#my range of motion improved

[northern-spies]

Had quite a lot of mushrooms Friday night and managed to stretch so well that a chronic left shoulder issue I've had for almost a decade feels the best it's felt since I injured it. Better than PT, better than massage. Fascinating.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i've started using Just Dance as a workout and well. it's super fun, but i've discovered that i have No Coordination. at all <3 i'm having the time of my life flailing around like a dying fish

[rt8815]

My dentist confirmed what I already suspected, that my right TMJ is bone on bone.

But my teeth are very strong and healthy, so that's...something, at least.

[quaranmine]

yall remember when I fell like a month ago? yeah my hand STILL hurts 😔

[hopetorun]

(cw for blood and injury) so i cut my hand pretty badly the other day and determined after some examination that i didn't want to go to urgent care for stitches so i just washed it off and bandaided it up real good, and then put liquid bandage on it the next day and have been changing the dressings regularly

anyway it's not pulling open and it's not hot to the touch and it's not red and inflamed and it's not itchy so presumably everything's fine but i am extremely fretful about it because i'm fretful about my job starting tomorrow and anxiety loves to stir itself into any available pot

also washing my hair with a nitrile glove on one hand was a very weird experience.

[aprillikesthings]

It’s wild to me that some professionals can just figure this shit out

When I first started training for the Camino something started aching in my hip. I did so much googling trying to figure out the issue but nothing useful came up. So I finally said “fuck this” and paid out of pocket for PT. (Going through my insurance meant waiting six weeks.)

I was lucky and the first PT I saw just watched me walk across the room and back and was like: I see the issue.

You do?!

It was a muscle in my butt—not the gluteus Maximus, one of the little ones under it. My tight hip flexors were making the situation worse.

I got to do a billion bridges and clamshells and weird crab walks. And at my follow ups they loved digging their thumbs into the muscles of my butt (felt GREAT). But it WORKED.

My ankle journey

I am sharing this with all you good people on the dash because I am so fucking mad it took so long for me to learn it and if I can spare one (1) person the agony it will be worth it.

So for like...oh, 8 or 9 months, I've been struggling with pain/inflammation/tendinitis in my left Achilles tendon. I don't know what caused it. It just started up (welcome to middle age, this shit happens). It wasn't severe enough to be debilitating, but it was annoying and limiting. It was also intermittent, in that some days it would be very painful and other days hardly at all. The kind of shoe I was wearing affected it a lot.

Now, I have bone spurs on both heels (it's just a thing that happens as you get older sometimes). I'm also aware that heel pain is usually the result of tight calf muscles that pull and irritate the tendon. I tried stretching that calf muscle. You know the stretch, this bitch right here:

I did it all the time. I also iced the ankle after walking for awhile, hoping to avoid inflammation. Results were...unsatisfying.

I went to:

A chiropractor

A podiatrist

A physical therapist

A bodywork coach

They all gave me some variation on the "strengthen your calf muscle, stretch your calf muscle" advice. I continued doing this without results.

I was getting frustrated, and a little afraid that this was just my life now. Finally, I thought...maybe some targeted massage might help. I asked for rec on a local FB site and was pointed to a woman who specializes in therapeutic massage including cupping, etc.

I went to her a week ago.

She spent over half our first session working on my left lower leg. Within about 10 minutes of making my eyes water, she uttered the sentence I did not know I had been waiting to hear:

"Oh, it's your soleus."

Excuse me, what?

"It's your soleus that's the culprit. It's all tied up and stiff." She started digging into it and I felt literal sparks run up my leg as she released adhesions and got the muscle moving a little. When she finally put the leg down, it felt like it was on fire with all the blood rushing into it.

She said, "You'll need to stretch your soleus. It'll clear up, but it'll take a bit of time - tendons take ages to heal."

But I HAVE been stretching.

"No, you haven't. The usual straight-leg calf stretch only stretches the gastrocnemius, that's the big belly muscle in your calf. That's not your problem. That stretch doesn't stretch the soleus. Don't worry, I'll show you how to stretch it."

My mind is spinning.

So here are the muscles in question:

The gastroc (as the pros call it) just attaches down the back but the soleus runs underneath it from the knee around the side to the heel. The lower part above the ankle is where it typically gets tight and forms adhesions.

To stretch it, you do the same calf thing where you put your foot back and press your heel to the ground, but you have to do it with your KNEE BENT:

The bent knee keeps the gastroc from engaging. It's one of those selfish muscles (like traps) - if you give it an inch, it'll just take over and prevent other muscles from working or stretching. There are other ways to stretch the soleus but this is the easiest and you can literally do it anywhere. I've been doing it while standing and waiting for things (the elevator to come, the toast to toast). You just put the heel back and bend the knee. It's kind of like curtseying.

The minute I did this stretch, I could FEEL where it was pulling on my tendon. I knew that THIS had been the problem.

The massage therapist also told me to stop icing my heel. She said icing is for an acute injury, but a more chronic aggravation needs heat, to increase blood flow for healing. She recommended elevation with heat every day (I've been doing it in bed during "phone before bed" time).

I have been doing the soleus stretch at least half a dozen times a day for almost a week, and the ankle is at least 70% better. It is still a little tight and tender, but the improvement is significant. I think a few more weeks will have it feeling normal.

I am...blown away by this. This massage therapist was able to pinpoint an issue in only a few minutes that eluded all the other professionals I saw. I can't wait to go back to her and have her solve all my other problems, tbh.

[howtofightwrite]

Is it possible for a character who is 18cm shorter and not as muscled as their opponent to pin said opponent to the ground in a few calculated moves? Both characters are fit and exercise regularly, but the shorter character has trained in various martial arts (with and without weapons) and the taller one is more proficient in sword duelling. My intent is to write a sparring scene where the shorter character humbles the (overconfident) taller one. Any specific martial arts I should look at?

So... being shorter doesn't matter. In fact, in this situation, it is an advantage.

I'm going to point out here that if you're not careful, your character that you want to have a badass moment is going to look like an complete asshole because they are humiliating another character who they actually are better than. If they haven't been trading off humiliations to build tension (safely so no one gets hurt) then you're going to have a lopsided “sparring” session. Or, you will, if you haven't been building up your narrative to support the humbling. (And there is a lot that goes into these scenes to make them work, which, if you're not familiar with how martial arts training works then you'll approach it from the wrong mindset and hit Starke's pet peeve.)

Let's hit the ground running with the high points:

Sparring is not dueling.

Sparring is not play fighting.

Sparring is not so you can humiliate your opponent.

Sparring is not about fighting anyone or anything.

Sparring is a training exercise so that both of you can work on improving specific techniques.

Do people in real life get carried away sparring? Yes, they do. Are they complete competitive idiots about it? Yes, they are. Do they get punished for it? Absolutely, they do. This is especially true where they'll be expected to put their lives on the line. Treating violence like a game is detrimental, and leaves the trainee ill-prepared for dealing with real danger when in the field. Make no mistake, that is exactly the mindset you are describing in this question. Your characters (at least your minor ones, the trainers in this situation if your leads are too young or too dumb to comprehend their reality) should care about stomping this attitude out. And you as the author should to. Why? Because if you don't take the violence in your narrative seriously neither will your audience.

There are rules, as a writer it's imperative you establish the rules (and there no rules means you haven't established them for violence in your setting and therefore won't be able to establish the baseline that can be built upon later) and one of the rules is that you're not going to spar someone with a weapon (wood or otherwise) unless you both have weapons. There's not a lot of value in having one character spar with a weapon and one spar without one unless it's a knife, and the point is learning the dangers of knife fighting. And knives make sense because they are in the same distance range as fists. Swords are in a completely separate distance category. They are mid-range weapons.

You don't practice disarms by sparring, you practice disarms by practicing disarms in a controlled setting where you're repeating the motion over and over. Can you humiliate a person by being good at practice disarms? Yes. You do it by being a complete dick. It also requires the character in question to be better at the moves in question than the other character performing them because they need to be able to confidently, or at least believe they can, counter the other person's growing anger while taking the move a step further or two than they're supposed to. It also means they can get away with it without arousing the suspicions of their instructor (or act with their instructors approval) and no one gets hurt. (We hope.) For a character to do this is a sign of overconfidence, FYI. As is trying to humiliate someone in a sparring session. The characters that are good enough? They don't do it.

In fiction, good sparring scenes serve one real purpose. They establish a baseline of skill in safe setting so the audience becomes comfortable only for that to be disrupted and thrown into chaos when the characters encounter real violence. There's two paths for this. Either the character is a big winner only to be brutally beaten later, or they get dumped on their ass to find that they're actually much better prepared than they thought later when it matters. That's why so many stories with these scenes dump their MC on their ass, especially in any Wuxia or Shounen manga. This is because the authors of these stories understand that sparring has no reflection on how well a person will do when they're allowed out of the training safe space. If your baseline is: my character is awesome. Then it's all downhill from that point on.

Say it with me, Losses Create Tension. If your character is winning all the time, you have no tension and your fight scenes will be boring. The goal when it comes to creating a character who is good at fighting is to make other characters look better. Or, from an antagonistic/mentor point they exist to establish the height our MCs must eventually reach/how much further they have to go in their journey. Kakashi's fight with Zabuza or the first fight between Itachi and Sasuke in Naruto are both great examples of how to do this well.

I'm not saying you can't write a sparring scene like the one you intend. I can't tell you to do anything, what I want to you to start doing is considering the implications of the scene, what it may say about your world and characters that you didn't intend, and it's overall impact on the whole of your narrative. Narrative gratification here is work you'll need to do to build back your tension later. Is it a win your MC can afford?

Now, you can look at any martial art that has a ground fighting component for what you want to do unless you're planning on having the duelist spar with their sword. If you want that, you're going to have to do a lot more work with a smaller pool. This will be doubly true if your characters are of European descent and you want to avoid the East Asian martial art styles.

