#tiny!dep

[nornities]

How to use DXVK with The Sims 3

Have you seen this post about using DXVK by Criisolate? But felt intimidated by the sheer mass of facts and information?

@desiree-uk and I compiled a guide and the configuration file to make your life easier. It focuses on players not using the EA App, but it might work for those just the same. It’s definitely worth a try.

Adding this to your game installation will result in a better RAM usage. So your game is less likely to give you Error 12 or crash due to RAM issues. It does NOT give a huge performance boost, but more stability and allows for higher graphics settings in game.

The full guide behind the cut. Let me know if you also would like it as PDF.

Happy simming!

Disclaimer and Credits

Desiree and I are no tech experts and just wrote down how we did this. Our ability to help if you run into trouble is limited. So use at your own risk and back up your files!

We both are on Windows 10 and start the game via TS3W.exe, not the EA App. So your experience may differ.

This guide is based on our own experiments and of course criisolate’s post on tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/criisolate/749374223346286592/ill-explain-what-i-did-below-before-making-any

This guide is brought to you by Desiree-UK and Norn.

Compatibility

Note: This will conflict with other programs that “inject” functionality into your game so they may stop working. Notably

Reshade

GShade

Nvidia Experience/Nvidia Inspector/Nvidia Shaders

RivaTuner Statistics Server

It does work seamlessly with LazyDuchess’ Smooth Patch.

LazyDuchess’ Launcher: unknown

Alder Lake patch: does conflict. One user got it working by starting the game by launching TS3.exe (also with admin rights) instead of TS3W.exe. This seemed to create the cache file for DXVK. After that, the game could be started from TS3W.exe again. That might not work for everyone though.

A word on FPS and V-Sync

With such an old game it’s crucial to cap framerate (FPS). This is done in the DXVK.conf file. Same with V-Sync.

You need

a text editor (easiest to use is Windows Notepad)

to download DXVK, version 2.3.1 from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 Extract the archive, you are going to need the file d3d9.dll from the x32 folder

the configuration file DXVK.conf from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/blob/master/DXVK.conf. Optional: download the edited version with the required changes here.

administrator rights on your PC

to know your game’s installation path (bin folder) and where to find the user folder

a tiny bit of patience :)

First Step: Backup

Backup your original Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path! The DXVK file may overwrite some files! The path should be something like this (for retail): \Program Files (x86)\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Game\Bin (This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located.)

Backup your options.ini in your game’s user folder! Making the game use the DXVK file will count as a change in GPU driver, so the options.ini will reset once you start your game after installation. The path should be something like this: \Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3 (This is the folder where your Mods folder is located).

Preparations

Make sure you run the game as administrator. You can check that by right-clicking on the icon that starts your game. Go to Properties > Advanced and check the box “Run as administrator”. Note: This will result in a prompt each time you start your game, if you want to allow this application to make modifications to your system. Click “Yes” and the game will load.

2. Make sure you have the DEP settings from Windows applied to your game.

Open the Windows Control Panel.

Click System and Security > System > Advanced System Settings.

On the Advanced tab, next to the Performance heading, click Settings.

Click the Data Execution Prevention tab.

Select 'Turn on DEP for all programs and services except these”:

Click the Add button, a window to the file explorer opens. Navigate to your Sims 3 installation folder (the bin folder once again) and add TS3W.exe and TS3.exe.

Click OK. Then you can close all those dialog windows again.

Setting up the DXVK.conf file

Open the file with a text editor and delete everything in it. Then add these values:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1

d3d9.presentInterval = 1

d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60

d3d9.presentInterval enables V-Sync,d3d9.maxFrameRate sets the FrameRate. You can edit those values, but never change the first line (d3d9.textureMemory)!

The original DXVK.conf contains many more options in case you would like to add more settings.

A. no Reshade/GShade

Setting up DXVK

Copy the two files d3d9.dll and DXVK.conf into the Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path. This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located. If you are prompted to overwrite files, please choose yes (you DID backup your folder, right?)

And that’s basically all that is required to install.

Start your game now and let it run for a short while. Click around, open Buy mode or CAS, move the camera.

Now quit without saving. Once the game is closed fully, open your bin folder again and double check if a file “TS3W.DXVK-cache” was generated. If so – congrats! All done!

Things to note

Heads up, the game options will reset! So it will give you a “vanilla” start screen and options.

Don’t worry if the game seems to be frozen during loading. It may take a few minutes longer to load but it will load eventually.

