm’s length because there are so many options to choose from if they get close enough to touch.

An autistic person and their loving spouse can easily create little rituals--social and verbal cues--to be recognizable indicators of desired behavior. Ethari’s line, “My heart goes out with this one,” acts as a code that Runaan has heard over and over. Ethari’s worried, and he’s seeking comfort. So he prompts Runaan and patiently waits for Runaan to respond and initiate the kiss in his own time. And Runaan does so, with the smoothness of long practice. He reaches out, he steps forward, and then he also steps back, breaking the kiss. 

Ethari chases the kiss as long as he can, but he does let it go when it’s clear Runaan is backing up. It’s clear that Ethari is an enthusiastic lover, and Runaan knows it. Though the kiss is complete, Runaan takes time to reassure his husband that he loves and trusts him, and he does that by ensuring a long moment of close eye contact and physical touch--both things that can take extra focus for an autistic person to offer. But for Ethari, it’s definitely worth doing.

Eye contact

Eye contact can be stressful for autistic people, and we often avoid it when we’re already uncomfortable. When Runaan takes Rayla into the woods to tell her she’s off the mission for being too soft, he can’t look her in the eye for the first part of their conversation.

He keeps looking in her general direction from the corner of his eye, but he can’t look her in the eye and tell her she failed him. It’s too uncomfortable for him. He has to work up to it for a couple of minutes. And though he does manage to meet her eyes for a short while, he ends the conversation by walking away while he’s still talking. As far as his plans extend at that moment, he’s never going to see her again. He believes he’s marching off to die, and he can’t look at her then, either. .

This look is Runaan’s emotional lockdown. Everything is tense and no feels are getting in or out. Hands totally fisted up.

Time Out

Autistic people can get so overwhelmed that we lose our temper, go nonverbal, or otherwise shut down, and we need to step away from the environment that’s caused the overload. Runaan lost his cool and yelled at Rayla when he learned that she’d lied to him about Marcos.

Losing his temper wasn’t good because he yelled at his daughter. But it was also bad because he lost his professional cool in front of his team. He had a little domestic right there in front of them. When you’re supposed to be in charge, especially in a culture that prides itself on cooperation and perfection, falling apart in public has got to be humiliating. 

The next time we see Runaan, he’s taking a break in a tree with his second while the other assassins chill, clearly waiting on him. He might have been here five minutes. He might have been here for an hour or more.

My favorite part about this is how Runaan isn’t alone. His friend has come to sit with him, but silently. He doesn’t ask any questions, he doesn’t try to touch Runaan, he just waits. And eventually, Runaan gets his focus back and talks about the mission. 

This moment is also an instance where Runaan needs time to silently calculate until he creates a whole new plan out of nothing. In this case, he’s deciding to set Rayla off the mission for being too childish to complete it properly, rather than executing her or otherwise punishing her as a full-fledged assassin. But first, he needs the time out, because he can’t make that plan until he’s emotionally calm again.

“Enough Brooding, Elf.”

When Viren dumped the coins out and Runaan saw that they were cursed objects that somehow contained his dearest friends, Lain and Tiadrin, he was so overwhelmed, shocked, and upset that he had his only eyeshake of the whole series, and he ended up going nonverbal. 

Everything that Runaan had done with regard to Rayla over the last several months turned out to be for nothing. She didn’t need to avenge her parents’ honor because they never ran away. Runaan didn’t need to fight with his husband and go into emotional lockdown. And he, his husband, and Rayla never needed to ghost Lain and Tiadrin in the first place. All that stress and emotional suffering was for nothing. And on top of that, the man who’d taken him prisoner had cursed his friends and imprisoned them this whole time. Runaan just can’t catch a single break. His voice drops into a stressed whisper as he says, “You’re a monster.” And then, judging by the next words Viren says a whole scene later, Runaan doesn’t speak again. 

Viren leaves him alone after the coin threat backfires, because he realizes he’s not going to get anything out of Runaan in his condition (and he could recognize this state because Soren is autistic-coded as well!). When Viren returns, he calls what Runaan was doing “brooding.” 

Brooding is generally defined as being two things: quiet, and thoughtful. No one broods out loud. But a nonverbal shutdown while chained to a wall is going to look pretty similar. Runaan can’t do anything to physically escape Viren, so his brain just switches off his mouth for a while. He has a lot of bad things to process and he has no room for responding to Viren in his state of extreme emotional distress.

Courtship Rules and Replies

From interviews with Devon and Iain, we’ve learned that Runaan fell in love first, but that he also needed Lain’s prompting to confess his true feelings to Ethari. One way to describe the difference between autistic and allistic people’s thinking patterns is to call one oft them Microsoft and the other Apple. They can generally do the same things, but the ways they get there are always a little different. Because allistic people outnumber autistic people, they have generally framed the society we live in, and we often feel like we must rote-memorize the rules of the world around us instead of using our own system. This does create a strong reliance on rules, and specifically on knowing the rules before proceeding. 

If Runaan had never courted anyone before--or if he’d tried to and it had gone poorly because Runaan didn’t fully understand the rules--he would be very, very hesitant to make the first move with Ethari. 

Additionally, Runaan was making all his good-faith efforts to show interest in Ethari via the proper channels, but meanwhile, Ethari was skirting the rules. He was interested in Runaan, but he’s a playful elf and was teasing his suitor by pretending not to be interested That Way. This might sound cute, but to an autistic person, such a lack of hoped-for feedback would be intensely exasperating. Runaan was trying to communicate in what possibly felt like a foreign language, and he didn’t feel like he was doing a good job of it. He was probably doubting his metaphorical grammar and accent constantly. Autistic people aren’t always good with reading facial expressions or unfamiliar moods, so he didn’t pick up that Ethari was genuinely interested and just teasing him. He was too uncertain and vulnerable to take the matter to Ethari straight out, but there was an elf he trusted fully: Lain. 

Lain could probably see Ethari’s interest when Runaan couldn’t. (And if I had to guess, I’d say Lain’s clue was Ethari’s intense eye contact, which Runaan wouldn’t notice if he was avoiding eye contact due to anxiety!) If Runaan was really so uptight and protective about his feelings, Lain wouldn’t have encouraged him to share them unless he was confident that Ethari would reciprocate. And because Runaan did trust Lain so much, he took that next step, confessed his feelings, and sure enough, Lain was right! Ethari loved him, too.

Free Time

Runaan’s birthday post for 2020 told us that he would prefer to spend the day reading alone, but he considers Rayla’s wishes and lets her decide otherwise. Runaan is more introverted than most and he’s perfectly fine entertaining himself, but Rayla drags him to the adoraburr meadow to spend time together, and because he loves her, Runaan lets her do it. If he were truly uncomfortable, he could put a stop to the whole thing. But he understands that this is how Rayla shows love, and so he lets her show her love through shared companionship, instead of shutting her out and keeping to himself.

Special Interest Sharing

Runaan tells Rayla that there’s an instinct to being an assassin. He has it, and he’s realizing now--only now--that Rayla doesn’t.

Callum’s Spellbook tells us that he began training Rayla to fight when she was just a toddler.

Autistic people often have special interests that appeal far above everything else, and can last a lifetime. For some it’s coding, photography, marathon running, or collecting something. Could be anything, really. Runaan’s special interest is combat. He’s a deeply physical elf who feels very present in his world, and sometimes too present (hence the gloves and the meditation). It’s only natural that he takes the body he’s got and trains it as hard as he can. Being ready for battle is a form of freedom for him. He can run anywhere and fight anything. His intense dedication to his training contributed to his promotions through whatever ranks assassins have, allowing him to contribute meaningfully to his community and his society through his service. Runaan’s special interest has made him uniquely qualified to lead the assassins.

When we meet someone we like, we tend to use our special interest as a form of communication and bonding with them: “I like you, so I will share this thing I love with you.”

Lain and Tiadrin had a precious baby girl, and Runaan and Ethari helped them raise and care for her. And the moment Rayla could move around, Runaan was right there, showing her all his favorite little tricks and techniques, steadying her, patiently demonstrating and explaining every little thing. Stances, physics, trajectory, angle of attack, center of balance, weak spots. All the physical things he knows and loves, he shared with his tiny new friend.

Having a full-grown adult pay her the respect of assuming she could learn all these things, even as a little child, must’ve been so important to Rayla and her self-image. No wonder they bonded so tightly. He truly believed she could do everything he taught her--and he was right.

Mental Effects

Hyperfocus

Autistic people can experience hyperfocus on a new and interesting person or thing. The more ways a person, like say, Ethari, appeals to someone like Runaan, the stronger his focus will be on them. All free time--and time that isn’t free--will immediately be diverted to thinking about and experiencing this delightful new phenomenon.

Runaan is described as putting his duty first, and he takes his job very seriously. But this is also the elf who deliberately damaged his weapons in order to have an excuse to see Ethari and ask him to fix them. To Runaan, the one thing he and Ethari had in common was weapons, so that’s where he started. Runaan gave himself a crash course in Ethari and his interests and ways of expressing himself, and found a way to speak the same language in order to ensure they’d connect. He literally hampered his own ability to do his job in order to find a way to connect with the craftsman.

Once they were a couple, he threw himself into learning How To Boyfriend so he could continue to communicate his feelings to Ethari in an understandable way. It was of the utmost importance to Runaan that he be able to speak a language Ethari could understand, so that he could tell him how much he loved him, and so that Ethari would believe it and trust it.