Type: “how do you knock your opponent off balance?” into Google and you'll find a lot of variations.

The basic concept behind putting someone on the ground isn't strength, it's balance. The key is disrupting your opponent's balance. If you're skilled enough or your opponent's footwork is bad enough, it can be done in a single move. In fact, it can be done a variety of different ways from a variety of different moves from countless different martial arts. The question isn't can it be done, the question is how does your character want to do it? The fact they are short only helps them because their center of gravity will be lower than their opponent's, they don't have to work as hard to maintain their balance, their stance doesn't have to be as deep, and they will have an easier time knocking a taller person over. Most people who've never practiced martial arts have no idea how foundational the footwork is or how important the feet are to staying upright.

I personally like reviewing Silat for studying balance, not necessarily for techniques, but because I find their instruction on the concept easy to grasp/digest. They do the string on the top of the head and the balance triangle, which if you can wrap your mind around that you'll be able to conceptualize fight scenes where the character focuses on knocking an opponent off balance better. 

The above is a more advanced video, but if you have no martial arts background or even a sports background whatsoever then you want to aim for instructional videos that focus on concepts over techniques. The advice is always write what you know and if you don't know learn. Copying techniques onto the page won't create a great fight scene. Understanding the concept, philosophy, and basic body mechanics behind the techniques will get you much further. None of them are stand ins for real experience or doing it yourself. If you really want to be good at it, find a martial art you like, find a school nearby, and invest the time.

All of your characters' martial arts moves (whether they are dueling with a sword or fighting hand to hand) function around the body's center of gravity. Your center of gravity is slightly above your hips and in your core muscles i.e your abdominal muscles. They will be trained so maintaining their balance is second nature. When martial artists talk about overextending, they're talking about putting your weight past your balance point which puts you in danger of losing your balance/falling over or being grabbed, kicked, etc and getting thrown, tripped, or forced into a fall. This can happen when you're throwing a punch, doing a kick, lunging with your sword, or doing any other sort of movement. You end up in a position where your balance between your front and back leg is destabilized, which creates the opening for your opponent to throw you. Or when you fall over on the ice, because that happens too.

Some other martial arts to turn to:

Judo

Jiu Jutsu

Aikido

Baguazhang (Seen in Avatar the Last Airbender as the basis for Air Bending)

Tai Chi Chuan

Northern Shaolin

Taekwondo (if you want to do it via kicks, all kicking martial arts innately focus on balance)

Krav Maga

Ninjutsu

The list goes on.

I also recommend dipping your toes into live action martial arts flicks to start getting yourself accustomed to more complex choreography. This is getting yourself out of the animated space (like in anime) and into the space where you have to watch a live person perform the techniques. Asian cinema has a different choreography style than the US does, because there are different cultural expectations. Overall, the choreography is more intricate and they break the action down a lot more (as opposed to American media where they zoom out to cover for the stunt double.) It's easier to see how the bodies are working and they put a lot more focus on destabilizing balance as part of the fight sequences. Hollywood doesn't get into the weird martial arts shit unless it's an actual martial arts action film. You can also do an Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra deep dive because the action there is also usually on point, but I'm a proponent of going to the source when you want to learn something. So, you know watch Alchemy of Souls instead.

-Michi

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[zerun0]

"More Than Flesh" —Trans!Viktor x Y/N (Female)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I am more than happy to receive suggestions, and advice on how to improve my work. — ! WARNING NSFW(+18): ! — Sexual themes, FTM, Trans!Viktor, Sex, Flirting, Making out, Teasing, Strap on, Vaginal. — Word count: — 2.5k (Full uncut version on AO3)

The golden light of a Piltovian morning poured into Viktor’s academy dormitory, casting long beams across the desk cluttered with blueprints, notebooks, and mechanical parts. His side of the room was as orderly as his mind, each piece meticulously placed, yet the evidence of late-night brainstorming sessions was everywhere.

A crumpled scrap of paper here, a half-finished sketch pinned haphazardly there. The faint scent of ink, metal, and oil lingered in the air, mingling with the cool freshness of the morning.

You sat cross legged on the edge of Viktor’s bed, holding the tube of testosterone gel in your hands. He stood near the window, shirtless, letting the morning sun warm his skin. His chest bore the faint, pale lines of his top surgery scars, a quiet testament to the journey he’d undertaken to become himself. The scars didn’t take away from his sharp beauty; they added to it, each line a piece of his story. You couldn’t help but, Admire him. “You’ve been staring,”— Viktor teased, his accented voice carrying a warmth that broke the stillness. He glanced over his shoulder at you, a playful smile touching his lips. — “Have I suddenly become fascinating?”

“Always” — You said, patting the space in front of you. — “...You have always been”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he moved toward you with a slight limp, his cane tapping softly against the floor. Viktor rarely asked for help, but in these small, quiet moments, he trusted you without hesitation. He settled onto the bed facing you, the sunlight catching the faint freckles on his shoulders.

“You could probably manage this yourself,” — you said, squeezing a small drop of the gel onto your fingers, — “but where’s the fun in that without my top-notch care?” Viktor huffed a quiet laugh, leaning forward slightly to give you better access. — “I’m not certain what I’d do without your boundless expertise,” — he said, his tone teasing but affectionate.

Gently, you spread the gel across the top of his shoulders, making sure to wear gloves of course, your fingers gliding over his skin with care. His shoulders tensed briefly at the coolness of the gel before relaxing under your touch.

You worked in slow, even strokes, mindful of applying it evenly. You couldn’t help but linger there for a moment, tracing the lines with reverence, you didn’t try to hide your soft gaze upon his scars, they are beautiful.

So beautiful… “You’re staring again,” — Viktor murmured, his voice softer this time.

“Can you blame me?” — you replied, pressing your palm flat against his chest for a moment, grounding him and yourself in the connection. — “These are part of you, Viktor. Every bit of you is worth admiring.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the faintest smile curving his lips. — “You’re hopeless,” — he said, though the words were filled with warmth.

“Hopelessly in love,” — you corrected, reaching for a tissue to wipe your hands. — “Alright, all set. Don’t put your shirt on for a bit, okay?”

“Do I look so impatient?” — he asked, standing slowly, steadying himself with his cane. He stretched his arms a little, testing his range of motion.

“Not impatient, just eager to get back to saving the world,” — you teased, leaning back on your hands as you watched him move to the window. Viktor stood there for a moment, the golden light catching the faint sheen of the gel still drying on his shoulders. His profile was striking, the curve of his jaw, the softness in his lips, and the quiet confidence that lingered in his every movement.

“You give me far too much credit,” — he murmured, his voice low, almost as if he were speaking to himself. He glanced over his shoulder at you, his gaze warm and lingering. — “You’re the one who makes any of it feel... worth it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, tugging at something deep inside you. Rising from the bed, you crossed the room to him, your steps unhurried but purposeful. When you reached him, you slid your arms around his waist from behind, resting your palms on his stomach and leaning into the warmth of his back. Viktor stiffened briefly, more out of habit than discomfort, before melting into your touch.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” — you whispered.

He exhaled softly, one hand coming to rest atop yours where it lay against his stomach. — “You always find the words to disarm me,” — he admitted, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely let show. He turned slightly in your embrace, his golden eyes locking onto yours. — “How do you manage that?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” — you murmured, your voice barely above a breath. You raised your hand to trace the faint line of his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek as you leaned in closer. — “Every time I look at you, I feel like I��m the one who’s been undone.”

Viktor tilted his head, leaning into your touch, his eyes half-lidded as his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips. — “Then perhaps we’re equally guilty,” — he said softly, his voice a low murmur.

Your breath hitched as his fingers, calloused from hours of tinkering, caressed the side of your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss, when it came, was slow and deliberate, the kind that unraveled you bit by bit. Viktor wasn’t the type to rush; his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your knees feel weak. His free hand found your waist, steadying you, his touch firm yet, so gentle.

The sensation of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, the faint scars beneath your fingers grounding you in the reality of this moment.

Delicately, he walked you backward until the edge of the bed pressed against the backs of your thighs. His kisses trailed down your jaw, then to the soft curve of your neck. He paused there, his breath warm against your skin as he lingered, his nose brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. The way he held you, firm yet so achingly careful, made your chest swell with desire, love, trust, and the understanding that this moment was as significant to him as it was to you.

As you sank down onto the bed, Viktor placed his cane aside and followed, his movements deliberate, as if savoring every second. His weight settled gently over you, his hands bracketing your sides, his gaze fixed on you with intensity. The sunlight streaming through the window painted his features in soft gold, highlighting the faint freckles across his nose and the sheen of his top surgery scars.

Your fingers found the waistband of his pants, hesitating slightly. Viktor’s hand covered yours, his touch steady as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Slow,” — he murmured, his voice a quiet plea. — “I want to savor this.”

You nodded, your chest tightening from the tenderness in his words. Together, you moved in a silent accord, peeling away the layers of fabric that separated you. Each piece of clothing removed felt like shedding the weight of the world. Now bare and unguarded, your hands roamed over his body, tracing his hips, then down the gentle line of his clit. He shivered under your touch.

Viktor leaned into you, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes, molten gold in the dim light, searched yours with a mixture of trust and vulnerability. He whispered, his voice low, — “You don’t have to rush... do only what you’re comfortable with.”

“Viktor,” — you said softly, cupping his face with both hands. — “This is about both of us. I want to love all of you…, if you’re ready.”

His lips parted slightly, and he nodded, the corners of his mouth curving into a faint, shy smile. — “With you... I am.”

You smooched him, then reached to the bedside drawer, where the two of you had stored the strap and some lubricant you’d discussed before. Viktor had been nervous at first, self-conscious about being exposed in this way. But he trusted you, and the way he watched you now, steady and focused, made your heart swell.

You reached out to brush your fingers against his cheek, your touch light as a feather. — “Let me help,” — you whispered.