The TS3W.DXVK-cache file is the actual cache DXVK is using. So don’t delete this! Just ignore it and leave it alone. When someone tells to clear cache files – this is not one of them!

Update Options.ini

Go to your user folder and open the options.ini file with a text editor like Notepad.

Find the line “lastdevice = “. It will have several values, separated by semicolons. Copy the last one, after the last semicolon, the digits only. Close the file.

Now go to your backup version of the Options.ini file, open it and find that line “lastdevice” again. Replace the last value with the one you just copied. Make sure to only replace those digits!

Save and close the file.

Copy this version of the file into your user folder, replacing the one that is there.

Things to note:

If your GPU driver is updated, you might have to do these steps again as it might reset your device ID again. Though it seems that the DXVK ID overrides the GPU ID, so it might not happen.

How do I know it’s working?

Open the task manager and look at RAM usage. Remember the game can only use 4 GB of RAM at maximum and starts crashing when usage goes up to somewhere between 3.2 – 3.8 GB (it’s a bit different for everybody).

So if you see values like 2.1456 for RAM usage in a large world and an ongoing save, it’s working. Generally the lower the value, the better for stability.

Also, DXVK will have generated its cache file called TS3W.DXVK-cache in the bin folder. The file size will grow with time as DXVK is adding stuff to it, e.g. from different worlds or savegames. Initially it might be something like 46 KB or 58 KB, so it’s really small.

Optional: changing MemCacheBudgetValue

MemCacheBudgetValue determines the size of the game's VRAM Cache. You can edit those values but the difference might not be noticeable in game. It also depends on your computer’s hardware how much you can allow here.

The two lines of seti MemCacheBudgetValue correspond to the high RAM level and low RAM level situations. Therefore, theoretically, the first line MemCacheBudgetValue should be set to a larger value, while the second line should be set to a value less than or equal to the first line.

The original values represent 200MB (209715200) and 160MB (167772160) respectively. They are calculated as 200x1024x1024=209175200 and 160x1024x1024=167772160.

Back up your GraphicsRules.sgr file! If you make a mistake here, your game won’t work anymore.

Go to your bin folder and open your GraphicsRules.sgr with a text editor.

Search and find two lines that set the variables for MemCacheBudgetValue.

Modify these two values to larger numbers. Make sure the value in the first line is higher or equals the value in the second line. Examples for values: 1073741824, which means 1GB 2147483648 which means 2 GB. -1 (minus 1) means no limit (but is highly experimental, use at own risk)

Save and close the file. It might prompt you to save the file to a different place and not allow you to save in the Bin folder. Just save it someplace else in this case and copy/paste it to the Bin folder afterwards. If asked to overwrite the existing file, click yes.

Now start your game and see if it makes a difference in smoothness or texture loading. Make sure to check RAM and VRAM usage to see how it works.

You might need to change the values back and forth to find the “sweet spot” for your game. Mine seems to work best with setting the first value to 2147483648 and the second to 1073741824.

Uninstallation

Delete these files from your bin folder (installation path):

d3d9.dll

DXVK.conf

TS3W.DXVK-cache

And if you have it, also TS3W_d3d9.log

if you changed the values in your GraphicsRule.sgr file, too, don’t forget to change them back or to replace the file with your backed up version.

OR

delete the bin folder and add it from your backup again.

B. with Reshade/GShade

Follow the steps from part A. no Reshade/Gshade to set up DXVK.

If you are already using Reshade (RS) or GShade (GS), you will be prompted to overwrite files, so choose YES. RS and GS may stop working, so you will need to reinstall them.

Whatever version you are using, the interface shows similar options of which API you can choose from (these screenshots are from the latest versions of RS and GS).

Please note: 

Each time you install and uninstall DXVK, switching the game between Vulkan and d3d9, is essentially changing the graphics card ID again, which results in the settings in your options.ini file being repeatedly reset.

ReShade interface

Choose – Vulcan

Click next and choose your preferred shaders.

Hopefully this install method works and it won't install its own d3d9.dll file.

If it doesn't work, then choose DirectX9 in RS, but you must make sure to replace the d3d9.dll file with DXVK's d3d9.dll (the one from its 32bit folder, checking its size is 3.86mb.)

GShade interface

Choose –           

Executable Architecture: 32bit

Graphics API: DXVK

Hooking: Normal Mode

GShade is very problematic, it won't work straight out of the box and the overlay doesn't show up, which defeats the purpose of using it if you can't add or edit the shaders you want to use.