Small Talk

Runaan learned Ethari as a language, and he learned Rayla’s language as she learned his. He probably speaks Lain and Tiadrin fluently. But everyone has slightly different tics and cues in their speech, and they can all seem like separate languages sometimes. It takes true effort to connect with someone, to truly get to know them and all their little quirks. Runaan simply doesn’t have time to learn every single elf in the Silvergrove as a separate language. He’s learned how to connect with those he values most, and that’s all he feels he needs. Everything else is just small talk--a jumble of things Runaan doesn’t have room to care about beyond his special interest, his duty, and the few elves he’s taken such pains to learn so well.

[unfinished tdp meta]

[ddarker-dreams]

Spider Spectacles.

Chrollo x F Reader.

Various snippets that take place in the Hell Within Reach universe.

Warnings: Some mild not SFW implications, mentions of blood/violence (not towards Reader). Word count: 3.1k.

i.

Phinks can’t believe these same hands that are capable of breaking necks with ease can’t tie a fucking tie. 

If that isn’t bad enough, he’s stuck in this ridiculously restrictive suit, the fabric scratchy against his skin. Why anyone would actively choose to wear something like this is beyond him. From his perspective, it wreaks of being pretentious. To make matters worse, he’s fighting against the clock here. You’re to be his “date” for infiltrating tonight’s job. He’s holding things up with how long this is taking. 

Just when he’s fantasizing over how he’ll choke some socialite goon with this stupid piece of fabric, you enter his line of sight. Though you’re wearing high heels, your footsteps made no sound, and he’d been too preoccupied with this torture device to sense your presence properly. 

You stand before him, dressed elegantly, adorned in jewelry and more prominent makeup. Unlike himself, blending in with those plutocrats won’t pose an issue for you. He wonders if somewhere past your perfectly poised countenance, behind the drawn curtains that obscure your eyes’ true feelings, is there any prejudice toward him? Or the rest of the Troupe as a whole? Shal said you come from a family of bigwigs; why exactly you joined the Spider is beyond him. 

He supposes he should trust in Chrollo’s judgment. That’s easier said than done, though. 

Tonight would serve as an imperative litmus test. Both you and Phinks were to be the vanguard. Only Paku had seen you in action before, he can’t help but be curious about how it’ll go. Will you squirm at the sight of limbs being torn off? Swoon over disembowelment? Complain should any blood and gore splatter across your pretty dress? 

He’ll know soon enough. For now, he assumes it’s only a matter of time before you turn on your heel, uninterested in a commoner’s woes. 

Hah. There it is. You’re parting your painted lips, he can’t wait to stamp out whatever propriety-filled nonsense you spew— 

“Could I be of any assistance?” 

He sets his mouth in a thin, firm line. As much as he’d love to make a point by telling you no, he is technically the reason why you’re tight on time. Had there been the slightest hint of arrogance in your demeanor, he would’ve told you to fuck off, but as things currently stand, that’d be uncalled for. 

“... Knock yourself out.” 

With this, you set out to work, your hands finding the loose fabric hanging around his neck. It occurs to him then that he’s never seen you without gloves on. You’re always wearing that black leather pair, or in this case, opera gloves. He makes a mental note to talk to Shal for his theories later. 

Phinks is treated to a whiff of your perfume when you get closer to him. It’s subtle yet pleasant, though he can’t quite put his finger on what specifically makes it up. Vanilla for sure. He’s smelled worse. Those harpies love to soak themselves in the most egregious scents in existence. He finds himself favoring Meteor City’s stench over the aroma found in high society functions. 

Your ensemble isn’t needlessly flashy. Diamond stud earrings with a matching necklace and an off-the-shoulder navy blue evening dress. You must’ve used that woman paint or whatever it’s called to cover up your Spider tattoo. You haven’t plastered makeup on thick enough to make it seem like you moonlight as a clown either. 

Before he knows it, you’re done. You straight then tie, then his lapels, smoothing over the many creases born from his frustration. Phinks feels his face heat up, despite the cold surroundings from the poorly insulated abandoned building. He coughs into his hands to cover up this damning evidence. 

“Thank you for your patience,” the way you speak is so calm, so assured without spilling into arrogance. He thinks he’s catching a hint of an accent too. “I’ll be waiting outside. I look forward to working with you, Phinks.” 

“Uh… yeah, same here.” 

You pause, having apparently not expected him to return the sentiment verbally. After a moment’s deliberation, you nod, your face betraying nothing. He finds himself staring at the back of your figure until you’re out of sight. Huffing, he shoves his hands into his pockets, cursing himself for his momentary enchantment. He wasn’t able to be as passive-aggressive as he had hoped to better gauge your character. 

This proves nothing, he thinks. I still can’t consider her one of us. 

After a few unnecessarily long seconds, he manages to get back into his usual rhythm. He walks down the same path you did, kicking a rock while he does so, the sound echoing throughout the vast empty space. Phinks thinks back to the utmost care you displayed in helping him with such a menial task. It’s such a small, silly thing, but he can’t get the sight out of his head. What a pain this is turning out to be. 

Well, Paku did ask him to get along with you… maybe it won’t be as egregious a notion as he originally thought. Maybe. He’ll have to give it some serious thought. So if he’s caught up in how pretty you smell, it’s for a very good reason, he tells himself. 

ii.

“You have a very steady heartbeat.” 

You’re tracing abstract art into his skin. Shapes, letters, the most memorable sentences from the book you just read; anything your satisfied yet weary mind could concoct.

Following the end of your passionate rendezvous, you’ve found yourself resting your head against Chrollo’s chest. In doing so, you’ve become intimately aware of several elements of his anatomy. His heartbeat is the most prominent addition. 

His coarse fingers glide over the flesh of your forearm in an absentminded fashion. “Do you find it off-putting?”

The genuine candor backing his inquiry makes you scrunch your eyebrows together. “I can’t imagine why I would.” 

You are both anomalies. Beings that exist in their own sphere, separate from the rest. If not for his conviction to seek you out, you would’ve remained a specter, intangible to all but a few. The peculiar life you have lived up until this point gives you little leverage to judge from. 

“… It’s just a thought,” you hear the low rumble in his chest when he speaks. He takes your wrist into his hands, his thumb pressing against your pulse. Your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve come to realize that you’re better at being human than I am.”

“Better at being human?” You repeat the words back slowly, as if learning a new language. It’s foreign enough to essentially count. You might think it a joke if it had been coming from anyone else. 

His free hand nestles itself in between your thighs. Despite yourself, the many years of training to have total control over your every bodily function — voluntarily and involuntary — your heart skips a beat. With enough focus, you rein the traitorous back under control, feeling defeated somehow. 

“Come now, don’t pout.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” is your petulant response. You then take a deep breath to steady your voice. “This is a physiological response I haven’t adequately prepared myself for. With enough intentionality, I’ll get better at it.”

Silence ensues. You shift in your spot, discontentment suddenly flooding you. It’s a rare dilemma indeed for Chrollo to go quiet for so long. While the air itself isn’t thick or dripping with tension, an unknown energy buzzes throughout. 

“I hadn’t intended to critique your abilities, dear.”

There’s something different about his voice — almost an underlying unsteadiness to it. You part your lips, a question blooming then wilting on your tongue at the small chuckle that slips from him. He tries to school himself, and while he achieves mild success, he ultimately succumbs to whatever has amused him. 

His heartbeat quickens ever so slightly. 

Anyone else may have missed it, but not you. Not when your senses are so attuned to your surroundings as they are. 

“You might be getting better at ‘being human’, boss,” your lips curve upward. “Either that, or we’re both losing our touch.” 

He hums and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Does the idea bother you?” 

“No,” you respond in truth. Far faster than you thought you would too. “And what about you?”

“I believe it should, but…” 

He trails off to navigate the tangled web that is his thoughts. Eventually, he arrives at a conclusion, one that transforms the buzz in the atmosphere to a soothing thrum. 

“If you’re the cause, I can’t say I mind.” 

iii.

“It’s delusion… pure delusion.”

This guy has spirit; Chrollo will give him that.

He sits hunched over in a chair, matted hair obscuring his bloodshot eyes. He sputters out a cough, blood coming up with it, and the abrupt pressure on his chest causes his swollen face to contort in pain. His spit is red when it hits the floor, a few loose hanging teeth clattering alongside it. 

Still, the night is young. Chrollo would be sure to keep a close enough eye on his vitals so as to prevent a premature death. That just wouldn’t do. Not when there’s plenty more in store. 

“It’s always the same… with lowborn scum like you,” the man rasps out. “Chasing after… what you can’t have. What’ll never belong to you.” 

The man rolls his head back, chuckling despite the ache that accompanies doing so. “Lady [First] is in a league above your own. Whatever you think you have working out well for you now… it’s not meant to last.” 

Chrollo dislikes hearing your name come from this man’s lips. He’s in a chatty mood now, likely wanting to hurt Chrollo in any way he possibly can. Given the insurmountable gap in physical strength, this must be what he’s left with, bitter words and desperate insults. It’s amusing in its own way. That this completely inconsequential individual thinks himself capable of driving a wedge between you and Chrollo. 

Amusing, but mildly grating all the same. 

“You know it’s true,” he tries again at the silence on Chrollo’s part. “That’s why you aren’t saying anything.” 

More like I don’t consider you worth the effort, Chrollo muses. Or the air.