He nodded again, his breath hitching slightly as you moved with careful intention. Your fingers tremble slightly as you moisturize both parts of the strap.

You helped him fit the toy into place, its inner part blending with ease inside his cunt, as Viktor muffed his moans with his bare hands. The outer part was secured by the straps around his hips. Once everything was adjusted, he leaned against the pillows, gaze locked on yours, filled with a mix of anticipation and affection.

“How does it feel?” —you asked softly, your hand resting on his thigh, offering him a moment to acclimate.

He exhaled slowly, his lips curving into a faint, nervous smile. — “Strange,” —he admitted, his accent thickened by his nerves.— “But... good. It feels good.”

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and deliberate, as if to remind him that you were here with him, every step of the way. His hands slid to your waist as you kissed, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. The warmth of his skin beneath your palms, was a contrast to the cold and moist piece on his strap.

Viktor’s hands guided your movements, lifting you slightly so he could position himself. You both paused for a moment, your foreheads touching as you breathed in unison.

As you lowered yourself onto him, the sensation was slow and deliberate, each movement measured, as if you were discovering a new language together. Viktor’s breath hitched sharply, his hands steadying you as you adjusted to the new sensation. His golden eyes flicked to yours, searching for any sign of discomfort, but all he found was the same love and desire reflected back at him.

“It’s cold, but… It feels good” — you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you began to move, finding a rhythm together.

Viktor’s response was a quiet moan, his hands guiding your hips as you moved. As the inner part moved inside his cunt in synchrony to the outer part inside yours.

“You’re beautiful,” —he murmured, his voice trembling as his lips found your collarbone, pressing kisses to your skin. — “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You cupped his face, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to meet your gaze. —“You deserve everything, Viktor,” you said firmly, voice full of conviction. —“And I love you.”

“I love you too” — He replied with no hesitation, as you continued to ride on his lap, driving you both to madness, to ecstasy, to your limits. — “Darling…”

You stopped riding his lap, your body trembled, craving more, so much more. You looked up at Viktor, your eyes searching his, silently asking for what you both needed.

“Lay back,” — Viktor murmured against your lips, his voice low and breathy, yet laced with determination.

You nodded, allowing him to guide you with a careful but steady touch. Viktor shifted, gently easing you into the bed while he followed, his weight pressing down against you just enough to be grounding but never overwhelming. His hand trailed down your side, fingers brushing over the curve of your waist as he adjusted himself between your thighs.

“Is this okay?” — he asked, his gaze searching yours even as his hand came to rest on your thigh.

“Perfect,” — you whispered, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

He adjusted his hips slightly, the toy now perfectly positioned as he guided himself into you once more. The new angle made you gasp softly, the sensation intense yet intoxicating. Viktor’s head dipped to your neck, his lips brushing along your skin as he began to move.

Viktor’s hands found yours, his fingers interlocking with yours as he pressed them against the bed. — “Tell me how you feel,”— he murmured against your neck.

“Like I never want this to end,” —you replied, breathless as you tilted your head to give him better access.

He groaned softly at your words, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. As he moved, the pace quickened slightly, his confidence growing with every sound you made. The room was filled with the quiet symphony of your moans, your shared breaths, soft gasps, and the gentle creak of the bed beneath you.

You arched your back, your body pressing against his as the tension between you built higher and higher. Viktor released one of your hands, sliding his palm down to rest on your thigh, lifting your leg slightly to deepen the angle. The shift sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you cried out.

The sound seemed to spur him on, his movements becoming more deliberate, each thrust drawing you closer to the edge. His lips found yours again, his kiss hungry and consuming. “Vik, I love you, I love you so much,” —you breathed, your words mingling with his senseless whispers as the tension finally snapped, sending you both tumbling over the edge together.

Viktor’s movements slowed as he rode out the waves of your release, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. When he finally stilled, he stayed there, body pressing into yours.

After a moment, he shifted, removing himself from your insides as he rolled onto his side and pulled you with him so you were tucked against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his hand stroking your back gently as the two of you caught your breath.

“You’re remarkable,” — Viktor murmured, his lips caressing your temple. —“You make me feel... like I can be myself, completely.”

You looked up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. — “That’s all I ever want, for you to feel safe…”

He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his chin atop your head. As the quiet of the room enveloped you both. Wrapped in Viktor’s embrace, you felt an overwhelming sense of contentment, knowing that this moment, like the love you shared, was truly one of a kind.

After a few beats of comfortable silence, Viktor's fingers, playful as ever, gently caressing against your side. You flinched at the sudden sensation, giggling as you squirmed. —“Viktor, stop!” — you laughed, but his fingers only found a new, ticklish spot along your ribs.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” — he said, voice dripping with mischief. —“Did I tickle you?” — His grin widened as he gently pinned your arms, his lips stroking over your cheek as he peppered tiny kisses along your skin, causing your laughter to bubble up uncontrollably.

Between gasps for breath, you managed to wiggle free and lock your arms around his neck, pulling him closer for a kiss that was as soft and teasing as the moment itself.

Finally, after a breathless pause, you smiled and pulled back slightly, your eyes sparkling with affection. —“Can we get coffee now?” — you asked, your voice light and sweet.

“Anything you want,” — Viktor agreed, his voice low and affectionate, as he took a nibble of your ear.

— Thank you for my friends R&S for helping me out with this one —— The Hexstrap is real —

[sirfrogsworth]

Frogman's Camera Buying Guide

A few weeks ago someone asked if I could recommend an interchangeable lens camera (ILC) to supplement their smartphone photos and hopefully get better pictures of important things like vacations and pets.

I decided to go very extra with my response and due to that... I'm still not finished with it.

I'm worried I am letting this person down because they did not ask for a giant post explaining every detail about cameras in the history of forever.

So I am going to do a camera recommendation post without as much explanation and hopefully I can finish the giant post at some point in the near future.

If you want to take better pictures you are probably going to need a camera with a decent sized sensor, a fast lens, a tripod, and a flash.

The bigger sensor gives you more dynamic range so you can capture brighter and darker things in the photo.

A fast lens has a giant hole in the front that lets in a ton of light. That hole is called the aperture and the bigger it is, the better your photos in dark environments will be. So you will want something that does f/1.8 or f/1.4 (lower f-stop number = bigger hole = more light). This can also help you get a lot of cool background blur.

A tripod will help get you longer exposures without any blur from camera shake. Especially good for landscape photos.

And a flash is for taking photos of pets and other moving subjects when you are indoors and don't have a lot of light. A flash is an absolute game changer for indoor photos.

HOWEVER, never point it directly at your subject.

Point it at a large white ceiling or wall. The flash happens so fast that it freezes motion. It is how I got all of my indoor photos of Otis.

Here he was playing and being rambunctious and he is not blurry.

I used no special settings. I just stuck on a flash and pointed it at the ceiling and suddenly sheep are sticking to things.

Oh, and one other huge benefit of using a flash... you can take much better photos of pets with dark fur. So if you have a cute little void in your home, a flash can help you capture detail in their fur.

Just lift the shadow slider in your image editor and that beautiful fur will reveal itself.

If you get an ETTL or TTL flash, it will output the correct amount of light automatically. You can literally just put your camera in automatic mode, aim the flash at the ceiling, and press the shutter button.

Before I talk about recommendations I want to make one thing very clear.

GETTING A GIANT CAMERA WILL NOT AUTOMATICALLY GIVE YOU BETTER PHOTOS.

Aside from my flash aimed at the ceiling trick, a big boy camera is not a magic solution for better photos. In some cases, you might actually get *worse* photos than your smartphone. You need to learn the basic fundamentals of photography and you also need to learn some basic photo editing skills.

Smartphones employ powerful algorithms and computational processes to make every photo you take look as good as possible.

ILCs say, "Here is your RAW data, you figure out the rest."

You don't have to become an expert, but if you watch this free 6 hour photography course, that will ensure you have the knowledge needed to improve your photos.

Okay, let's get into the nitty gritty of buying a nice new old ILC.

If you are on a tight budget and cannot afford a fancy mirrorless camera, I would highly suggest a used DSLR. You can get them for very reasonable prices. And unlike just about every other modern technological gadget, cameras and lenses are built to last for decades. So I have no qualms about recommending used photography gear.

However, I do highly recommend using either KEH or MPB, as they have a long trial period and decent customer service. If something goes awry with your used gear, KEH has a 180 day warranty and MPB has a 6 month warranty. So there is much less of a risk than eBay or Facebook Marketplace. You pay a bit of overhead, but the piece of mind is worth it.

Before I start my recommendations I want to quickly explain the difference between APS-C and Full Frame camera bodies. (For brevity's sake I am going to omit Micro Four Thirds bodies as they are not typically geared toward beginner photography.)

APS-C has a "crop" sensor. It is a bit smaller than full frame and does not perform as well in low light (more noise). However these bodies are cheaper and can still produce great photos. You can see above the sensor is still significantly larger than a smartphone. APS-C adds a 1.5x zoom to all lenses. This can be annoying in small spaces but advantageous for outdoor photography like wildlife and sports. You can use full frame lenses on a crop sensor body (within the same brand). APS-C lenses are usually cheaper but of lower quality.

Full frame has a larger sensor that will give you less noise in low light. It is also much easier to get background blur. Full frame also allows you to work in more cramped spaces. You *cannot* use APS-C lenses on a full frame body. However, the lenses meant for full frame cameras tend to be better quality in general.

If you can save up a little more and get a full frame body, I would recommend it. These bodies used to be geared more toward professional use, but since mirrorless cameras became popular, used full frame DSLRs have become much more accessible to those on a budget. Full frame cameras make it easier to get better results in challenging circumstances. And challenging conditions are really the main area where ILCs still kick a smartphone's ass.

For tight budgets I would recommend the following...