Check the game's bin folder, making sure the d3d9.dll is still there and its size is 3.86mb - that is DXVK's dll file.

If installing using the DXVK method doesn't work, you can choose the DirectX method, but there is no guarantee it works either.

The game will not run with these files in the folder:

d3d10core.dll

d3d11.dll

dxgi.dll

If you delete them, the game will start but you can't access GShade! It might be better to use ReShade.

Some Vulcan and DirectX information, if you’re interested:

Vulcan is for rather high end graphic cards but is backward compatible with some older cards. Try this method with ReShade or GShade first.

DirectX is more stable and works best with older cards and systems. Try this method if Vulcan doesn't work with ReShade/GShade in your game – remember to replace the d3d9.dll with DXVK's d3d9.dll.

For more information on the difference between Vulcan and DirectX, see this article:

https://www.howtogeek.com/884042/vulkan-vs-DirectX-12/

[dephellseed]

Thank you for the map! I've been trying to figure out how to make one for his bunker for days! This whole thing is laid out so strangely, it fascinates me. The map makes it a lot easier to visualize it. Walking around in there, I get super turned around, so thank you!

The hatch leads to a lot of weird potentials, though. Maybe it leads to a like slightly higher up like storage space? Like a funky bunker attic? Tiny little like crawl space storage area for maintenance on some of the vital life systems? Maybe access to air filters and the water storage? It probably was left in by mistake like you said, but it's a quirky thing to come up with theoretical reasons for.

The toilet being so far away from the showers is super weird, too. I mean, you take a shower, you get super cold from all that cooled off bunker barrel water and you have to run down two hallways and through two rooms to get a toilet? That's funky. Why is there only one?

I like to think Joseph took care of the fish. I don't know why, but I can picture him coming up with some kind of like oddly detailed regiment for when to feed them, when to clean the tank and such just to have something to do. I think he'd write to down in like either annoying good or horrendously bad calligraphy on a wall somewhere akin to how all the sibling's bunkers have writing on pretty much all the walls. Maybe one of the papers stuck to the walls in bedroom 1 in New Dawn is the fish care schedule?

Dutch's bunker layout confuses me. Out of all the rooms I'd want to be easily accessed from the outside, right by the stairs leading up to the hatch, the shower room isn't one of em. Which is really what it is, I think. It's just a shower and a sink. I don't see a toilet so I'm guessing he has that somewhere else? Or maybe the man doesn't poop. But you walk in the bunker and boom! Showers! I guess it makes sense if you're looking at from the perspective of "well after The Collapse we're all going to come in here and be filthy so we'd need to wash that off," but it's still a little weird. The little soap bottles are oddly cute, though

[woneuntonzz]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ reflections

📞 ; “maybe it's a blessing in disguise, i see my reflection in your eyes.”

𖹭 : sungchan x afab!reader

💭 love can be a possession, and like everything owned, it can be easily lost... “we were too close to the stars.”

⤷ contains: angst, pining, cussing, mentions of other idol names for

world building

⤷ warnings: none (?)

⤷ wc: 4.2k (not proofread :>)

🎧 a songfic, inspired by The Neighbourhood's Reflections

-ˋˏ under the cut .ᐟ ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Perfect does not exist, maybe that’s true for you, but I’ve seen perfection, I’ve felt perfection. The thought seems superficial, I know, but to be in my place —I’ve had to endure years of sorrow because of this said perfection. 

And perfection was in the form of Jung Sungchan. 

On the surface, it might take a few blinks for one to understand. But it wasn’t solely your visage that has led me to this wistful void. 

I loved to draw, just as much as I loved you, maybe a little less —but you get the point. You’ve been the subject of my illustrations, from the moment I saw you, till I couldn’t physically see you anymore. 

“Is that me?” I didn’t get why you’d still ask, of course it’s you, it’ll always be you. 

The outline of your profile provokes daydreams, oh how I wish I was the only one. When I saw you for the first time I instantly knew, everyone had their eyes on you, it was only a matter of time till the attraction came pouring in. 

Still, you stood your ground like everyone else, just trying to live your life, and everyday I wished I could be part of it. 

I draw the lines, and you paint it with colors, colors I had never seen before, colors that could’ve been the manifestation of your reciprocation. 

“Good morning, I’m Jung Sungchan, I was wondering if I’m in the right place, senior Kim sent me here to fetch the package from, Y/n?” you were quite unsure of my name, I’m pretty sure you had it written on the tiny piece of paper you held in between two of your fingers. 

“That’s me. Department?” I didn’t even know why I still asked, I knew well where you were situated. 