Another cough — followed up by more blood. The internal bleeding must be getting worse. Did Chrollo misjudge the strength behind his blows? No, that isn’t possible. He flexes his fingers, blankly staring down at his fists. It’s been a long time since he’s tortured someone in a way that got his hands dirty. This was a unique case, however, he wanted to feel the snap of bones and rip of cartilage. 

It brought him satisfaction that he didn’t know he needed. 

“When she learns the truth about who you are, it’ll all be over. Just you wait. Meteor City trash.”

This conclusion must’ve seemed definitive enough to the man, for he cuts his monologue short and gives the slightest crooked smile. As if he said anything worthwhile. As if he won whatever one-sided battle he thinks he’s fighting. 

Chrollo wonders if he should take out his tongue so the man might witness how worthless the muscle is.

Maybe the man’s right that you’re in a league above his own. You were born into a world that he painstakingly crawled his way into, over mountains upon mountains of decaying corpses. Pure nobility, a hallowed ancestral line that can be found in historic textbooks. There are paintings of your ancestors in the most esteemed locations whereas Chrollo knows nothing of his heritage. 

At first, he had set out to make you his greatest conquest, a thief’s magnum opus. 

And now he would gladly lay down his life for you, or take as many lives as you wanted, should that be your desire. 

He far prefers how fate discouraged his original designs. 

Chrollo looks down on this poor, misguided man, who thought himself the vanguard of your honor without knowing the slightest thing about you. Your brilliant mind, latent depravity, and vicious loyalty, hidden behind a prim veneer. He can’t blame the man for falling for it. He almost did himself. 

Finally, Chrollo gives him a single verbal response. He sees no reason to offer more than that. Not when everything he wants to say can be encapsulated so easily. Short and sweet, the way it should be. 

“And if I told you she’s already aware?” 

The man’s ragged breath gets caught in his throat. “That isn’t… surely that isn’t possible.” 

Chrollo will let him ruminate on it. 

After all, despair is best brewed within, as no one can find a worse enemy than their own thoughts. 

iv.

Pakunoda has a tall glass of white wine, the glass’ rim stained with her burgundy lipstick. 

Machi is sipping on a beer the restaurant had on tap. 

Then there’s you, holding your water with lemon, occasionally stirring it with your straw. 

In the background, a pianist tickles the ivories, adding to the general pleasant ambiance. There’s chatter from patrons, the clinking of silverware, and the waitstaff coming to and fro. Your soul feels at ease. Good company and good food are a balm for all woes. 

“Your turn,” Pakunoda inclines her head toward you. Her diamond earrings catch the light and twinkle. “What’s the strangest Nen ability you’ve encountered?” 

You’ve never considered yourself the best storyteller, but your audience of two is familiar, lessening the burdens of social pressure. Pakunoda regaled you both with a witty anecdote of her experience, whereas Machi’s dry and succinct account had its own charm. You comb your memory for a standout encounter to capture their interest with. 

After a moment’s consideration, you land on just the thing. 

“It was a couple of years ago,” you begin. “I was assigned a job to look into cargo that was stolen in transit, due to it posing a biohazard risk. When I finally narrowed down the search, it was in this tepid marshland. I sensed multiple lifeforms keeping an eye on me, but the aura didn’t belong to anything human.” 

Pakunoda raises an eyebrow and Machi hums. 

You take a sip of refreshing water before continuing, “Eventually, I found the hazardous material. There were no signs of the perpetrator, however. But when I got within ten feet of the barrels, it triggered some sort of automatic response. The lifeforms that were observing me finally came out and attacked.” 

You exhale softly through your nose when you recall what happens next. 

“The lifeforms were frogs.” 

“Frogs?” Pakunoda questions, her lips morphing into a smile. “Actual frogs, or frogs made from Nen?” 

“They were actual frogs, under a Manipulator’s control,” you reveal. Machi snorts. “As for the Nen user… I never found them. I did find human remains inside the frogs, though. My personal theory is that the prolonged exposure killed the user, activating post-mortem Nen. The bodies of the guards and the truck driver weren’t at the initial scene of the attack. I assume the frogs served a similar cleanup utility to Shizuku’s ability, but with a condition to consume deceased organisms.” 

“So they ate their dead user?” Machi asks. You nod. “That’s fucked up.” 

“... It did change my perception of frogs.” 

When they both laugh, you can’t help but join them.

The remainder of the night is spent in high spirits, swapping stories and deepening your bonds. 

v. 

“See anything interesting?” Chrollo queries. 

“Hm?” 

“It’s the third time you’ve looked over my shoulder in the past minute,” he explains. He chuckles softly at your nonplussed expression. “I hope it isn’t the male attendant who has caught your eye. I might get jealous.” 

“Of course not,” you huff. He can be so troublesome at times, poking and prodding with that handsome smile of his. Your irritation never lasts long — he knows how to rile you up and pacify you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the banter, though. 

“Is it the dress, then?” he asks. You give yourself away by fidgeting slightly. “Ah. So it is.” 

Chrollo’s otherworldly perception shouldn’t surprise you by now, yet in moments like this, you wonder how he has such insight into the human mind. He hadn’t looked behind himself once to identify what was in your line of sight. Did he catch how your gaze lingered on the boutique earlier and memorize its position? What lengths he goes to. 

When you purse your lips, he presses on. “I can get it for you if you want.” 

“It isn’t…” you trail off, finding it difficult to form the proper words, “It isn’t a style that would suit me.” 

It's a light pink a-line dress at teacup length with floral lace trimmings. Very soft, very feminine. 

Very not you. 

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve worn dresses before.” 

“Well, yes. I have to for certain functions. Besides, none of them are like… like that.” 

You stare down at your gloved hands, which are folded on your lap. It’s silly, ridiculous, even, this hollowness in your chest cavity you feel when you see certain things. There’s this yearning that leads you astray like the Pied Piper’s song. Your teacher advised you against indulging in needless excess. Everything from the food you eat to your clothes; it should be practical and purposeful. These are the tenets you were instilled with from as early on as you can remember. 

“Like what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You know very well what I mean.” 

Chrollo rests his cheek on his fist. “Perhaps. I know what covetous eyes look like even better.”

“It isn’t worth dwelling on,” you straighten out a wrinkle in your clothes. “It’s pretty, that’s all there is to it.” 

“It’d look far prettier on you.” 

Heat floods your cheeks and your lips part. You go to say something, but find yourself unable, settling for clearing your throat instead. The smile on his face is different from those he uses with the intent to charm. It’s gentle, almost tender. There’s an underpinning of fondness that he reveals to no one aside from you. 

You allow yourself one last glance at the dress before returning to your prior conversation, discussing the last book you’d both read. 

The following morning, you open your closet door while wiping the sleep from your eyes. You assess the display of garments in familiar shades of black, gray, and occasionally navy blue. At the end of the hanging rack, however, you spot something that sticks out like a sore thumb. Something that was most definitely not there when you went to bed last night. 

You run your fingers over the light pink fabric, biting back a giddy smile while you do so. 

Chrollo is given a kiss on the cheek when handed his morning coffee. 

[punks-never-die205]

Silly question sorry😅: how does Kid deal with his metallic arm in the summer heat? Lot of burning when he gives me a ass clap at 40 ° 🔥🔥🔥

I feel like he either fashions a wood/leather/metal combo when time and resources allow, or he tends to do without one. He could also just have a thick leather harness for his arm, and a leather glove to help ease any threats of burns from the metal for himself and others.

Wool works too - it holds up to use and is an excellent insulator.

I could see him devising a cooling rig too, like water cooling for overclocked computers, but woven into the design of the arm. How intimidating would it be to look completely unbothered by the metal in the dessert sun?

[howtofightwrite]

Okay so I’m currently writing a character that has a background in Muay Thai, but I wanted them to have somewhat of a punk fashion. Now punk fashion mostly consists of tight clothes with unstretchy materials. Changing the pants is not a problem, so Iwas mostly wondering about the upper body and feet. How well can you throw an elbow in a leather jacket? Maybe a vest is a better option? Also shoes, I don‘t like sneakers, and I initially thought to get them cowboy boots because they look cool and also the character loves the sound they‘re making when walking. Now cowboy boots are also notoriously made for not bending at the ankle, which of course comes in the way of kicking. Now I’m not too knowledgable in muay thai techniques, but as the kicks are often done with the shins, would it sill work to have something like low-rise cowboy boots? Or would it be better to have just some thick leather dress shoe adjacent shoes? With free mobility of the ankle?

So, the fun thing with the punk aesthetic is that there's a lot of very practical clothes that are still in theme.

So, starting with leather jackets, good ones aren't going to restrict your movement by much. Parrying unarmed strikes with a leather jacket is actually nice. This is because the jacket (and any insulation in the sleeve) will absorb some of the impact, meaning you're less likely to bruise. Decent quality biker jackets will have some reinforcement (to protect the wearer) and as a result will actually function as armor for light melee combat. It won't save you from a knife or a gunshot, but, depending on the design, it will soften the punches and kicks you take.

Leather, denim, or heavy canvas pants are a similar story. Yes, it's entirely possible to get tight jeans that restrict your movement, but casual cut pants will provide mobility and protection. It really comes down to what your definition of punk pants are.

With boots, the better choice is going to be work boots or motorcycle boots. In both cases you're looking at heavy footwear which armors the foot and protects the wearer. The lack of mobility in the ankle is less of a concern because of the protection the boot provides. In this case, steel toed is a perk, it's actual metal armor over your toes, protecting you from someone stomping your foot. There's nothing automatically wrong with cowboy boots, but that's moving away from the punk aesthetics.