Canon or Nikon APS-C DSLR camera body

50mm f/1.8 lens (Nifty Fifty)

18-55mm APS-C lens (good for landscapes and portraits)

Yongnuo ETTL Flash

There are lenses called "superzooms" which can go from (as an example) 18-200mm or 70-300mm and other crazy focal lengths. That sounds fantastic and very versatile... but these are usually utter shite. You may be tempted to get one of these lenses hoping it can do everything you need, but there are no free lunches in lens land. Unless you are spending many thousands of dollars, the wider the focal range, the worse the lens will be.

When you stick to the 18-55mm range, you can be assured the images will be decent. And if you find yourself really needing a telephoto lens, you can save up and add it to your collection later on. The 18-55 will give you wide angle for landscapes all the way to slightly telephoto for portraits and moderately close wildlife. This lens cannot be used indoors or at night without a flash. Which is why I recommend the Nifty Fifty for that purpose. $100 for a moderately sharp low light lens is a no brainer.

Also, stick to Canon, Nikon, Sigma, or Tamron lenses. You can try exotic 3rd party lens brands when you know more what you are doing. And always make sure the lens has autofocus before buying.

It's hard to give you exact recommendations as used items are not reliably in stock. So I'm going to show you an example of the above, but I am not necessarily saying you should buy this *exact* combination. You might be able to get something similar with Nikon as well.

Canon 60D APS-C DSLR

50mm f/1.8 lens

Canon 18-55mm APS-C lens (EF-S mount)

Yongnuo TTL Flash

(I wouldn't recommend getting a used flash, as the Yongnuo is already a great price and you can't know if someone used the flash 100,000 times or 20 times.)

Altogether that is about $500. You can start with the 60D and the 50mm Nifty Fifty for $330 and add on the other two items later on.

My recommended full frame setup...

Full frame Canon or Nikon DSLR body

50mm f/1.8 lens (same as before)

24-70mm full frame zoom lens (full frame equivalent to 18-55mm)

ETTL Yongnuo flash (same as before)

And an example from KEH might be...

Canon 6D Full Frame DSLR

Canon 50mm f/1.8 Lens

Sigma 24-70mm Full Frame Zoom lens (EF mount)

Yonguo ETTL Flash

And that would be about $800 total.

Again, you can start with just the camera and 50mm lens and add the other items later. So invest $500 initially and go from there.

And just to give a Nikon example as well...

Nikon D600 Full Frame DSLR

Nikon 50mm f/1.8 Lens

Tamron 24-70mm

Yonguo ETTL Flash (Nikon version)

I highly recommend researching any camera body and lens before purchase. I can vouch for the items above, but you should definitely check out some YouTube videos before buying.

All of the stuff on KEH and MBP is marked down in price for aesthetic reasons. They do test everything to make sure it is functional. If you care if the camera or lens looks pristine, it will cost a little extra. But if you don't mind if it is beat to hell, you can save some money. Ugly or not, you will get the same photos out of the gear. As I said, photography stuff is built to last for a long time. Almost all repairs are due to user damage and not defects. And usually defects manifest when the product is brand new.

Oh, I forgot about the tripod!

Amazon's $35 tripod is surprisingly decent. It even got a good review on a very picky tripod review site. I recommend starting with this and then upgrading when you know more what you need out of a tripod.

Amazon 60 inch Tripod

I worry I'm leaving out a lot of important information, but hopefully I can expand in the other post I am working on.

That said, if anyone is thinking of buying a camera and you are not sure about the items you selected, please feel free to message me and I will help you assess your choices. Please make sure you include a budget range when asking for buying advice.

I hope that helps. I will try to finish the more in depth post soon. And it will include tips for how to get better photos from your smartphone if you cannot afford an ILC at the moment.

Further resources...

Recipe for Landscape Photos Froggie's Encyclopedia of Lens Terms

[cuubism]

physical therapy, part 5

--

Dream has been working with the modelling clay. Hob was right, it is more soothing and enjoyable than simple exercises, which mostly serve to remind him of his deficits. With the clay, he can make small figurines, and has been making cats and birds of all colors, firing them in the oven and arraying them on top of the kitchen cabinets. They add a few more small spots of color to the gray tones of his flat.

He has also been painting again, trying out a new technique with a larger brush that is easier to hold. It is strange, to work in broad swathes of color instead of the tiny details he is used to. But. Interesting. It makes him think more in shapes and general shades, the simple layering of light.

He is painting cats again. He has always wanted a cat, but some instinct always stopped him from following through. Now, he thinks that deep down, he had been afraid of what might befall it. His home had not been safe for a small animal. Nor for Dream.

This cat, he thinks, is mischievous and clever. He thinks he might give the painting to Hob, except it is not yet done.

For now, he goes, nerves prickling in his stomach, to the coffee shop Hob had suggested. He has not dated someone new in a long time. He is not certain what he is supposed to do. He does not know how to impress Hob. He does not know how to make Hob want him.

At least he can be assured that his current imperfections will not be a problem. Hob already knows about them. He already knows about a lot of things that are wrong with Dream.

Still, he dresses in one of his nicest outfits--it's new, actually, like most of his clothes, but he likes it nevertheless. Hopefully Hob will as well.

He goes to the cafe. He is a bit late, after dithering nervously outside for some time, and so Hob is already waiting for him. He looks uncertain, but then brightens when he spots Dream.

He looks... nice. Dream is used to seeing him in athletic wear. Now, he is in dark jeans and a jumper that looks very warm and soft. His hair is loose instead of tied back; Dream hadn't realized how long it actually was. He wonders, as he walks over, if Hob might hug him again.

And then he does. He pulls Dream into his arms without hesitation, and his body is very solid, his jumper, indeed, very soft. Dream makes a quiet, wanting noise, and Hob only squeezes him tighter.

"Hi, darling," he says. "You look lovely." Darling. For having expressed that he doesn't want to move too fast, he is being rather generously affectionate in how he treats Dream.

"Hello," Dream says quietly, and then Hob bids him sit down while he orders coffee and pastries for them, because he is apparently determined to be chivalrous. He's also sat them in the corner of the room. Kind. Considerate. All things Dream's ex had never been. He wonders if he should have expected such treatment all along.

Hob returns with coffee and some sort of small quiche-like pastries for them. Dream rather tends towards sweets but he has also not recently consumed anything that could be considered as having "nutritional value"--packaged biscuits hardly count--and so he considers this good judgement.

Dream takes a sip of his coffee. This, at least, is gratifyingly sweet. Then he says, "I have something for you."

His painting is not yet ready, but he's brought a tiny figurine for Hob. He passes Hob the tiny cat from his bag. It's one of the more elaborate ones, mixed blue and red clay in a tuxedo pattern. Hob smiles as he takes it. "You made that from the clay?"

"I made many. They are parading about my flat."

"Good." Hob sets the little cat on the table by his coffee. "How's the hand?"

This time Dream shows him without hesitation. Hob takes his hand, nodding in approval when Dream demonstrates the range of motion.

"I still fear it is not quite right," Dream admits, though he can concede that it is much improved, and rarely hurts at all now.

"Patience," Hob says, though not without sympathy. He is right, of course, only Dream is... a bit frustrated. When it had first happened, he had mostly been... numb. Then, for a while, hurt. Confused. It is only months later, and perhaps because Hob's kindness has been illuminating, that something hotter, more like anger has trickled in. Anger with his ex, perhaps, though that is still strange to feel. Anger mostly with himself, for not seeing it. Frustration that he has gotten himself into this.

But he tries to put it aside for now. He wants to enjoy being with Hob.

Only... "I confess that... I do not quite know how to do this," he says, with some hesitance.

"This?" Hob asks.

"Dating. If that is what we are doing."

"Is that what you want?"

Hesitantly, Dream nods. It is. He thinks that perhaps Hob was right, and the more reasonable decision would be to wait longer. He thinks that if he hadn't met Hob, he would not have dated for a very long time, indeed. But it feels so monumental to accept what he wants. And... good. Tentatively.

"Okay, then," Hob agrees.

"You... have not told me what you want," Dream points out.

Hob chuckles, wincing. "Ouch, you're right. Well, I wanted to hear it from you first, anyway." He's still holding Dream's hand, and squeezes it lightly. "Yes, of course I want to date you. I thought you were so pretty from the moment I first saw you. Didn't say it then, for obvious reasons. And on top of that, I think you're lovely all around, and a fabulous artist, and I admire so much how you've picked yourself back up."

"You do not know everything about me," Dream says, though truly he's stuck on pretty, lovely.

"...That's the point of dating."

Oh. Perhaps it is.

Well, if they are doing compliments, he can play, too. "I think you are very kind. And quite good with your hands."

Hob laughs, and Dream feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He... did not actually mean it to be innuendo, but perhaps he does not mind so much if it is.

"Well, thank you," Hob says, which only makes Dream blush more.

Mercifully, Hob changes the subject by pushing one of the little quiches across the table toward him. "Try this. They're really good here."

Dream has not yet explored this neighborhood much. His prior flat had been on the other side of the city. He will have to take Hob's word for what is worth trying.

He picks up his fork--alas, another test of his dexterity, though not so ambitious as chopsticks--and takes a bite of the quiche.

It is good, egg and cheese and spinach, and the crust is so flaky he loses some of the crumbs and has to lick his lower lip to catch them. Hob watches him, half merely fond, half tracking the swipe of his tongue. But when Dream meets his eyes again he just smiles brightly.

"It is very good," Dream confirms, "especially considering my recent diet has consisted mainly of biscuits."

This makes Hob laugh. "I'll have to cook for you some time, then. Can't have you living like that."

He's kind and handsome and he can cook. What a catch. It sounds like Desire's voice. Unlike your last one, hm, Dream? The thought is fond rather than annoyed, though, not least because he's now forced to agree. Desire had never liked his ex-boyfriend, but based on their general track record Dream hadn't been particularly inclined to listen to their advice. But Desire has always had a more intuitive sense of people than he has.