“Film.” I felt as if I was going to combust, I could’ve sworn I saw you held back a laugh, the slight hum of your bass voice almost had me stumbling back. “You?”

“Arts.” Now I almost laughed at myself.

But never did I think that our talk would last for a longer while. “Sophomore, right?”

I tried my best to exude a hum as a response, before asking you back why, “Why’d you ask?”

“I see you around a lot, but I just wasn’t sure if you were older or younger. I also confused you with someone else I knew multiple times before.” —someone else?

I was thinking maybe I should be more open to variety, to not wear the same hairstyle, similar set of clothes, and one color pallette everyday. Maybe then you wouldn’t confuse me for someone else. Maybe then you’d see me and think, that’s Y/n from the Arts Dep. She's really pretty.

“Who did you confuse me for? maybe I know who they are.”

“Actually…” actually what Sungchan? “She’s your friend.”

I don’t exactly have loads of friends, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Which one?”

“Minjeong.” 

I had no idea of what expression you had painted on my face with all the things you had just said, but Minjeong? to confuse me with her might be too remote from the reality I lived. And because I was talking to a guy, I remembered when she told me, “Can you believe it? I’m being pursued by a guy!” —I never thought that guy would be you. Why you? or rather, why not me?

It wasn’t hard to tell whether my assumptions are true or not, because the way you bit your lip after her name fell from your mouth, suppressing a smile I could only assume was one only she could elicit from you.

I was right. 

And I was in pain. I felt like nothing but an excuse for you to see her, always seeming to have packages to retrieve for your senior, and coming back to return things to me, then all I hear is she, she, she, Minjeong where, Minjeong when —I wanted to rid of my hearing, besides it already felt like bleeding to the point where clotted blood would just block my auditory. 

But my pain only leads to my deception. I hate that I had to smile through whatever you had to say, congratulate you even when you gushed about her smiling back at you, or talking to you all evening through messages. 

“That’s cute, happy there’s some progress.” I spoke through a pretentious smile. 

“Thank you Y/n, I really don’t think it’ll be possible if I hadn’t met you.”

Perfection is truly just anguish behind a polished glass case, and at that moment I faced you, I wished I hadn’t met you at all. 

My pain and deception, tomorrow I would keep the frame of your smile in my memories, and I just had to pick up a pencil. I’ve always loved to draw things, but through an artist’s honesty, I only draw the things I find beautiful, the things worth the graphite imprinted at the side of my hand. You were beauty and agony, and as much as I wanted to say I hated you, I loved you more than my best creations.

“You drew me? That’s really awesome, I don’t know how artists manage to create such images." Did you never think of how I did it? that maybe I stared at you for too long that I could draw you at every angle, with any expression —I had memorized every line on your face, the curve from the tip of your nose, to your philtrum, and to your lips. Whenever I drew your lips I would touch my own, feeling for its cushions whilst wondering how yours would feel. I reckon it must’ve been softer, more delicate, it always looked so velvet that for a while it was the only thing that occupied my mind. 

So shameful of me to be fantasizing about a guy my friend liked and a guy who liked my friend. But I loved you first, it could’ve been me. I always stuck around so that maybe one day you’d choose me. 

“She said yes!” —of course she would. 

Anyone in her place would, and anyone who wouldn’t would be lying to themselves. 

That smile you wore when you exclaimed so blissfully, it’s engraved in my mind, and then I knew I would never have that smile for myself. 

My mind is clouded, and my heart is aching and cracking, and whenever I felt it I just wished you could feel it too, just how much you’ve ruined my life. 

“Your work is honestly flawless, maybe Min could use some lessons from you.” your quip was followed by a playful hit on your shoulder, then a chorus of laughter.

“Yeah, Y/n is probably the best artist in our department, but I’m not that bad!” it hurt to watch you wrap an arm around her waist as her sweet voice so vexingly amplified in my ears.

You looked at me then, as if you were telling me to laugh. There was nothing for me to laugh at, it would be a pity to laugh at myself, and at what cost? Still, I had to force a smile, just for feeling sorry that I had let myself fall into your abyss. 

Avoiding you could’ve tended my wounds, but it wasn’t that easy when you were dating my friend. My friend who I had known longer than you, my friend who was a lot less selfish than me, who likely had thought about me more than I have with her. How could I when you were occupying a very gross space in my mind. I’m disgusting for still yearning for you, all when we had nothing, no foreground. You had never looked at me like you looked at her, I have never felt the skin underneath your ironed dress shirt, I have never felt the heat of your breath against my neck, and never have I felt your tender grip clasped around my hands. I was all desire and no fulfillment, and it had to be that way, not for your sake nor hers, but for mine. 