There's the commercial, punk aesthetic. You'll find it in those “counterculture” corporate clothing stores. It's about as inherently contradictory as mass market Che Guevara tee-shirts. And, if you're looking at that, particularly looking at the examples marketed towards women, your assessment of the loss of mobility and general unsuitability for combat is probably spot on. It's cut to be tighter than it should be, for the visual aesthetic and your ability to move in it is a casualty of the same.

And, from my perspective as an outsider to the scene, that's not punk. It's more like punk cosplay.

If you want your character to have a punkish aesthetic, to go hand in hand with their fighting style, then you should probably look at heavier clothes that are designed to take a beating and keep going. That was the original aesthetic of punk. Heavy leather jackets that will protect you from a beating. Heavy pants that will do the same. Motorcycle boots are a big plus here. They're heavy, durable, look good, and they work as armor. Spikes and studs can be retrofitted onto existing clothes, probably with an eye for keeping it durable enough to stand up to a fight. Gloves are up to you, but there's no real downside to having a pair.

For a martial artist buying clothes, you're making constant decisions about whether something will look good, or whether you can move in it. There isn't a concrete line of which one you should select, this is a personal preference, however, if you're planning to take those clothes into combat, expect them to get damaged, and at that point the freedom of movement and durability start to become a lot more attractive options. Ironically, the original core of the punk aesthetic was leaning hard into that combat ready street wear.

So, yes, your character is giving up a little flexibility in their ankles, but not enough to matter, and in exchange, they're armoring them. They're giving up a little flexibility in their arms, though again, not enough to matter, but in exchange they're getting armor. They're not wearing form fitting pants, but the trade off is, they can move freely, and still get the protective benefits of those heavier, and “unstretchy,” materials.

Once you get past that, Muay Thai fits with a punkish attitude. There's no direct connection, between them, but the brutal nature of competitive Muay Thai does sync up pretty nicely with punk.

-Starke

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[korkietism]

BNHA oc that I made accidentally on a complete whim. Little owl heteromorph girl. She goes to UA at the same time as Eri and Kota. Hoshiko Fujimura (edit I found one)

Tokoyami saved her during a brutal mission in which she was fatally wounded by debris/crushed underground essentially. In a moment of desperation, he and Dark Shadow lended their darkness to her in hopes of helping somehow. It covered her head and side injury and prevented her from bleeding out or sustaining major injuries,however it left her feathers dyed permanently blackish purple like Tokoyami and Dark shadow.

Due to the permanent marks left on her body and her groggy state following the incident, her parents threatened to sue UA for damages unless Tokoyami received repercussions. Tokoyami’s hero license was suspended for one year following this incident (which occurs during his senior year at UA)

Hoshiko proceeded to idolize Tsukuyomi as she got older. She memorized everything known about the hero and decided she wanted to be a hero just like him, blissfully unaware of the harm the incident caused to Tokoyami’s career as she was young. Eventually her parents allow her to attend UA, in which she becomes Hawks intern (Tokoyami isn’t taking internships) and learns more about her favourite hero.

Hoshiko is an impatient owl girl. Her quirk has no name yet but is essentially the ability of a snapping shrimp. She can produce large blasts of pressure that can stun enemies or launch her/her opponents. However, she finds out in her first year at UA that whenever she produces adrenaline (in a fight or flight situation) she produces the shadowy substance that Tokoyami does (however a weakened version)

This allows her to use it as webs/rope, as it’s sticky and stretchy (though can be cut or broken or burned) so she had Ms. Hatsume make her gloves to help her store and harness it, in which her gloves are similar to Dekus.

Her costume is similar to my older Tokoyami costume, in which he has clawed leather gloves, heat detection goggles, a red scarf, and clawed boots that allow for very good grip and security, as well as painful kicks. However, she has compression wrap on her arms and legs as well as foam insulated metal wrist shields, which work as both a guard and catches the otherwise uncontrollable pressure of her blasts

[drustvar]

Ch. 19: Sanguis Pecunia

Sanguis Pecunia - The Latin phrase for "Blood Money". Do the answers lay waiting in the undercity? Or is an even darker secret waiting to be revealed?

WC: 3.1k A/N: WHOOOOOO guess whose back baby. Well, maybe. IDK what happened that my drive for this went on a very long vacation; blame it on working full time I guess. Here's hoping I can get back into the groove of things! Ao3 Link in Reblog || Full text under cut

The Vesuvian underground was a completely different world from the one above. Devoid of sunlight or warm breezes, replaced with a cold and damp darkness that Rosie felt threatened to swallow her and Julian up as they made their way through the tunnel. Like a ship in a storm, their only guidance was a single beam of light from far on the horizon. It grew brighter the closer they got, and the louder the sounds of a busy market became. The familiar sound felt both reassuring and chilling. “So you say you were on the VIP list, what exactly does that mean?” Rosie asked as she paused to carefully step around a large pothole. “Very Important Person-” “I know what that means,” Rosie laughed and headbutted his shoulder.

“Ah, yes of course. Well, in this case, it's really just that I was on good terms with a number of merchants and happened to spend a good deal of coin in the markets here. Back during the plague,” his gaze became distant as he continued, “There wasn’t always time to waste on gentler treatments, and many of the city’s official trade routes had shut down completely. Very often there was no choice but to go underground in order to get what was effective. Or at least… somewhat effective. We really were trying anything and everything. Just uh, throwing whatever we had at the wall to see what could work,” he said. Rosie squeezed his hand as he began to rattle off a list of contraband. “Forbidden Loch leeches-” 

“Leeches were forbidden?” That seemed to go against almost everything Rosie knew about humor theory. 

“No, no, Forbidden Loch leeches. It’s an insulated loch from a land far to the west, which is said to be quite treacherous to reach. They seemed to have antiseptic properties, unlike any other species, and as such were in quite high demand at the time. Oh, careful dear, mind the ledge,” He held her steady as he guided her down the crumbling incline. “It really was incredible the things you could find down here. There were rumors that one of the vendors even had a supply of real Alicorn, able to purify any poison into fresh spring water. Was never able to find them though. Sometimes it kept me up at night wondering if perhaps that could have been the key…” he shook his head, looking equal parts discouraged and equal parts embarrassed to have ever hoped for the answer to have been so simple. “Ah, well. We’re on the hunt for something different now, aren’t we?” 

They stood at the end of the tunnel, half in shadow and half lit by the hazy red lights of the market. Rosie glanced up at him, taken in by how the light played sharply off his features and shimmered in his hair, turning it from auburn to crimson. She couldn’t tell if the way his dark eyes glittered when he glanced at her was another trick of the light, or from something else that made her heart flutter. “I wish we weren’t,” Rosie said as she leaned against him. “God, how I wish we weren’t. I wish we didn’t need to be hunting for scourges, or answers, or any of this shit. Wish there wasn’t a sword danglin’ over our heads.” 

Julian made a sympathetic noise as he brushed a stray curl out of her eyes. “Ah, my dear, if wishes were horses we beggars would ride.” He said as he gently cupped her cheek. She longed to feel his skin against hers again instead of the cool leather of his gloves. “Who knows, perhaps this ‘Scourge’ Asra spoke of is just around the corner?” It was unlikely,  but what else could she do but hope? Even still, she couldn’t help but think back to the discussion she had had with Asra earlier. She knew he’d never send her into harm’s way, but Julian? The way Asra had spoken about him made her think Asra wouldn’t be above it. The thought that they would be so careless about someone, about someone she loved, made her queasy. 

“No use dawdling back here in the tunnel,” Julian’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Let’s be on our way-”

“Wait!” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back just as he had stepped out into the hazy red light of the market.  “Pulling me off into the shadows already?” He asked, a brow raised as a toothy grin spread across his face. “I’d heard the red market can have that effect on people, but we only just got here-”  “Be serious,” Rosie hissed as her eyes darted around. Despite there being a stall with patrons gathered around it just a stone's throw away, nobody had seemed to notice them. “You cannae just walk out there, someone will see you!” “Oh, is that all?” He almost sounded disappointed. “Rosie, I told you I used to be a regular down here. These people knew me.” “That was then and this is now-” “This market is underground for a reason, dearest. Almost everything that goes on down here breaks a law in one way or another. Believe me, it's on nobody’s agenda to have the place swarming with guards.” 

“Do you really think nobody’s tongue can be loosened by gold?” Her voice took on a hoarse and desperate hiss. “Have you any idea how high the bounty on your head is?” “I…well, uh, well I assumed there was one of course, but I've tried not to look at any of the wanted posters for too long. It uh, I’ve found it only puts me in a worse state, if you can believe that’s even possible.” 

Rosie started to rummage through her bag before she pulled out a crumpled ball of paper. She smoothed it out and handed it to him. “Well look.” 

Although the paper was warped from the elements and from being crumpled at the bottom of a bag, the words were still very clear:

“WANTED - JULIAN DEVORAK.  12,000 GOLD REWARD FOR THE MURDER OF COUNT LUCIO PROSPERO AND EVASION OF ARREST  STILL AT LARGE - MAY BE ARMED AND DANGEROUS.  BY ORDER OF COUNTESS NADIA SATRINAVA-PROSPERO; MUST BE APPREHENDED ALIVE TO BE ELIGIBLE FOR REWARD.”  This notice takes the place of all previous notices. Contact Consul Valerius Sergius Latinus or Local Guards station with information.”

In the very center was a portrait of Julian; though it truly looked nothing like him. The man on the wanted poster looked wild and cruel. Julian stared down at it in silence for a long moment.