"I would like that," he says, and Hob beams. He is easy to please. It's a welcome contrast.

Over the course of the date he manages to learn more about Hob, outside of his work as a physical therapist. He goes to the gym a lot, which Dream probably could have predicted. Perhaps he will see if he can tag along some time. Exercise is not exactly his strong suit but he thinks he might like to be... stronger. So that if someone comes at him again, he could escape.

He also learns that Hob wants kids but hasn't pursued it strongly as he cares more about having the right partner. It's something that Dream wants, too, but had always been hesitant and nervous about in his prior relationship, even more deeply than his instinctive hesitance about having a pet. He remembers at one point feeling grateful that he was not a person who could become pregnant. Which. Should probably have been a red flag. In retrospect.

He's realizing a lot of things in retrospect.

Overall Hob's life seems very... stable and consistent. Which is perhaps what Dream needs right now.

Partway through the afternoon, Hob stops and says, "You seem cold."

Dream is, perhaps, slightly regretting how thin his shirt is. It is not quite summer, yet. But it does look good, and that had felt more important when he was getting dressed.

"I suppose," he admits, "but it is--"

Hob is already pulling off his jumper and handing it to him. Dream stares at him incredulously, but finally, hesitantly, takes it. "You will be cold," he says.

"Nah. I run hot anyway."

So Dream puts the jumper on, and the corners of Hob's eyes crinkle as he smiles, and Dream wonders if perhaps giving it to Dream is bringing Hob more joy than being properly protected against the cold.

"Thank you," he says, twisting his hands in the sleeves. It really is very soft, and warmed by Hob's body. And. He finds that it is making him happy. Not only being warmer. But that Hob wanted to make him feel warmer.

Later on, Hob walks Dream home again. At his door, Hob leans in to kiss his cheek, as he had once before--but Dream turns his head and catches his lips instead. He can't help it. Hob laughs, but lets him, holding Dream's face between his hands, kissing him light and sweet, but with definite banked intent. It stirs something low in Dream's belly, and he makes a happy sound against Hob's lips.

He almost wants to invite Hob in, but senses it might be a bad idea, and that Hob would likely decline anyway. Another time. And maybe by then Dream will have his flat looking more like someone actually lives there.

"Your jumper," he realizes, as Hob pulls away. He's still wearing it.

"Keep it," Hob tells him, then grins. "Until you see me again."

He truly does have a way of drawing Dream in again and again, without ever truly making him feel pulled.

"Soon, then, so you won't freeze," Dream says, and Hob laughs.

"Soon," he agrees. Then, as usual, "Goodnight, Dream."

It is not quite night, but it still feels a fitting send off.

"Goodnight," Dream murmurs, once Hob's gone. Tucks his nose into Hob's jumper, taking in his scent. Then retreats back into his flat.

[hangmanssunnies]

Green, Green, Green

Summary: You haven't had a very good Saint Patrick's Day. Somehow your neighbor Jake "Hangman" Seresin makes it all better, and also so much worse.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 2k

AO3 link

Warnings: Pining, Unrequited crush, Saint Patrick's Day, Neighbors, Smoke Alarms. Please let me know if I missed any.

Author's note: Thank you so much if you take the time to read my work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

Sometimes in life, you just have to accept maybe you're never going to be happy. Today was one of those days that vividly reminded you of that fact. It felt like everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Not only was it one of those days, but it was Saint Patrick's Day to top it all off. By the time you got home, the few small decorations in your condo felt mocking, and throwing them away hadn't helped to improve your mood. 

After holding it in all day, you finally sat on the couch, ready to let the emotions of the day wash over you. Only a few minutes later, you heard it. A basketball game, the sound blasting right through the wall so loud it was unignorable. You are well aware that you and your neighbor shared this wall in your duplex, but typically it was a sound range deemed acceptable for a sharded wall. Something you could live with and had accepted. 

Today though, this was louder than ever, and hearing a loud March Madness basketball game on St. Patrick's Day was the last possible thing you could handle. You take a few minutes trying to compose yourself, instead though, you felt anger spark in you so bright it was unignorable. Then before you know it, you were out your door and knocking strongly.

It took a few minutes before the door opened, and you had forgotten just how hot your neighbor was. Jake Seresin was tall and broad, and you had never seen him supporting anything besides a classic clean cut look. He didn't look that different than normal, but he certainly looked more casual than you were custom to. Typically you didn't interact with him much; you actually avoided him because he was one of those people that were overwhelming. He always supported wide smiles and flirty remarks exuding a sure confidence. And today, the way his green teeshirt and soft hair that clearly hadn't been touched with gel as it dried, looking picturesque and happy like he had the perfect Saint Paddy's Day, you hated him a little bit. 

"Oh hey, clover," Jake says, his lips quirking up in a fond smile. 

"Clover? Come on, Jake. No, I'm your neighbor, the one from next door." 

"Yeah, I know who you are," Jake says, rolling his eyes. Then he lifts a hand and brushes it over his cheekbone, matter-a-factly adding, "You have a piece of four leaf clover glitter right here. It's cute though, a very festive clover." 

You copy his motion brushing your cheek, trying to find the glitter piece, not sure where it could have come from. When you glance back at Jake, he is shaking his head, motioning to the other cheek. You felt a flash of embarrassment burn in your chest, quickly brushing your other cheek as well. Jake shook his head in response again. Then he reaches up, giving you time to move away if you choose to; however, you are frozen in place. His knuckles settle against your skin while his thumb presses gently near the corner of your left eye. The moment is quick, hardly more than a second or two. However, it feels like an eternity to you. 

Gaining your bearings, Jake is already leaning back against the side of his door. His arms crossing over his chest, making his biceps bulge. Your eyes snap back to his green ones, and you refocus on why you were here. 

"Thank you. Sorry to bother you, but can you please turn down your TV? It's blasting." Internally you try not to curse over how the niceties you didn't really feel inside spill from your mouth, cushioning your words. 

"Sure thing. Sorry about that. You know you could have just texted me," Jake says, quirking an eyebrow with a shrug. He said the words so casually, like it would be obvious you have his number. He said it as if everyone in the world just gets their phone, and it automatically has Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin's phone number added to the contacts app. 

"Just turn it down, please," you sigh. 

"I will. Again, I'm sorry about that. Do you have some big St. Patrick's Day plans I was interrupting?"

"No, I just wanted to go to bed." 

"Oh no, did your work hours change?" He asks. 

"Same as they've been. I'm just tired, you know?"

"Yeah, I totally understand that, Clover."

"No, Jake. Clover is not the cute sweet name that you think it is."

"I think it is, actually, Clover," he tells you with a wide grin. 

"Well, have a good night," you say, taking a small step backward, trying to end the conversation. 

"If you decide you're not tired, please feel free to come over later. Some people are going to come over for dinner, and we were going to watch the games. I'm sorry about that. I didn't think it would be a bother on a holiday Friday. I'll pivot us out to the bar after dinner, though. Just text me if it gets too loud. It takes me almost twenty eight minutes exactly to get everyone into the taxi for the bar."  

"Have you been timing yourself?" You ask jokingly. 

"Yeah, of course. There have been several trials and drills, all meticulously timed from when the taxi is ordered, which is a contributing factor. I shaved off six whole minutes when I figured out the proper order to hang people's coats in the closet. It was a real game changer." Jake answers you very seriously, which makes you laugh a little at him. It's much too close to a giggle for your liking, though. 

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to bed. You don't have to change your plans, though. I'll just go to my room and wear some headphones."

"It's an open invite," he reminds you. 

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," You answer, taking another step back and raising your hand in a wave goodbye. As you do, a smoke alarm starts going off behind Jake. His eyes widen, and his smile drops. Spinning on his heel, Jake rushes back into his house, leaving his door wide open. 

Concerned, you nervously follow inside after him. Noticing the shoe racks and small mud areas, you quickly toe out of your shoes, rushing in to help him. Jake's condo is an odd mirror of your own. Set up in nearly the same design but not wholly in the ways you were expecting. His kitchen is placed on the far side of the condo while yours joined the living room a bit more open. 

Loud cursing leads you to him, and instinctually you open windows, trying to clear out the smoke. Jake is beating a newspaper toward the smoke alarm trying to clear out the smoke and get the device to stop its piercing shrill.  

"What's on fire?" You ask, looking around the kitchen. 

"The cabbage. I put it out in the sink." In the sink, you see the charred charcoal in a pan that remains of the leaves. Seeing a magazine, you stand near the window waving it, trying to bring new air into the space. 

"What are you making?"

"It's Saint Patrick's Day. I'm, of course, making corned beef and cabbage."

"I see… is this your first time making it?" You are shocked that Jake looks almost sheepish. His shoulders hunching lightly with a slight grimace. 

"It is, but I thoroughly read the directions. However, got cocky and thought I could try and roast the cabbage instead. I made that choice freestyle, though– no recipe. I just didn't want soggy cabbage that falls apart." 

"Ahh well, if you want it crunchier, you just wilt it for a few minutes before eating. Also, you should really throw a lid on your corn beef and add more broth, or Guinness beer, or whatever you're using. It's going to dry out otherwise." 

"Woah, are you secretly a chef?" He asks you curiously. The smoke mostly cleared out. Now you drift back to the kitchen trying to gauge what else he might be a little off on. 

"Sorry for the unsolicited advice. But I've definitely cooked a few corned beefs in my life." 

"I appreciate it. Personally, as great of an independent study I am, having a teacher really makes a world of difference." 

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls," you tease.

"I don't," he answers thoughtfully, leaving the smoke alarm that had finally quieted. "Do you think I should, though? Would asking someone how to cook something be a pick up line?" 

"I couldn't tell you. Let's focus on your dinner and make sure you have some edible dinner for your friends when they get here." 

"Yes, Ma'am," Jake says, opening a drawer. You watch as he pulls out a notepad made of grid paper and a green pen that he clicks three times before leaving it poised on the page. 