If I gave in, I wouldn’t be alive for you, her, and everyone looking down on me with ire. 

I would only grow to hate myself even more, I love you, but I could only see the antithesis of your motivations. 

“I owe you one too, Min and I wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for you.” and I didn’t even have a choice. 

I saw you to be a bit too brazen to continue to treat me like a friend, yet I never saw you as one of mine. 

“You don’t owe me one.” you owe me everything. 

“That’s not true, hey, how about this, I have a friend who wants to meet you, remember the drawing that I stole from you? Well, he saw it and he said he wanted to meet the artist.” you seemed so eager to push me away. 

“Oh really? Who's he?” to raise such a painful question, that day I truly was not myself.

You introduced me to a guy, and I could tell it took him great effort to be as expressive as you, not that he was aware that I had my eyes on you the whole time. It was no question that I would never see him the same way I did you, even if I tried, he isn’t Jung Sungchan, he isn’t you. 

“So, how’d you find Eunseok?” you asked me when you accompanied me back to my building. 

“He’s nice, but I’m not really looking for a date right now.” —I am only looking at you.

“Hmm, but try, yeah? maybe not date, but befriend him. Try to see him for who he is.” I chuckled at your careful pick of words, befriend, in what world did you think I was going to befriend a guy closely involved with you?

And for what? just so it would only be harder for me to escape myself? 

It’s already a torturous endeavor to keep up with your beaming face, walking up to me like an old friend you’ve been longing to see after some time. Friend, is all I’ll ever be. 

With the passing time, I figured, it was better than being nothing with you, right? I would rather have you just close enough, than not at all. I know it’s wrong for me to look at you that way, but it would only be me who knew, I’m sure. I see it in your eyes, how dismissive they are of the light that resides in mine, the light you ignited. You could so easily keep your eyes on me without a stagger, unlike me, fighting all my demons and being very easily lost in a reverie under your unsuspecting gaze. 

“You’re really pretty, you know that, right?” sadly it wasn’t your voice I would hear it from. 

“Eunseok, I already like someone else, I’ve told you.” 

“Yeah, I know that, and I know who. It was a compliment.” 

I had dared him to tell me who if he really knew, and he got it, slipped right off his tongue. Jung Sungchan, three syllables that provoked the fires of my hell. 

But was I really pretty? apparently, not pretty enough for you. 

“I mean, Eunseok wasn’t wrong, you are fairly pretty —but he did tell me you already like someone, do I know him?” you have no idea how badly I wanted to tell you to shut up, to tell you that it’s you, I like you. 

“That’s easy to say isn't it?”

“What?”

“To call someone pretty, and it doesn’t even have to be true.” It’s true, isn’t it? It's so easy to leave those words without a second thought, because they're all words, and deceit is inevitable. Your face molded into a dumbfounded expression, and it scared me. I might’ve sounded my hatred with those few words and so I said, “I’m kidding, and you don’t have to know who I like. It’s none of your concern.” 

I tried masking my regret with jest, but it was all true, I am not your concern. You shouldn’t care, especially when I’m not the one your heart beats for. 

I was a witness of the highs and lows of your relationship, how both of you seemed to lack something in each other’s eyes. At that point, all I could do was look away. I was afraid, so I distanced myself. The blame, the misery, I had not shown intentions out of the ordinary, but my brain ached and quaked from the what ifs and hows, and the whens.

“Y/n? Are you avoiding me?” my breath hitched, and I halted my steps. 

“No?—”

“No? why are you saying it as if you’re asking me?” I gulped, your eyes weren’t as spirited as they’d usually be, and your voice was demanding an answer out of me. 

“No. I’m really busy with my workload, Sungchan.” 

I wanted to yell at you, I’m in love with you, you and the way you cared, just stop caring, how hard could it be? stop caring so I could finally step away without looking back, so you could live a placid life without my trouble.  

I never thought I’d witness you chase after her in our building for the last time, pretty cheek bruised red from a hit you took from her. Was it over? and was it your fault?

“We broke up.” to me, your words sounded tantalizing.

I had no idea what you expected me to do, or say, or react. “Why?” and I had no idea I shouldn’t have asked. 