“You know, on every one of these I’ve ever seen, they’ve never gotten my nose right.” Despite his joking words, there was no laughter in his voice.

Rosie snorted. “That’s the last of our worries.”

“Twelve thousand gold…they really think I’m worth that much?” He let out a sharp laugh. “I remember very well how Lucio ran the economy of this city into the ground, I seriously doubt the court even has that much left.” Rosie shrugged. “Countess is from Prakra, isn’t she? They’ve got money. I’m sure the Prakran Queen is willing to toss a few thousand gold Vesuvia’s way to at least make it look like she cared about her late son in law.”

“I really can’t get over the drawing. It’s almost offensive. I knew the Consul never liked me but my goodness-” “Julie,” Rosie laid a hand on his arm. “Do you understand what I’m sayin’ now?” Rosie could remember how not too long ago the wanted posters had been different—how before the Countess had awoken from her coma it had been under Consul Valerius’ order, and how instead of ‘WANTED - ALIVE’, it had read ‘WANTED - DEAD or ALIVE’.  It was very, very clear to her which one the Consul would have preferred. She’d torn down every poster she had come across, but she was sure dozens were still floating around. “We cannae afford to be so careless.” 

“You keep saying we,” his voice was much quieter when he spoke again. “Not that I, uh, don’t appreciate the sentiment. But it’s only me who has twelve thousand gold on his head. If I had paid attention…I’d have never-” 

“Now you stop that right now,” Rosie said as she pressed a finger to his lips. “I didn’t show you that to make you feel guilty, I did it to prove a point.” She continued, ignoring the light flush that had spread across his cheeks. “We’ve got to be smart about this.” 

“Well, I mean, you could always cast another spell, like when we were at the Palace. But I don’t know if that’s the best idea, it took a lot out of you, didn’t it?”

Rosie hesitated before nodding. “Illusions are complex, an’ I’m no illusionist.” “Then that’s off the table. I don’t want you burning yourself out on me, especially not here. You never know what uh, what kind of trouble there is down here that would need magick-ing out of. Not that I plan on us getting into anything that would require magick-ing out of, mind you, but-” “Hold that thought,” Rosie said as she began to rummage through her bag again. 'Amaranth, surely I still have some Amaranth,' she thought as she dug. “Here we go,” she said as she pulled out a rather battered looking, burgundy colored sprig. Julian raised a brow in question. 

“Amaranth is the key component in invisibility charms and spells,” she explained. “I dunnae have the reagents left for a full invisibility charm, but this should work for a quick ‘never-mind-me spell’ .” She took his hand in hers, the sprig sandwiched between their palms as she began to mutter under her breath. Julian watched in awe as for a moment the ring of color around her pupils flared a glowing gold color in the hazy light. “There we go! Hopefully, that will work for now-”  “Your eyes,” Julian interrupted as he tilted her jaw up to look closer. “What about them?” 

“They were glowing! Since when do they do that?” “Oh,” Rosie laughed, reaching up to lace her fingers in his. “That’s nothin’ special. Happens when anybody uses magic.” 

“Nothing special?” Rosie let out a surprised squeak as he wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her around. “Rosie my dear, that’s incredible! Never seen anything like it in all my days. Ah, and the way you so easily bend the fabric of reality with a simple stalk of grain?” He grinned and leaned closer. “It’s intimidating.” 

“Intimidating?” Rosie laughed and lightly tapped his nose with one of her nails. “If you think that’s anythin’ special you should see what I can do with a proper supply o’ herbs and a cauldron.”

“Ah, to be able to learn from you… what secrets could I unlock?  What wonders could I do for patients if I could only absorb an ounce of your magic touch,” Julian had sunk to his knees as he spoke, resting his head against her hip and looking up at her with the adoration of the sun and the hunger of a starving dog. 

Rosie smiled wryly and traced his jaw with her nail. “Thought you didn’t like magic? Gave you the heebie-jeebies.” 

“Well, perhaps I, uh, I’m warming up to the idea.” His voice became slightly pensive as he hugged her thigh. “You make it less unnerving. You make, uh, well you seem to make lots of things less frightening, as it were.” 

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen me really angry yet,” Rosie laughed as she petted his hair. “You’d change your tune if you saw me hex someone, I’m sure.”

Julian mumbled something indistinct as she pulled him back to his feet and cautiously led the way out of the tunnel. As much as she would have liked to stay hidden in the shadows, doing so would get them no answers. Perhaps with any luck, there would be time later for him to soliloquy and sing her praises as much as he wanted. 

The pair hugged the wall closely as they crept through the smoky haze that swirled throughout the marketplace. Rosie’s eyes darted around as she tried to take in everything; for a supposedly secret underbelly it seemed just as crowded, if not more so, than some of the markets above ground. A sea of chatter only broken up by the occasional clinking of coins and the breaks formed by the dozens of stalls selling strange wares. 

“Look there,” she nodded at a small stall filled with watery, croaking jars. The vendor had hung a small banner advertising a sale on Twilight Dreamfrogs. She had read in a bestiary once that they were only found in the cold, far southern ranges of the continent. 

“The frog seller?” 

“Those frogs come from the South,” Rosie said as she took one last glance up and down the narrow path before stepping out into the low, scarlet light of the street lanterns. “I’d wager if anyone might know anything about some ‘Scourge of the South’, it might be him.” “Good thinking, my dear,” Julian said as he patted her arm and stepped around her. He drew himself up to his full height; imposing and authoritative, before he snapped his fingers to get the vendor’s attention. “You there! You heard anything about the Scourge of the South?” 

“The fighter?” The vendor hardly glanced up at them as he ladled a glowing, writhing mass of glowing worms out of a barrel and into a jar. The sight of it made Rosie’s stomach turn. “Of course. He spilled more blood up there in the ring than anybody before or after. Old Lucio was never able to find a replacement worth half the Scourge’s salt.” 

“So he was a gladiator? And I take it he was the Count’s favorite, eh?”

“He was everyone’s favorite,” the vendor scoffed as he tightened the lid of the worm jar. “He was undefeated. Any poor bastard who got thrown in with him didn’t have a chance in hell of making it out alive.” He paused while drying his hands, narrowing his eyes at the pair. “You two aren’t from around here, are you?” 

Rosie could tell the vendor’s patience was waning. She thanked him for his time and led Julian away, thankful to no longer be near barrels and barrels full of worms, or suspicious eyes. However, as soon as they had stepped away, another merchant waved them over. 

“Frog man over there’s only half right,” the woman said from under her hood, as she casually rearranged a set of small, humanoid skulls. “The Scourge was no ordinary fighter. He was an executioner. Rumor was that if you got on the Count’s bad side, you had a good chance of meeting the Scourge up close and personal.” She laughed and shook her head. “But that was long ago. Scourge is long gone, just like his master and the plague, hm?” 

The woman’s eyes glowed from under her hood, a bright, unnerving shade of blue. Julian and Rosie awkwardly laughed along with her. “So he died in the plague?” Rosie pressed.

The bone dealer shrugged as she poured teeth into a small leather pouch. “Who can say? No one knows for sure, except that one day he just vanished. Maybe he got wind that people were tired of seeing him always win, wanted to get out before the tables turned on him. Now,” The woman said as she pushed back her hood, revealing a deathly pale, moon-shaped face and waves of dark hair. “You two gonna buy something? Bones? Furs? I’ve got a special on goat’s blood, that always comes in handy, you know.” 

The pair exchanged a look, silently agreeing that her question had only one right answer: rumors weren’t free.

|||||

“So we’re looking for an executioner,” Julian said as he pocketed the bag of teeth they’d been more or less strong-armed into buying as they continued down the path. “Think he’s trying to say something with that?” 

“In all fairness, this is a murder we’re investigating,” Rosie said as they came to a crossroads. “I dunnae think Asra would send me to find someone who would wanna hurt me. Don’t know about you, though.” 

“Fair point, I suppose. Well, uh, aside from that, I’m sure there’s got to be a reason he’s told you to track down Lucio’s former personal executioner,” he paused, his gaze drifting down one of the paths to where a shadowy, ramshackle building stood. From where they stood they could see a sign that read ‘The Jagged Dagger’, hanging off of some rusted hooks. Raucous laughter and faint, tinny music drifted from inside.

“Well, what do we have here?” Julian started towards it, only stopping when Rosie caught his sleeve. 

“We’ve no time for detours.” 

“Ah, but my dear, we’re looking for the Scourge of the South, no?” Julian grinned and easily pulled her off balance and into his arms.  “And wouldn’t it seem that this path just so happens to be leading south?” 

“No, I’m pretty sure this path leads west.” 

“My dear, don't you remember my story about my days aboard a pirate’s ship? Surely, you can’t think my sense of navigation has atrophied that badly. Besides, who knows who we might find in there? Could be former fight promoters, maybe some former gladiators if we’re lucky-” he was interrupted by a loud crash from inside the pub, and a moment later a shiny, glass eye rolled out of the door in front of the pair, followed by a weathered looking sailor stumbling after it. He grabbed for his lost eye and shot a poisonous sneer in their direction as he immediately turned on his heel and went back inside.

“Seems a lovely place,” Rosie snorted. Julian seemed undeterred. 

“Now this is my kind of place,” Julian grinned. “I’d bet if nothing else there are some diehard Scourge fans in there-”  “I’m sure there’s plenty of shady folks in there who’d gladly sell you out, too,” Rosie said as she crossed her arms. “Even so, I have confidence in your spell work! And, uh, well, you’ve been looking a little frail since you cast that spell on me, we could both use a drink.  Something to eat too, have you eaten? You should.  Besides, I just can’t  pass on a chance to get rowdy.” 