Offering advice quickly starts to become supervising Jake as he remedies the dish. Constantly stopping to take down notes whenever you happen to say something that he thinks is helpful. You aren't entirely sure how it happens, but you go from explaining why it's important to check the potatoes since they were added so late in his cooking process to talking about movies and books you two have read and enjoyed lately. Then starting to spiral even further into a story about the first time Jake saw Tristan & Isolde. 

"Honestly, Clover, you are a lifesaver and my hero. I gotta pay you back for this." Jake eventually says after checking his apple watch and muttering the time to himself. 

"No payment needed. I was just doing the neighborly thing. If you ever need a cup of sugar, don't hesitate to let me know," you laugh, trying to redirect his gratitude away, so it wasn't shining on you so directly.   

"No really, it would have been embarrassing to offer people inedible dinner. Actually, you should come over tonight free drinks, food, and I have this friend I would love to introduce you to. Y'all are going to get on like a grease fire, I'm sure of it."

You feel suddenly hollow at Jake's words, a startling reminder of reality. Jake really was like the sun catching things in his gravity and constantly pulling, shifting, and bending reality and time. 

"Maybe some other time, Jake." You answer as sweet and levelly as you can. "I really gotta go, but y'all have fun tonight."

"Okay, next time then," he says with his eyes slightly narrowed but otherwise leaving it. He walks with you back through his house, waiting as you put your shoes back on. 

"Thank you for taking off your shoes. I would have hated to mop again today. Thank you for helping me, not just with the dinner but the smoke too. That was super kind of you." 

"No problem. Now, don't lift that lid until people show up and are ready to eat." 

"I won't. I took good notes on the directions, I promise." He answers you, holding open the door for you. 

"I know. Have a good night Jake." You say, passing through the door and heading back to your own house. 

"Happy St. Paddy's Day!" He calls after you.

You just throw a hand up in acknowledgment and close your door. When you make it back to your living room, you can no longer hear Jake's TV. You do follow through with your plans, boarding yourself up in your room with headphones on, trying to forget the day and your blossoming attraction to your neighbor. Later that night, when you find yourself having to check the mail, you are startled to find a glass Tupperware on your front porch with leftovers all bundled together in a beeswax cloth. 

On top was a small note card with a detailed four leaf clover drawn on it. On the back side, in a flowing cursive, Jake had written: Thank you, Clover. The short note followed by his name. Running your fingers over the drawing, you feel the little crush you had become a CRUSH. Developing a real, tangible attachment to an unattainable uninterested man feels like the cherry on top of your bad day. It's also, unfortunately, a problem you don't think sleep and a weekend off work will fix. Yes, you're without a doubt doomed to not be happy, and Jake is the worst reminder of it yet. 

[strangesthirdeye]

Listen Before I Go (SH x Fem! Reader)

Summary: A quick call won't hurt, right?

Warning: It's Sherlock everyone like him..heavy angst? Attempt Suicide, mental breakdown, mental health, You are loved by people, don't do that. You need a hug, pleading, high ceiling, hanging rope, almost suffocating. The Empty Hearse episode.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One more loop and the knots are strong enough to support your weight. You sighed heavily. The creaking sound of the chair under your feet is heard when you make some motions on it. You look around your living room. Everything is scattered and unmanaged. Papers and books on the floor not to mentioned chairs are scattered around the living room, just like your wooden table.

you exhaled a heavy breath and looked up to see the noose hanging from the ceiling of your house. Well, here it is. After running around in your own mind and going through all the painful and stressful things in the real world, you are finally lost. Those things successfully kick your ass. Not to mention what happened to Sherlock two years ago. He committed suicide and claimed he was a liar, but that was not true. Why did he do that makes it a question mark for you, John, Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly and Lestrade. Mycroft? hmm, he's just quiet. There was no news from him after that.

As if he has disappeared from existence.

Every dark plagued plays in your mind. All those rude people who curse Sherlock and proudly claim that Sherlock is a fraud. Not to mention those people have started bothering Sherlock's friends including you as his girlfriend. Those people don't know the meaning of grief.

You then look down. This is high enough. As long as your feet do not touch the floor is enough. Suffocate is not the first thing in your mind but because you don't want to commit suicide dirty with blood, you immediately decide to hang yourself. At least your life is taken slowly and in that time you can see all the happy memories at the end of your time.

You stand on your tiptoes and stick your head into the noose. The noose gently ends around your neck. Your hands started to tighten the noose around your neck so that it would be tight and not come loose when you hung it later. You sighed for the second time.

You are not afraid but nervous. Well, at least you know what your destiny is. You then close your eyes and your legs are ready to push the chair. All of the sudden, your phone rang in your pants pocket. You were shocked and almost pushed the chair under you but luckily the chair didn't slip.

You fish out your pocket and take your phone out of your pocket. You gulped your saliva slowly when you saw the contact on your phone.

John.

You immediately slide accept and open the speaker.

"Y/n"

"Hey, John"

"Where are you now? I need to tell you something.. Might be a surprise from me to you... I guess" John chuckled a little. Following with his hype tone means that John is in a good mood. Good. You're going to ruin his mood if you tell him what you're up to.

"what is it that you want to tell me? Is it Mary tho?" You pretend to hype your voice just to hide your crack tone.

"Well, I prefer to tell you at a cafe around your house only if you're not busy" John reasoned.

"well, i can't go out now.. can you just tell me on the phone instead? i kind of not really having a mood to go out anymore" You bit your lip slightly.

John was silent for a moment. You can imagine his confused face in your mind. Classic John. Gonna miss him.

"Are you alright?" John asked.

"mhmm.. I'm always alright" You replied.

"really? cuz' that's not how your 'alright' voice sounds like" John said suspiciously. "is it about Sherlock again?" John added.

Dammit. Why does he have to be the one who is always right? You are silent.

"It's been two years, Y/n. You have to let go that 'feeling'. It's not good for you" John said as if a father was advising his children to be useful human beings.

"you don't understand, aren't you? It's not easy. You have Mary.. while I don't have no one. No one to help me. Not even Mycroft. And I don't want to bring Mrs Hudson into this. She's already got a lot of plates in her hands." you paused you stand on your tiptoes.

"well, at least you don't have to deal with me anymore. I know what I'm doing now is a very useful thing. You don't have to worry about me." you added, the voice started to crack.

"What are you doing right now, Y/n. Don't you dare say that to me. I know exactly what you are trying to do. I'm coming" John's voice seemed to rush.

"tell me, John" you spoke up.

"what" John snapped trying to stop himself from yelling at you not to say negative things again.

"tell me what you want to say to me. That you expect me to be surprised" You closed your eyes. Tears streamed down your cheeks.

John let out a heavy breath. "I- oh god! this is not the situation I expected to tell you what it is. Taxi!" John yelled. John's voice then became muffled for a few moments before it became clear again. John then hurriedly told the cab driver your home address. Although the location is quite far from your house, John doesn't care about the fare. As long as he can save his other friend this time.

"just hold on. Don't end the call" John informed you firmly. John then sighed anxiously. "I-I plan to propose Mary tonight"

You smiled sadly. "is it going to be fancy? big?" you questioned him.

"fancy but simple.. oh gosh, why can't you just.. not doing all these things? You have many other things out there to go through! why now do you want to end it?" John is furiously rich.

"I think this is the end of my story. I've got nothing out there to go through. You have Mary. She's the one, John. Marry her. Make her half of your life. Have a family." You said lowly. your toes little by little push the chair under you.

"don't you dare say that. Think about it again. Sherlock doesn't want all this. He doesn't like any decision to end your life. He despises it. He wants you to move on and live a normal life. Normal life! Don't you want that? Find someone who can be with you for the rest of your life. Please.. I don't want to lose my best friend again" John begged.

Your line is quiet. Only the sound of the cab that John was riding in was heard. You look down. The hanging rope around the neck feels tight.

You know he's right but why don't you move away from the noose that is now resting on your neck? Sherlock doesn't like this. He despises it like John said earlier. Why then don't you open the rope and get off the chair? It's not going to work you know. Kill yourself. It's not.

Every thousand possibilities play in your mind as you hold the phone tightly in your hand. You bit your lips hard.

"I can't hold it anymore. The feeling of pain, grief and lost. It's not easy like what you say. It's just- Move on? no.. it's not working." you sobbed.

"No.." John paused. Probably is choosing and arranging the next sentence. "No, it's not easy. But, Sherlock wouldn't want that, right? So whatever you're doing now just drop it. Please. For the sake of Sherlock Holmes" John added in a tone of hope.

You paused and closed your eyes. Thumbs up on the screen. "I'm sorry, John" and you ended the call.

'just get on with it' whispered the demon in your ear. You choked on your own tears in your throat. You tossed your phone aside and stared for a moment then without hesitation you pushed the chair down so fast that it landed on the floor. But you don't fall, you float in the air with a hanging rope around your neck.

And there goes your oxygen is cut off quickly as you gasp for air while thrashing in the air. Both hands on the noose around your neck while your eyes darted around the living room. Mouth part away trying to get even a little oxygen. Your skin's colour is getting paler and your brain is in a state of shock when the oxygen is getting less and less to the brain.

You almost lost consciousness and then you see it. Life flashes before your eyes. Happy and sad memories. All in one. As the last piece of memories played in your eyes, you finally lost consciousness. Both your hands limp to the side while your head lolled forward. Your hair frames your pale face. But not before you hear the door of your house burst open by someone. Someone who you didn't get to see as your eyes are now tightly closed. Welcoming the feeling of a blanket of darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eyes opened slowly as you gasped to take enough oxygen into your body system. Every thought plays in your mind. Why can't you just go in peace? Why do people have to bother you?

You look around the living room. Now you are lying on the floor. Eyes on the ceiling while your breath is still panting. Everything is hurt especially in your neck. You can still feel the texture of the hanging rope around your neck.