“I don’t know if I’m being honest with myself.” I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing, and I wish that would be the end of it. “Minjeong is a great person, I know I’m not. I wished I could’ve spared her the time, and returned her love the same way she gave it to me, but she’s not the one. I fell out, Y/n, I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, your sorry stinging my mind. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

You looked down for a while, eyeing the textures of the granite flooring. And I caught it, a single tear dropping down and landing in between your feet. “She’s your friend.”

I looked away from your swollen eyes, allowing the breeze to softly glide over the wisps of my lashes as I desperately searched for anything to reply, “You’re my friend too.” It would only pain me more when you kept apologizing, mumbling through your sobs. “Sungchan, stop apologizing.”

I was bewildered with the continuous apology, and why you chose to be this restless with me. But I guess you got me, even if I was tired, drained to the very bottom, I was still willing to catch the tears that swelled from your eyes with my shoulders. 

Well of course, it was easy for others to see it as something else, and I had to remember I had a friend, a friend that wasn’t you. 

“Minjeong, please, let’s talk—”

“I don’t want to fucking talk Y/n, there’s nothing for us to talk about.” 

Did she think it was my fault? Was it my fault? Are there things I’m failing to see?

But I'm just a girl, Sungchan, I failed to push you away. I felt temporary, replaceable, but you needed someone by your side. 

“Eunseok and I aren’t on good terms right now. He found out the truth.” I searched for it through your glossed eyes. 

Was there, perhaps, some other truth? “Truth?”

“I don’t know what to do.” but I was in no place to tell you what to do either. 

You were dodging bullets, but at that moment I was too preoccupied with swallowing the lump in my throat, trying to lure myself out of your poise. 

I forgot what I had told you, but all I know is that I was seeing you more often than the times you used to retrieve packages for senior Kim, and senior Kim has been away for two years, graduated. Now we’re the seniors, a pair with a piteous reputation to those who have known us throughout our college years. 

“We should make a movie together, you know.” you seemed too enthusiastic for your own good, but still, I chuckled. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“I mean, like an animation since you can draw, and you seem great with storytelling.” 

Storytelling? never even gave it a thought. “Interesting. Let me think about it, I might just consider it.”

“Take your time.”

I never knew just how serious you were. I ended up taking my time too well, with you.

To look back at it, it isn’t too bad of a decision to create something I could look back on and carry for the rest of my life. You were my serendipity, it would only lead me to fall deeper, and I know how much it’ll hurt when it’s finally time for us to part. 

So I guess, thank you, and fuck you for being so good to me, for leaving scars that would only burn when you were no longer in my reach. Your touch was my kryptonite, and your voice was my reason to force myself out of slumber. I’m so in love with you, but my pride would not allow me to. 

A part of me still bathes in guilt. I lost friends for you, for a future I could only dream about. 

“Where are you off to after college?” I tried to calm my pounding heart from the way your hand toyed with mine. 

You spread out my fingers, your thumb softly rubbing against them, “Still thinking about our movie.”

Our movie, that’s funny. “How about a little life plan?”

“You go first, then I’ll tell you mine.”

What was the point, Sungchan? “I have two paths laid out for me, one’s for character design, and the other’s free-lance, you know it.” your fingers glide against the skin at the back of my hand, and in a blink the warmth of your palm spreads throughout my body as it rests on my skin. 

“My turn, right?” you really had to pose it as a question, tilting your head at me, so obviously expecting an answer. I could only, and very languidly nod for I was getting myself drunk with your burning touch. “You know, I really want to work closer with you, so any decision I make, you’d probably see me at work.”

Perfection is a fucking lie. 

Again I’d find myself slumping on my bed, thinking about how easy it was for you to run past me. Now you had all these opportunities waiting in line for you. 

“They want me to act, do you think I’m fit for it? Do you think I can do it?”

If it’s that easy for you to leave, “Of course you can.”

It would’ve been nice if you were more honest, cause for a while you were drawing an outline of possibilities, possibilities of you and I, and not just me, me, me.

Until seeing you was barely a chance, I continued to refuse seeing through your honeyed gaze, afterall, I chose to love you too much, because either way, I had no choice but to let you go. 

Now I sit alone, writing books about the love I never had. Such a pitiful soul I am. I was even oblivious of the many details of this story, because we never talked beyond the trivial things, never about how our eyes longed for each other, or how our hands found each other’s skin that would sear from the sensation, the friction. 