Rosie looked at the tavern and then back to him. There was another crash from inside, followed by uproarious laughter.

“Alright,” she sighed, unable to resist his puppy-dog eyes. “But if things get ugly in there, you stay behind me and let me handle it, got it?” 

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He practically swooned as he followed after her. She paused, just in front of the loose hanging door to glance back at him. “Let’s get rowdy.” 

[fairy-writes]

Barking Dogs Don’t Bite: Chapter One {Gojo Satoru x Reader}

Word Count: 2K

Masterlist

TW for blood and gore

September 2005

You hate the feeling of blood on your fingers. 

It’s sticky and warm, making you feel like you hadn’t showered in weeks, even if you had bathed just that morning. 

But you ignore the icky feeling of it congealing under your nails and instead work to remove the head from the body in front of you. 

The body was mostly intact, missing a limb or two, but that didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was the head. 

So you take a deep breath and sheath one of your swords at your side. Then, you grip the head of the corpse by its hair with your non-dominant hand and swing with your other blade. 

The sword—though sharp—doesn’t cut all the way through with the first swing. It gets lodged between two vertebrae in the spinal cord and sticks. You have to plant your boot on the shoulder and wrench your blade from the neck before swinging again. 

Blood sprays everywhere, coating not just your hands but everything else too.

What an awful, disgusting feeling.

It takes two more swings before the head entirely separates from the body. Everything from the neck down slumps in a growing pool of blood, the arterial spray sluggish and soaking into your boots and socks. 

“Are you done yet?” Comes a familiar voice. The faint scent of peppermint invades your nose, and you turn to see Makoto holding another severed head by the hair. His face had minor blood spatters, but overall, looks a lot cleaner than you felt. You simply hold up the head in your hands without a word. He nods approvingly, and your heart sings a little when he says, “Good job,” with a ruffle of your hair and a small smile.

The smile falls a bit when he stops mussing your hair and looks at you with a mildly disapproving look.

“You were too messy again. Look at all this.” He says, and you swat his hand away from your head with a glare,

“It just got away from me, is all.” You say, and he just rolls his eyes. The peppermint smell turns sour in disappointment, and you just huff.

Makoto wraps the heads in plastic, then butcher paper, and finally puts them into insulated duffel bags. You are in charge of carrying them to the car while he makes a phone call to your employer.

“It’s done.” He says, and you can vaguely hear the chatter on the other end. However, it doesn’t concern you, so you don’t bother listening in. You settle the duffel bags in the trunk and grab an armful of towels. The seats may have been leather, but that didn’t mean you wanted to get blood everywhere. 

Because blood always took forever to clean up. 

Makoto opened the driver’s side door and got in. Just as he started the car, his phone rang again. You pause in where you’re scrubbing your boots with a stained rag. There are bits of organs and ichor stuck to the soles, and you have to resort to picking it out with your fingers. The flesh is squishy between your fingertips, and part of you wishes you had worn gloves. 

Your brother picks up after the third ring. Just like he always did.

“This is Rin Makoto speaking.” He says, and you hear an indistinguishable voice on the other end. All you can tell is that it’s a man speaking. “Alright. We’ll head there now.” Makoto finishes and hangs up. Without so much as another word or explanation, he starts the car and flips it around. 

Leaving the small residential home and the quiet neighborhood behind. 

The entire drive to the location is silent. You know better than to bug your brother with a useless conversation, and Makoto hates driving with the radio on. 

So silence it is.

The home is absolutely massive. It’s more of a mansion, really, with long windows and beautiful cherry blossom trees. 

The two of you get out of the car, the blood having dried on your way over. The drive had been long, nearly two hours of nothing for you to do besides look out the window and watch the scenery pass by. You couldn’t even take out your phone as you had forgotten it this morning in your haste to get ready. 

Because bounty hunting was a job that waited for no one.

Well… it did… but that wasn’t the point. 

The exterior of the house was a bit boring, if you had to admit. With drab light brown walls and a dark brown roof, there was nothing to show that his house had even been lived in. 

It was boring until you saw the blood leaking out from under the front door. You pause mid-step onto the engawa and glance back to Makoto. He raises an eyebrow and gestures for you to open the door. 

Of course, he would make you go first. 

You ease the door open and step carefully over the pool of blood growing ever so slowly from the corpse by the door. You look blankly at the body.

It was a small child. No older than six or seven. With glassy green eyes and short, curly blood-stained black hair. His body lay contorted, the neck twisted at an odd angle—broken neck. That much was obvious. The blood came from the long gash across the belly, nearly eviscerating the poor boy. 

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump. You hadn’t heard Makoto approach your side. Though the scent of peppermint was faint, it was comforting. 

“Everyone is already dead. Best we get to work before anyone shows up.” He said quietly, looking at the boy with sad eyes. 

Dead children were always one of the worst parts of the job. That and the screaming. The screaming had to be the worst if you really had to choose. The kids were already dead. There was nothing you could do for them. But the screaming? Especially the cries of fear? You had to silence that as soon as possible,  or else it would haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Not that it wasn’t already. 

This was a messy business, after all. 

You were in charge of searching the house's west wing while Makoto searched the east. Your footfalls are silent against the hardwood floor as you look through each room carefully. Beds are overturned, closets are rifled through, and trunks are dumped out. 

Most of the bodies are left behind in favor of searching for one man.

Minoru Kanata. 

A curse user who had gone on a killing spree. So far, his body count is in the dozens. 

But… by the looks of it… he might have already been taken care of—at least if the crimson stains were anything to go by. Maybe they were from something else? You step over the darkening bloodstain and open the door to what you assumed was the master bedroom. 

Only to pause when you hear talking. 

Bickering was more like it. But the voices were young—most likely teenagers—and male. There are two of them, though you can’t hear what they are saying. 

Maybe… just maybe… 

Makoto would be upset at you for using your abilities for no real reason, but you want to know. Want to know about the two boys behind the door. Had they killed Minoru?

You close your eyes and focus, reaching deep inside yourself where you knew your cursed energy lay dormant. It bubbles and churns with joy when your mind grasps it with eager fingers and tugs. It leaps to life, and slowly, you can’t smell anything. 

Literally. 

Your sense of smell fades to nothing, but you can hear everything.  

The gurgling of the koi pond out back. 

The sound of the fish swimming in circles. 

The rustling of the ants in the grass. 

The voices going quiet. 

The footsteps heading in your direction. 

The sliding of the door.

The sliding of the door.

As the door opens, your sense of smell comes back. You stumble backward, trip over a loose board, and come face to face with a mere boy. 

Well… not exactly. 

He’s taller than you, maybe the same age? With black hair pulled back out of his face and dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’s wearing a black uniform—though with baggy trousers—that you recognize. 

So he’s one of those jujutsu sorcerers, is he? Perhaps a student? 

You scramble to your feet, taking a step back as he scrutinizes your appearance, no doubt taking in your dried, bloody clothes and the red still smearing your cheeks. You had tried scrubbing the crusty blood off with a handkerchief on the drive over but to no avail. You only succeeded in staining the cloth pink.

The young man watches, unimpressed, as you reach for your sword and sighs,

“You really shouldn’t do that.” He says, 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.” You retort, and he shrugs,

“This is all just a misunderstanding. I think we’re on the same side. ” He says, and you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“No one is on my side.” You snarl, and his shoulders slump as you draw the weapon, though you don’t reach for your second sword. Not yet. That would mean you were in real danger. 

Then another head peeks out from around the young man’s shoulder. 

He’s your age and boyish, with white hair and eyes hidden behind dark glasses. He’s dressed in a similar uniform sans the baggy trousers. He has a mischievous grin stretching his lips, and he’s a bit taller than his friend, though not by much. 

“Who’s this?” He asks cheerfully. The darker-haired boy shrugs again,

“No idea. But she was listening.” He says, and you don’t miss how he ignores the fact that you’re covered in blood. 

The white-haired boy does not.

“Woah, you’re a mess!” He chirps, and you glare. He’s already grating on your nerves.

But before you can say anything, there’s a hand at your shoulder, and both boys stiffen. You see Makoto out of the corner of your eye, his hand on his own weapon and his eyes locked on the duo before you. 

When did he arrive? 

“We need to go,” He murmurs, and you frown.

“Why? They’re just kids.” You reply and ignore the white-haired boy's cry of, “Well, so are you!”. Makoto tightens his grip on his hooked sword.

“That’s Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.” At that, you swallow and reach for your second sword. His hand tightens, and he pushes you back a step. “Don’t fight. Just get out to the car. Minoru isn’t here.” He says lowly, and you nod. Now wasn’t the time to argue. 

The boy you assume to be Gojo speaks up just as you’re about to turn the corner. 

“You’re from the Rin family, right? The bounty hunters?” He calls to you from down the hall. Makoto tries to keep you moving, but you freeze. 

He knows of you and your brother? 

How much did he know?

Surely he only knew of your father.

Your family wasn’t exactly discreet about their work, but still, not many people knew of what everyone could do. Much less you. No one knew what you could do.

Gojo notices your pause, and you swear you can see a smile twist the corners of his mouth. The other boy—Geto—is suspiciously silent. He’s watching you with those dark eyes, and you know he can’t be thinking anything good. 