You curse whoever messed up your suicide attempt. It could be John but the taxi John took could not be able to get here quickly. So who? You glared at the person who was kneeling next to you but then as soon as your eyes landed on the silhouette, you widened your eyes.

there he is, a man who claims to be a sociopath and never believes in sentiment but then falls into the terms boyfriend and girlfriend. His brunette hair, his eyes, his cheek bones and his face are still the same but at the same time he looks a little mature. While his eyes hold emotions that are very heavy plus panic and concerned etched on his face.

Sherlock Holmes. The so called 'fraud' is now on your side.

"What were you thinking?!" Sherlock said loudly.

You are stunned. Sherlock then touched your shoulder and shook it a little trying to get you out of the trance.

Oh, God. What you think is a dream is actually not a dream but real. The feeling of him touching your shoulder and his deep raspy and smoky timbre makes you miss him so much. Your eyes start to glaze over with tears.

"Sherlock?" you whispered his name.

Sherlock looked at you with concern and tried to help you sit up. "what were you thinking? Suffocate yourself to death? why? just why?"

"because you died! For two years. I thought you were dead once your body hit the ground in front of the hospital. Two years, Sherlock. Two years. And you think I can live without you just like that?" you yelled while slapping him on the chest several times.

Sherlock deflected your blow by holding both of your wrists to his chest. He looked at you with sympathy. "I want to save you and the others. This is all I can do. Moriarty will do worse than what you don't expect that's why I have to do that. Two years I tried to take down his network and now I'm here. What you did earlier there was the most horrible thing for me. I don't want to come back home knowing that you are dead."

You thought for a moment. Your red eyes looked at Sherlock's face with realization on your face. And then you sniffed and leaned your head on his chest.

Sherlock then put his arms around you. His right hand was placed on the back of your head and stroked gently while his head was placed on top of your head.

"You saved me.. oh, how stupid I am to do that" you sobbed.

"no you're not stupid. Don't say that. You are the most brilliant and courageous woman I know. Your intelligent and kind attitude makes me adore and fond of you more.. listen, I don't always say this but you are the only reason I'm coming home. Please.. don't do that ever again" Sherlock said while kissing your hair.

"John will be here soon." you say. Your voice is muffled in his chest.

"let him. might as well make it a surprise for him." Sherlock joked trying to lighten up the mood.

You chuckled tearfully and then hugged Sherlock tightly. Sherlock smiled gently and tightened his arms and rocked you left and right with his eyes closed.

[chericherilvr]

why is stretching so important?

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧˚🩰🧸🎀🐇⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

In this post I'll explain why I think stretching is the key! ᰔ

Stretching helps our muscles be flexible, strong and healthy.

It helps with good posture, increasing the range of motion, and help with things such as back pain.

Stretching every morning can keep us grounded and set the tone for a good day. And stretching after a long day can help us ease pain and tension.

It also has great mental health benefits ☺

click to read more!!

Stretching helps with stress ⚡︎⚡︎

When someone experiences stress it's most likely their muscles are tense

Stretching helps ease those muscles and generate a calm feeling 💆‍♀️

Centre the stretches on the places you tend to hold tension such as neck, shoulders and upper back

Stretching can also help with calming your mind ✼

When stretching bring awareness to your body: how is it feeling?

Also centre on your breathing, keeping a flow of it with your movements

Doing techniques such as meditation or mindfulness while stretching can help calm your mind

How has it helped me?

I make sure to stretch every morning, doing a yoga routine on YouTube or intuitively following what my body needs 🧘‍♀️

It helps me start the day on a good note, it's me time

since I started incorporating stretching in my morning routine it has helped me a lot improve specially my overall well-being and my posture!! It also has improved my mental health and has allowed me to relax ♡♡

Do you stretch often?

[sergle]

i had someone tell me chiro wasnt real and wasn't doing anything for me in the same breath they told me to try cbd oil 🫢

SCREAAMMMMM I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me to just go align my chakras instead. also god I love being told by other people that it isn't Doing Anything to me. like DAMN THAT'S CRAZY... Ig when I've fucked my neck so badly that I can't turn my head to the right, and I'm able to finally get range of motion back again only after getting a chiro adjustment, that must be like a sugar pill thing or something. Or when I have a tension migraine that won't go away for days and days but dissipates after an adjustment. Or when being bedridden with back pain was a common occurrence before I started going to a chiro regularly and now I can go on walks and hikes without my lower back seizing up. Or how my carpal tunnel improved when she started loosening up my wrists. But I guess it doesn't "do anything". I must be fully imagining it. It must just be some woo-woo mind shit. I should probably just smoke some weed and that will physically heal my entire body. I should probably just drive to oklahoma city and pay some extra for a PT to tell me to do some of the exact same stretches my chiro advises me to do, and advise some of the exact same habit changes my chiro has mentioned, and to perform some of the exact same adjustments, but call them "manual therapy" instead. Oh, PTs don't do "adjustments", they simply put their hands on you and manipulate your muscles/joints to alleviate pain, loosen you up, and feel for small misalignments. Which is fucking exactly what a chiropractor does.

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (11/15) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: John has learned something new that he'd like to show you… Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,630 (this chapter, 27,487 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. It's, yet again, been awhile since the last update, sad to say. I've been slogging through writer's block, health issues and some kinda awful real life stress but I'm not giving up on this fic (or its sibling, "Recreation"). I'd like to say that the final chapters will be here very soon but, well… I've learned to not call my shots, lol. I will, however, do my best to get them here as soon as I can. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

PT arrived bright and early and, while you continued to bring out every expletive in every language you knew, ultimately it seemed your left side was improving: more range of motion in your shoulder and more strength in your leg, though the healing fractures still ached. All together, though, it was a win, no matter that it left you sweating and shaking like you'd wrestled an Elite and lost spectacularly.

You'd just come out of the shower and put on a fresh set of clothes when the door chimed. To your surprise, you found Riz and Vannak in their civvies standing there. You knew Silver Team had been on stand-by for the past few days – John hadn't been able to join you for every meal, understandably, but he had been there every night. Sleeping curled up in his arms was a luxury you weren't sure how you were going to give up when the time came. Kai and her friend had visited but this was the first time the other two Spartans had.

"Please, come in," you said and they did.

"You need new curse words," Riz said seriously.

"We got here while you were doing your therapy," Vannak explained. "Didn't want to interrupt."

"You could hear me cussing out in the hall?" you asked.

"Superior Spartan hearing," she said, matter-of-fact. "I doubt anyone else could."

"Teach her the one," he urged in as animated a tone as you'd ever heard from him before. "You know, the good one."

Which is how you ended up getting a tongue-twisting word in Sangheili added to your arsenal.

"You say that to any Covenant species and it's guaranteed to send them into a rage," Riz said with a confident nod.

"Except the Unggoy," Vannak added with a sneer. "Little bastards couldn't give a shit. They'll try to kill you on principle."

"I'll make sure I'm on a bullhorn from far away, then," you said, biting the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. "Don't want to be in striking distance if I'm going to send them into a rage."

They thought that over.

"Chief won't appreciate us telling her to pick a fight with a Sangheili," she pointed out.

"Just use it on somebody you're pretty sure you can take in a fight," he told you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you said.

They made slightly stilted small talk for about 15 more minutes, then took their leave.

A rest seemed in order, so you propped up on the bed and checked the news. They were in the middle of reporting that they had yet to apprehend the man who had tried to smuggle the bomb back to FLEETCOM in the Warthog. It showed some stock images of the Pit before being damaged by the explosion and that got you to thinking…

There should be some sort of footage of the explosion, right?

But, after poking around on your padd for a little while, you hadn't found much beyond what apparently had been approved for public viewing.

"Would you like some help with that?"

Cortana's voice startled you.

"Oh, hey there," you said, thinking, Poor thing, she's got the most boring job in the world keeping an eye on me. I hope I get the chance to buy her a coffee or something after all is said and done. Then your brain tardily caught up with her words. "You mean you have footage from the explosion?"

"Yes, I do."

"And it's something I have clearance to see?"

"I have footage from the explosion," she repeated, her tone supremely innocent.

Before you could decide whether to ask to see it or not, the holo on the wall lit up. The security cams had caught the explosion from multiple angles. You winced as you saw a body – your body – fly out of the crane operator seat to disappear into a sea of smoke and debris.

A moment later, the view changed, the quality severely degrading. You squinted through the pixilation and haze and realized you were seeing from the point of view of the holo-emiter Cortana had contacted you from.

"Oh, shit," you muttered. The massive beam that had pinned you down should've killed you outright but you'd gotten supremely lucky in the way the rest of the building had fallen, providing just enough support to give you a tiny open space. But even without the sudden, helpful overlay that detailed out the edges of the debris through the smoke, you could see how quickly that respite was vanishing as the beam's weight bore it inexorably lower and lower.

You found yourself gasping for breath, cast back into that moment. The image changed abruptly. Trying to figure out where you were now viewing from helped to break you free of the encroaching panic attack.

Then it all made sense: you were looking at several officers, so covered in dirt and dust that you couldn't recognize their rank, much less determine their names. They also looked extremely short.

Before you even skimmed over the information feeding out in rapid-fire bursts, you knew that this was John's HUD after Silver Team had arrived back on site.

"John, get here now. The support beam is failing!"

Cortana's voice came through his helmet's comm. "There's no time," he said, interrupting the man as he was saying that they would have to wait for an excavation crew to arrive to safely dig you out.

He was running before the man could object. The feed cut back and forth from his HUD to the holo-emiter. This gave you an unexpected perspective on how efficiently Silver Team worked. They needed almost no words as they homed in on your location, grabbing, lifting, moving and supporting each part of the perilous structure as needed.

It was Vannak who caught the beam before it crushed you but it was John who lifted it off of you.