You had moved out of town. I couldn’t bring myself to meet you at the train station for, possibly, the last time. I could only wish you luck through a poorly composed text message, three sentences long. 

the lovers by rené magritte 💌

sorry i couldn’t meet you today, but i wish you all luck in the world. you deserve whatever you have going for you. i’m gonna miss you.

my robbie 🥀

thank you y/n

i have a feeling i’m gonna miss you more hahaha

I had to leave you on read. This time I choose to just not look back. 

And it was for the better. It sure hurts to see you on Tv, to see you deny your dating history, “I’ve dated before, but I’ve never dated ‘the one’, needless to say, I wish I could meet her right now.” —I’ve read all the articles about that interview, that very statement of yours. How fascinating. Acting truly was for you. I could no longer see where we met in your eyes. 

I wonder if you’ve read any of my books, if you had wondered if I ever did pursue a career where I could make use of my illustrative talents —it got me nowhere, but you were right, I can tell a heck of a story, and so I told the world hundreds of them. 

Your foreshadowing of my future was a big stain I had to carry, and hide as an author. But I would keep writing without breaking even in the slightest bit. 

Because I only loved you. I only wished, but never fully hoped, never really tried. 

╔══════════════╗

“Hmm, are you sure you want this published?” 

“I’m not gonna have it out as is, of course I have to build characters. I just wanted your thoughts. It would make for a good novel, right?” 

You sat face to face with your publisher, Song Eunseok, to ask for his thoughts on this draft you made six years ago. 

“It would —but you know, I’m quite surprised.” Eunseok wore a smirk on his face, one you couldn’t quite read through. 

“Really? surprised?” a low chuckle escapes his mouth, very subtly shaking his head.

He had briefly glanced on the floor beside him, and when he looked back, almost all emotions he displayed were erased. “It wasn’t hard to tell you liked Sungchan, I knew, Minjeong knew.”

“Minjeong knew?” you almost lost your breath, heart racing from the tone of his voice alone. 

“Well, not until she was convinced. She’s just as stupid as you were —I mean, no offense, you’re great, but you’re also quite self-absorbed. Take it with a grain of salt, but it’s the truth if you ask me.” you watched him pour himself a glass of whiskey, and he’d pour you one too knowing you’d need it. “They broke up because of you.”

He’d repeat the same motion, shaking his head and humming when the lines on your face started to show more. “Didn’t any of them tell you?”

“Tell me what, Eunseok?”

“Sungchan liked you too.” and there you would take your first sip of liquor. “You truly were too lost, weren’t you? you didn’t even notice the way he looked at you, and how he talked about you. Just a shame he didn’t tell you after the storm died down.”

The storm, their break up, the demise of your dignity. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I don’t know what he had in mind, why don’t you ask ‘your Robbie’.?” you rolled your eyes at his laughter that followed. “Cute nickname, where did ‘The Lovers by René Magritte’ come from?”

Pouring yourself more of the liquor, you’d softly laugh at yourself, looking back at that bitter memory. “I showed him my favorite artworks, ‘The Lovers’ happened to be one of them, and he said it’s so beautifully made, like me.”

“That sucks.”

“I know.”

You both laughed over your wretched past, how pathetic and wrong you were. You were glad you could now see through more than your own lens, it's a whole other journey to discover and open yourself up to empathy, and it felt like contentment to finally reach it.

“You received it, right?” 

You looked him right in the eyes, smiling as you asked back, “The wedding invitation?” he hummed and nodded as an answer, “Of course. It’s what led me to finding that draft.”

He hummed again, head propped on his hands as he caught sight of your gaze, “We should go together, maybe we can ask Sungchan if he’s okay with the story.”

“And maybe we can get him to act for it when it’s turned into a movie.” his laughter grew louder, making you lightly hit his shoulder. 

“Well, at least he could fulfill his wish of making a movie with you.”

“Oh shut up.”

He was quite… the experience. A love that was pure misery. If he wanted to, he would’ve, right? So does it truly matter if he likes you then? 

You looked again at your draft, ink at certain spots were smudged, you remember being all tears as you wrote. 

Sungchan was not your greatest love, but you’ve got to admit he’d led you to a place where your passion could only grow stronger. You could say that sometimes you missed the way he felt on your skin, but it would be just the memories itself, and not him, not anymore. 

Perfection does not exist, and you had to go through all that trouble to convince yourself that it was him. 

Who could blame you? you’ve never met anyone like him, and you never will again. 

End.

just something very short and sweet for u :)) short question, is this a happy ending or not?

[m4ntras]

application.