In the back of your mind, you know you shouldn’t be talking to them. You should turn and walk away, pretend you never saw them. They were strong enough that you knew you would never win in a fight. At least… if the stories were anything to go by. 

But still… 

“And if we are?” You blurt and hear Makoto curse under his breath. 

“Well, that would complicate things quite a bit now, wouldn’t it?” Gojo says, his smile turning smug when your eyes meet his hidden ones. Makoto’s hand grips your elbow, and he steers you back on track, breaking your eye contact with Gojo. 

The two of you almost make it to the car when you see it.

Or rather… him. 

He’s scruffy, well into his thirties or forties, covered in blood, and sneaking away through the trees of someone else’s yard. 

Minoru Kanata.

You wrench your arm from Makoto’s grasp and take off toward the curse user. Minoru notices and ducks under a branch, and begins to run.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Necro AU: Character Profile - Alnico Snezhevich

Full credit for the character goes to @bigbrain411.

Name: Alnico Snezhevich

Affiliation: Fatui (Former), Unaffiliated

Sex: Male

Age: 26

Height: 170 cm

Short description: Former Fatui researcher under Sandrone, raised in the House of Hearth, studies ruin tech, proud of his work, feels guilty for helping the Fatui. 

Long description: At a young age, Alnico was orphaned and found himself in the care of the House of Hearth. It was during his time there that he discovered a passion for studying ruin tech, inspired by stories from some of the visitors. He would spend much of his time going through hard-acquired books and bombarding any and all who met them with endless questions. This habit would lead him to an encounter with the seventh Harbinger, Sandrone. During a recruitment visit, Alnico snuck away and questioned her directly about the machine she was guarded by. At first being dismissed as a nuisance, Alnico would gain her interest when he started asking questions the Harbinger found interesting, showing an unusual level of understanding of the topic for his young age. She would begin to answer his questions, and was impressed with how grateful he was to receive her knowledge. Upon discovering that Alnico had slipped away, his caretaker would approach them and pull Alnico away, apologizing profusely to the Harbinger, only for her to dismiss the caretaker, annoyed at their conversation being interrupted. After the dialogue finally did conclude, Alnico would be dragged back to the orphanage, and was punished for sneaking away. Sandrone would keep a close eye on him as he grew up. Once he was old enough, he joined the Fatui, and was quickly scooped up by Sandrone to work as a researcher under her. He excelled at his position, and became well respected by his peers. He was later transferred to work under Childe during his mission to Liyue, to act as an on field expert on the ruin tech in the area. He would find comfort in a group of Fatui who also came from the House of Hearth, and would often work with them and develop a strong family bond. During his time under Childe, he would learn of their intention to attack Liyue, and would voice his distaste for such a plan, but was told to simply focus on researching the ruin tech nearby and see if it could be used to benefit them. During an expedition with his siblings, they would find a group of damaged and deactivated Ruin Guards and he would stop the group so he could analyze the machines. As he came to the last Ruin Guard, he would approach it like he had all the rest, but when its eye began to glow and it would rise to its feet. It would quickly move to attack Alnico, but was shoved away by one of his siblings, taking the blow for him and being killed instantly. The rest drew their weapons to fight, but the ruin guard proved too strong, and one by one, killed all of the team but Alnico. Alnico would retreat back to camp and report the situation to Childe, but Childe’s disregard for the loss of his family drew him over the edge, and that night, he fled from the Fatui. 

Visual appearance: Average height,  brown coat with gold trim. Satchel worn to store  notebooks and other research materials. Belt holds various tools. A modified pistol stored on the left of his torso, hidden under his coat. Goggles on his forehead have adjustable magnification, thick insulated gloves, and worn leather boots. Finely maintained goatee and brown eyes. No unique facial features. 

Personality: Proud of his work, and will not hesitate to correct someone when they mislabel or misrepresent his research. Cowardly, does not like to fight, and will avoid combat whenever possible, or leave the fighting to those who are capable and support from the back. Is very willing to share his knowledge, to an extent, with those who show genuine interest. He is not above admitting when he is wrong, and will gladly credit anyone who is able to contribute to his research in a meaningful way.

Thanks for reading!

[silverjetsystm]

From @mypralaya

"Hello, it is Haven Hanukkah Gifts Time She’s read that Hanukkah gifts should be small and heartfelt rather than big and expensive, but the donation to the Midnight Mission this month is notably larger. Marc gets ginger tea as a safer/healthier alternative to energy drinks (I feel like he has a lot of late nights), a little package of sweets in blue and silver-white wrappings, and a small box of self-care supplies Businessy stuff for Steven (fancy pen in blue enamel, leather conditioner for his briefcase, noise-canceling headphones for when he’s on a plane or a busy office) car stuff for Jake (a double-insulated travel tumbler to keep drinks hot or cold on the go,a cupholder phone mount, warm driving gloves and a scarf for the NYC winter), suit stuff for Mr Knight (tie clip and matching cufflinks, bleach pens so he doesn’t need to get rid of a whole suit over a small stain, a small digital recording device so he can easily record conversations, confessions, clues, etc for his PI work) It feels Very Iffy giving anything to a God who is NOT the God of the Jewish people on a Jewish holiday, but she does want Khonshu to feel included too, so she brings him a tiger nut honey cake like used to be made in Ancient Egypt. It's a friend thing, not an offering. Gods have feelings too, after all. She likewise brings small tokens to everyone who works there. She also brings sufganiyot with sweet chutney fillings, gulab jamun and pakoras to add to the “foods fried in oil” theme. Fusion food time!"

Marc-as-Mr. Knight thanks Ms. Dastoor for her continued generosity to the Mission and.. -_- himself. It's rough out there for unhoused people and their neighborhood in general. The donations will be used in good health.

(lmao, apparently it's easier to catalog his gifts as donations too. she even knows his brands. well, assigned brands by Steven and Jake. Ginger tea is better on his gut than the excessive amount of coffee and energy drinks he knocks back at all hours).

Mr. Knight wears the new cufflinks and tie clip and you know the bleach pens are highly prized. And it's always good to have a new recording device.

Steven and Jake don't even complain how Marc technically gets 2 people's worth of gifts. XD

Steven approves of Haven's choices. The headphones get a lot of use!! And it's been a while since he's had a briefcase that he deems good for conditioning so that's a whole new treat for Mr. Grant.

Jake is very cozy in his new accessories. Cupholder mount comes in handy because he was this close to yeeting his phone out the window. ("What happened to GPS???" sort of behind).

Reese and Soldier like their gifts. While not being on the Mission's payroll or Jewish himself, Dr. Badr praises Ms. Dastoor for the cake she brought Khonshu.

Everyone eats and has a good time! Loves the fusion food!! Jake makes latkes and the Mission 'miraculously' doesn't have that oil and onion smell that lingers for days in your house and clothes. Steven lights the candles on their menorah they liked the best when they were kids. The Mission has a few Jewish visitors so they borrow or break out their own menorahs. Everyone gets a little gift from the system and the Mission!

After the guests clear out or return to their rooms for the night, Marc and Badr would have a long-winded debate over whether or not Khonshu has feelings and what those exactly are. The statue seems to wink and be lighter. for once.

Before Haven leaves, Mr. Knight hands her a blue bag with silver tissue paper. He knows it's a little late for Diwali this year (and what do you get a person who has everything she needs and gives and gives? This was a struggle because they didn't want to be cliche or tacky)

A new scarf

Oil tealights

The Midnight Mission brewed chai (because magic)

There's a lot of argument over whether Haven is a Lego type of woman. They wind up getting her the orchid Lego kit with the decision if she isn't about that life, she can gift it to someone who will appreciate it.

[auroroboros1]

layer up your gloves. i suggest a simple leather work glove underneath insulated gloves. if youre walking on the snow, snowshoes and/or gaitors are your friend. nothing worse than snow in your boots.

COLD WEATHER TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO LIVES WHERE IT’S COLD:

I always see posts about layering clothing, but there are so many more creative ways to help keep you warm if you don’t have a lot of warm clothes. But first, a note on layering clothing:

-Your underlayer is your WICKING layer. That means it is a layer specifically to absorb the moisture your body produces. DO NOT USE COTTON AS A BOTTOM LAYER. Use merino wool if possible, but other good substitutions are nylon, polyester and rayon. 

-Your middle layer is for insulation. You want AIR POCKETS in there, NOT tight fitting clothes. This is where you want to put your fluffy sweaters, your fleece, down, fur, flannel, or vests. If you do not have these, you can substitute with multiple layers of long sleeve shirts.

-Your outer layer is for keeping the cold away from your body. If you do not have a jacket, you can put on your thickest piece of clothing and then a raincoat over it. Windbreaker if you have one. 

ALSO

-Jeans are the absolute worst at holding heat. Use only as a last resort. 

-You can’t really ever have too many layers on your feet. Alternate tucking your layers of pants into your layers of socks to keep your ankles warm!

-Wear a hat OVER a hood if it will fit! This will keep your ears warmest.

TAKE OFF/OUT ANY AND ALL JEWELERY/PIERCINGS

-If you have a medical bracelet, DO NOT REMOVE IT. If you can, tuck a layer of clothes between it and your skin.

NON-CLOTHING TIPS:

-Raid your recycling. Gather all cardboard boxes and break them down so that they are flat. Put them on the floor to add more layers between you and the cooling house. Newspaper will also serve the same purpose.

-In an emergency, you can also layer newspaper between clothing layers. Don’t worry about looking stupid if you’re staying warm.