The holo-emiter's feed abruptly ended and you were back in John's HUD. Vannak and Kai caught another part of the crumbling wreckage, creating an opening for Riz to dig you out by hand.

You noted almost absently how steady John's vitals were. He was holding a building off of you as if it were nothing at all.

"Out," Riz announced and John carefully lowered the weight he'd been supporting.

When he turned, you saw Riz clearing the way for Kai, who was now the one carrying you. Vannak and John followed.

They emerged out of the wreckage and Kai went into the Spartan run, taking you directly into a Pelican where she turned you over to a team of medics. The Spartans were waved back and the ship launched.

"We'll catch the next one," Riz said.

"She'll be all right, Chief," Kai told him. "She's strong."

He nodded curtly, tracking the Pelican that was carrying you away.

And once it went out of sight, that was when his vitals spiked and his heart began to pound.

You were still thinking about what all you'd seen when the door chimed again. A glance at the chrono proved it was lunchtime. You opened the door and, indeed, the first thing you saw was a massive, covered tray that no doubt contained your meal. But it was John who was carrying it.

"Silver's on stand-by," he warned, "but I thought we might get a chance to eat together."

Since you weren't yet cleared to make the long walk down to the Mess, a table and pair of chairs had been set up across from the couch a few days ago. As soon as he'd placed the tray down, you practically tackled him.

"Permission to hug the Master Chief?" you asked well after the fact, your voice muffled into his chest.

He gently returned the embrace. "Always granted."

You found yourself holding onto him a little bit longer than usual.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I saw the footage from the Pit," you said, resting your cheek against him. "I already knew I was lucky to get out of there but really seeing it? I… It makes me appreciate being here."

He paused for long enough that you looked up at him, finding him gazing over your head as if hearing something over a comm. Then he turned his attention back down to you, brow furrowing. "She shouldn't have shown you that footage and upset you."

"Cortana? No, I'm glad she did. It happened to me, after all." You put your face against him again and squeezed him once more around his waist. "You held a building off of me, John."

He made a move as if about to pick you up, then thought better of it and knelt instead to bring you more on a level together. "I'd hold a million buildings off of you, don't you know that?" he said, cupping your face. "Just… try not to be under any more falling buildings, hm?"

"I'll certainly do my best," you swore and kissed his palm.

The look in his eyes altered, grew both darker and softer at the same time. When you leaned towards him, he met you halfway.

He started carefully, like he did everything with you, but soon the kiss intensified, deepened, and his hands skimmed from the crown of your head down your back as if he wanted to map every line, curve and angle you possessed.

And then your stomach growled, loudly and unmistakably, and you muttered your newly-learned curse word.

He leaned back to look at you, amusement tugging insistently at his mouth. "That one's Vannak's favorite. He and Riz talked about coming to see you today. I'm assuming they did?"

"They did," you said, then winced as your stomach grumbled something awfully close to a repeat of the Sangheili curse word.

"Why don't we eat," he said, completely surrendering to the smile, "and you can tell me all about it."

Happily, he didn't get called away and you were able to finish your meal together in peace.

"Could I show you something I recently learned?" he asked as you stood from the table.

"As long as it doesn't involve throwing me around the room," you teased.

"Oh, I'll save that until you're all healed up," he murmured, then winked.

You'd like to think you laughed but no, that was a full-fledged giggle. "So, what did you learn?"

"Therapeutic massage," he said, flexing his fingers. "It's supposed to promote healing and relaxation. Want to give it a try?"

"Absolutely," you said. "Where do you want me at?"

"On the footstool, if that's okay?"

"Sure."

The wide, plush, rainbow-colored bit of furniture was another recent addition to the room, added because John wanted you to have the option to put your feet up. Kai had told you that, as soon as you were healthy again, she was going to high-five you for the color choice.

While his back was turned as he adjusted the stool the way he wanted it in front of the couch, you took your shirt off and tossed it haphazardly towards the bed.

He sat, a leg on either side of the stool, and looked up at you, clearly about to say something. But then his expression went thunderstruck and the words never emerged.

You had the same UNSC sports bra that he had to have seen other marines wearing in the gym a thousand times. You'd spotted Kai and Riz in them before, so it shouldn't have been that shocking.

"This all right?" you asked.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Yes." Every affirmative had its own completely separate inflection, from stunned to wonderment to Wait, don't put the shirt back on.

You turned away, hiding your grin as you sat down where directed. Considering that you were hardly in top fighting form at the moment, his reaction was a very nice little ego boost.

His hands settled gently against your back, fingers curling over your shoulders. "If I use too much pressure or there's pain, tell me right away. Is there anything I should definitely avoid?"

"Can't raise the arm like I should" –you gave a roll of your left shoulder– "but it's already much better than it was."

"Copy that, no raising the arm. Anything else?"

No matter how battered and bruised you felt, there was no way you were going to miss this. "I'll let you know," you promised.

"Okay," he said and his hands glided up to your neck, then out, following the lines of the trapezius on both sides. The heels of his palms followed your spine down in a feathery touch, then spread out along your lats like he was smoothing wrinkles out of them before skimming down your obliques to your hips.

He returned to your shoulders again and very, very carefully kneaded into the tightness there. You did your best not to flinch when he hit a particularly sore spot but he jerked back as if you'd screamed.

"It's fine," you said quickly, afraid he was about to end up perched on the back of the couch like a very large, traumatized cat. "This is the only way to get rid of it. Just got to work it out."

His hands settled cautiously on your shoulders once more.

"You're doing great," you assured him, patting his knees on either side of you encouragingly, and his thumbs drew circles over the painful places as if he were trying not to fracture a thin sheet of glass.

The knots relaxed and you exhaled in the closest thing to sheer bliss you'd experienced in a long while. The warmth and gentle pressure had you melting back into him, your head lolling a bit, your eyelids fluttering shut and—

The next thing you knew, you were waking up. "Oh come on, I didn't want to sleep through all the good parts," you mumbled.

John's chuckle rumbled beneath your ear. He had pulled you back onto his lap on your right side, cradled comfortably against his chest. One hand was gently rubbing your back while the other covered the hand you had fisted into his shirt.

"I'm going to take this as a compliment to my therapeutic massage skills," he said.

"And you absolutely should." You raised your head to look at him. "Maybe next time I can even stay conscious long enough to really appreciate said skills. If there is, you know, a next time."

"There will most definitely be a next time," he swore and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I still owe you a proper back scratching."

"And I am absolutely going to collect on that," he returned, his tone unexpectedly husky.

You smiled, straightening up to kiss him. He pulled you closer, then paused and sighed against your mouth.

"I've got to go," he said resolutely right before his wristband chirped.

You looked for a way to roll off of him that wouldn't aggravate your shoulder – or potentially crush any of his, ahem, important Spartan equipment – but he scooped you up bridal style and stood as if you weighed nothing at all.

"I'll meet you for dinner if we're back soon enough," he promised and gave you one more tender kiss then placed you onto the couch. Before he went through the door, he paused, looking back like he was memorizing this moment, then he took a breath and was gone.

It was nearly dinner time when the door chime rang and you went to answer it with as much of a hopeful spring in your step as you could manage. However, this time, it wasn't John holding a tray with your evening meal on it.

"Dr. Keyes," you said in surprise, snapping a salute.

She said your rank and last name. "May I come in? We need to talk."

[iplaywithstring]

Part of chronic illness that healthy, able bodied people really can't grasp is the tenuous relationship we have with medical professionals.

My current Dr is wonderful. Lovely woman. Very open, has never had any push back over any concern I've brought up. We met when I was teaching a knitting class. I feel comfortable with her, both personally and as a doctor.

I still have a ton of anxiety every time I make an appointment.

I worry that it's something serious. I worry it's something minor and I'm wasting her time. I worry that she's going to brush me off - even though she never has.

Today, I had a sebaceous cyst drained - I was pretty sure that's what it was when I went in, but she confirmed it and offered to drain it an no big deal. I felt so awkward getting it taken care of. She also warned me it would be a little painful - didn't hurt at all. I updated her on my frozen shoulder (it's improved so much! Almost full range of motion and very little pain!). Told her my mom had been diagnosed with celiacs - she offered to run my tests again (it's been 10 years) but expected they'd be inconclusive/negative again as I've been avoiding wheat for over a decade at this point, but I needed my yearly bloodwork done anyway so why not (and she reminded me a negative test doesn't mean I don't have it, just that they can't detect it, and it's not worth it to go back on wheat to confirm at this point). I asked about a repeat ultrasound of a cyst on my ovary (it was 3.6 cm in 2018 and I've been having pain in that area again) and she agreed it was a good idea to take a look at.

There was nothing negative in the appointment at all, and I still feel like I want to cry about it.

And I understand everyone has a certain amount of medical anxiety - I remember what it was like before I was sick - but this is different. So much of my quality of life and my day-to-day functioning is dependant on this woman. What if she thinks I don't need one of my medications anymore? What if she disagrees about my level of pain and sees no need for pain management or further testing (like the ultrasound)?

My relationship with my body is messed up - in some ways I am too aware of things, and in other ways, I don't notice/acknowledge problems because it's just always been like that. If she hadn't believed me about my wrists aching I wouldn't know about my hypermobility in my hands. If she didn't take my word for it how drained and worn out I am, I wouldn't have meds that allow me to function with ME/CFS (stimulants in the past, cymbalta currently). I didn't realize how bad my pain was until it was managed better. I never know day to day what I am going to be capable of or how limited I will be.

I have had Drs in the past who did not take me seriously. I lived with debilitating pain for years because a Dr took a clear MRI as "no signs of endometriosis". I've been dismissed as fat and lazy and accused of drug seeking (when I was specifically asking about pain management that did not include opioids). I am so thankful I was able to access a new doctor - not everyone has that opportunity!

but even with these ideal circumstances, it's still hard, and exhausting, and emotional. and that's something that most people in my life will just not understand.