-If you have a tent, set that sucker up in whatever room you have decided to stay in. Stay in it and keep it zipped shut as much as you can, but do NOT cover the vent at the top. You can put the rain fly up, but make sure there is circulating air for you to breathe.

-You are probably not going to feel very hungry at times. DO NOT STOP EATING OR DRINKING. Digestion produces a lot of body heat and the food will give your body energy to keep itself going.

-The best foods are heavy and full of carbs and proteins. Eat nuts, eggs, pasta, meats, and beans. If you are on a diet, now you’re not. If you’re vegetarian… bulk up on those pastas and nuts.

-Try not to sweat. If you are finding yourself getting damp, take off the outer layer just until you start to cool slightly. Then redress! Your bottom layer should dry quickly, and being wet is dangerous.

-On that note, STAY ACTIVE. You are probably going to want to hunker down and snuggle up, but that will make your muscles cramp. Every 15-20 minutes do something that gets you up and about. Walk circles in the room, do a couple jumping jacks, stretch, whatever. Just enough to move some blood around your body. Don’t get sweaty or out of breath, it’s just a little movement.

-CHAPSTICK. ON YOUR LIPS. ON YOUR NOSE. ON YOUR EARS. ON YOUR KNUCKLES. Don’t let your extremities get dry or cracked.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA:

-Uncontrollable shivering -Slurred speech -Confusion or memory loss -Dizziness or lack of coordination -Inability to be woken from sleep

CHILDREN AND INFANTS!!!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

-Children WILL get colder before you. Make sure they are properly bundled up.

-If you need to breastfeed, put a blanket over the both of you and wait a few minutes for the air to warm before removing or shifting your clothing.

-DO NOT COVER AN INFANTS FACE. ESPECIALLY WHEN SLEEPING. Keep them tucked inside your own clothes when possible. As close to your heart and stomach as possible. 

-Put chapstick on children’s cheeks and clean their face often if they are crying or wiping at their nose. This will prevent cracked skin and irritation.

-Make sure your children are staying as hydrated as you! They are going to fuss and not want to drink cold things, but they NEED liquids.

SIGNS OF HYPOTHERMIA IN INFANTS AND TODDLERS ARE DIFFERENT:

-Shortness of breath  -Cold, red skin -Lethargy or listlessness

Finally:

CHECK ON YOUR NEIGHBORS. CHECK ON CHILDREN. CHECK ON THE ELDERLY. STAY SNUGGLED. STAY SAFE.

[strangetalewasteland]

Important Tips for Picking Welding Rubber Gloves for Beginners

Introduction

Welding is an art and a scientific research, entailing warmth, steel, and accuracy. But before you study this interesting globe, there's one critical piece of equipment you need to think leather work gloves about: welding gloves. Whether you're simply welding gloves starting your welding journey or wanting to update your safety and security gear, selecting the right gloves can mean the distinction between a seamless project and an agonizing problem. In this write-up, we'll discover Essential Tips for Choosing Welding Gloves for Beginners to ensure you're furnished with the very best defense while you work.

When it involves welding handwear covers, you may think they're all created equal. Well, reconsider! There are different kinds that satisfy different needs and choices. From leather work gloves developed for sturdy tasks to specialized welding handwear covers that provide thermal protection and dexterity-- discovering the appropriate fit can be daunting. Yet do not worry; we have actually obtained your back! Allow's break down every little thing you require to know about picking the perfect welding gloves.

What Are Welding Gloves? Understanding Welding Gloves

Welding handwear covers are particularly created protective equipment that shields your hands from severe temperature levels, sharp objects, and damaging ultraviolet rays throughout welding operations. Their primary objective is to provide longevity and warm resistance while allowing sufficient flexibility to deal golf gloves with devices and products effectively.

Different Sorts of Welding Gloves

Welding handwear covers been available in various designs:

Stick Welding Handwear covers: These are excellent for arc welding. MIG/ MAG Welding Handwear covers: Perfect for light-duty applications. TIG Welding Gloves: Developed for optimum dexterity. Heavy-Duty Leather Job Gloves: Suitable for rough environments. Key Functions of Top quality Welding Gloves

When picking welding gloves, look out for:

Heat resistance Dexterity Comfort Durability Material quality (like natural leather or synthetic blends) Essential Tips for Selecting Welding Gloves for Beginners Know Your Welding Type

Different welding techniques need specific glove attributes. For example, if you're primarily MIG welding, opt for gloves with great hold but less insulation contrasted to TIG welding where precision is key.

Check Material Composition

Most high quality welding handwear covers are made from leather because of its excellent warm resistance residential or commercial properties. Seek:

Cowhide Natural leather: Understood for durability. Goat Leather: Deals exceptional flexibility. Synthetic Materials: Great for lightweight applications but might not endure high heat as well. Assess Dimension and Fit

A tight fit is important! If your handwear covers are also loosened, they can slide gardening gloves off or make handling devices hard. On the other hand, overly tight handwear covers can create pain and hinder movement.

Measuring Your Hand Size Measure from the base of your palm to the ti

[dresshunters]

10 Essential Winter Wardrobe Staples Every Woman Should Own

Building a versatile winter wardrobe starts with a few essential pieces that offer both warmth and style. Here are ten must-have winter staples every woman should have in her closet to create endless outfit options all season long.

1. A Classic Turtleneck Sweater

Turtlenecks are perfect for layering or wearing on their own, and they add an instant touch of sophistication. Opt for one in neutral colors like black, gray, or cream for maximum versatility.

Styling Tip: Pair with high-waisted jeans and boots, or layer under dresses and blazers for extra warmth.

2. High-Quality Wool Coat

A wool coat is a timeless investment that elevates any winter outfit. Choose a classic silhouette in a neutral color to make it a staple for years to come.

How to Wear: Layer over chunky knits and scarves, or dress it up with a belt for a polished look.

3. Chunky Knit Sweaters

Chunky sweaters are cozy and trendy, perfect for casual outings or staying warm indoors. Look for versatile colors like beige, navy, or soft pastels to easily mix and match.

Pro Style Advice: Pair with leggings or jeans, or tuck into a skirt for a chic yet cozy outfit.

4. Fleece-Lined Leggings

Fleece-lined leggings provide extra warmth and comfort, making them ideal for layering under dresses or skirts, or wearing with oversized sweaters on casual days.

Styling Tip: Match with knee-high boots and an oversized sweater for a stylish, comfortable look.

5. Knee-High or Ankle Boots

A good pair of boots is essential for winter, adding both style and practicality to any outfit. Knee-high boots are perfect for dresses and skirts, while ankle boots go well with jeans and trousers.

How to Choose: Opt for neutral colors and quality materials like leather or suede for durability.

6. Versatile Scarves

Scarves not only keep you warm but also add texture and color to your outfits. Go for oversized or blanket scarves in prints like plaid, or classic neutrals that complement your coat.

Pro Tip: Use your scarf as a statement accessory by picking one with a bold pattern or vibrant color.

7. A Quality Pair of Jeans

High-quality jeans are a winter staple that pairs well with everything from chunky knits to coats. Look for a fit that flatters your body type, like high-waisted skinny or straight-leg jeans.

Styling Advice: Tuck into boots or layer with tights underneath on colder days for extra warmth.

8. Warm Beanies and Hats

A beanie or stylish hat adds warmth and completes your winter look. Try chunky knits, wool berets, or even a stylish fedora for different occasions.

How to Style: Match with your scarf or gloves for a coordinated look, or pick a bold color to make a statement.

9. Layering Tees and Long Sleeves

Thin layering tees and long-sleeve shirts are perfect for building warmth under sweaters and coats. Choose neutral colors that work with any outfit.

Styling Tip: Use these as your base layer for extra insulation without adding bulk to your outfit.

10. A Statement Winter Coat

Alongside a classic wool coat, consider adding a statement coat, like a puffer or faux fur, to add variety to your wardrobe. Choose a bold color or unique texture for extra style points.

Pro Style Advice: Let your statement coat be the highlight of your outfit by keeping the rest of your look simple and understated.

Build Your Perfect Winter Wardrobe with These Essentials

With these winter staples in your closet, you’ll have a solid foundation for creating countless outfits that are both functional and fashionable. Invest in quality pieces, and you’ll stay stylish and warm all season long.

What are your winter wardrobe essentials? Share your top picks with #WinterWardrobeEssentials!

[justinforprez]

I dunno we had industrial touchscreens on hundreds of stationary engines. Mind you they had their controls in an insulated cabinet protected from the heat of the engine and they are all resistive touchscreens that work with leather gloves

For me I hate car touchscreens because its inferior

I want dedicated access to HVAC at all times

Electronic door handles are retarded. I also think car windows should have manual cranks as a backup

Old car dials were interesting because they don’t work how you think. They are actually made to hold a value in the middle. If the gauge fails or if a fault condition occurs the needle goes to the side either from the sensor or from gravity pulling the needle down

Chevy have a known problem on their current systems where the check engine light is on all the time and so people learn to ignore it

My old Toyota had a leak in the vapor recovery system. This is just an environmental control that didn’t endanger me or the car and so I ignored it

Analog sensors and gauges and dials are nice because then even if the electronics detect a non-critical issue you know the main functions are okay

Touchscreens do not belong in cars

[sophieblogs2]

Do Leather Gloves Protect From Static Electricity 2025?

For maximum protection: wear protective leather gloves and insulating. The leather can provide an additional layer that protects against cuts, abrasions, and punctures that could damage the , while the provide the necessary protection.