// ( ozge yagiz . cis woman . she / her ) . ⸻ feraye ersoy , a twenty - five year old , has survived another day in red creek where they have lived for two weeks . the smokescreen is known for being adaptable and avoidant and is often associated with sunsets through dirty train windows, whispered memories of a past that refuses to be forgotten, smiles that mask vulnerabilities, being homesick but never knowing where home is . in a small town where they work as bartender @ the warehouse word travels fast . it’s hard to keep a secret , and it looks like the boogeyman redacted.

statistics.

full  name  :    feraye  ersoy

nickname(s) /  alias(es)  :    fera, but not really picky about what you call her

age  /  dob  :   25,  september 8th

hometown  :    covington, louisiana

length  in  redcreek  :   about two weeks

ethnicity  :  turkish 

nationality  :   american 

gender  /  pronouns  :   cis woman,  she  &  her

orientation  :   bisexual  ,  biromantic

character  label  :   the  smokescreen 

faceclaim  :   ozge  yagiz

language(s)  spoken  :  english  and  turkish

accent  :   southern  accent  

hair  :  natural  brunette, long

eyes  :  big  ,  brown  eyes.

height  :  5 ‘ 4.

tattoos  :  an array of tiny tattoos scattered in different areas of her body

piercings  :  two  on  each  ear  lobes,  her  belly  button .

scars  :   a  small  scar  from  falling  onto  broken glass 

biography.

triggers: alcoholism .

born  and  raised  in  the  very  small  town  of  covington,  louisiana  and  raised  by  a  single  father,  feraye's  life  was  less  than  ideal.  in  truth,  it  was  terrible.  her  father  was  a  drunk  who  seemed  to  care  more  about  getting  his  money's  worth  in  bottles  as  opposed  to  the  well  being  of  his  own  child.  as  a  result,  she  was  forced  to  learn  how  to  survive  on  her  own  and  essentially  be  the  caretaker  of  a  man  who  was  suppose  to  be  responsible  for  her  —  turning  him  on  his  side  to  ensure  he  didn't  choke  while  sleeping  or  even  going  as  far  as  to  drag  his  much  heavier  figure  into  the  shower,  fully  clothed,  to  make  sure  he  was  awake  and  sober  enough  to  get  to  work.  the  only  one  capable  of  keeping  the  lights  on. it  didn't  come  as  a  surprise  to  anyone  when  her  only  dream  was  to  get  out  of  town  and  far,  far  away  from  this  life  as  she  could  be.  knowing  the  world  was  so  much  bigger  than  the  place  she  grew  up  and  feraye  desperately  wanted  to  see  it.  maybe  even  find  a  place  that  she  felt  connected  enough  to  call  home.  so,  by  eighteen,  she  was  gone.  kissing  covington  goodbye  with  the  goal  of  never  seeing  it  again. bouncing  from  state  to  state  became  her  normal  as  well  as  working  various  part  time  jobs  to  keep  herself  a  float  —  comes  pretty  easy  when  she  doesn't  have  too  many  responsibilities  to  look  after.  spent  a  lot  of  time  and  money  saving  up  for  a  little  beat  up  car  that  she  now  uses  to  drive  wherever  she  wants.  though,  an  old  car  comes  with  old  car  problems  and  that's  why  she's  here  in  redcreek.  it  hadn't  been  the  goal  she  had  in  mind,  but  her  car  ended  up  breaking  down  and  it  happened  to  be  the  closest  to  this  town.   now,  she's  working  as  much  as  she  can  to  be  able  to  afford  the  fixes  needed  on  the  car.

wanted connections.

roommate : someone who was renting out a room and feraye immediately jumped at the opportunity.

people she's met while traveling : could literally be from anywhere within the last eight years considering she's been moving around since 18. does have a terrible habit of ghosting.

friend(s) from louisiana : could be from anywhere close to covington, but this could be a little more negative depending on the vibes because, again, she has a bad habit of ghosting and didn't tell anyone when she left.

more coming soon.

[allbeendonebefore]

Casual Cruelty

Happy Monmonton Day gang.

So, I don't write anything other than comics like, ever, let alone writing for a dedicated ship event because what even is that. I may chicken out and expunge this from the earth because it's cringe as hell but we'll see. I wrote this literally on my phone any time I was waiting somewhere without wifi or late at night when I couldn't sleep for some reason over the past, like, idk year and a half? I started with the title and went from there.

This is a (canon?*) story featuring Edward and Étienne, friends with benefits, in some indeterminate time period in the late 20th century in Montreal. Ed struggles with a lot of internal strife that almost wanders into the territory of self harm, but not quite. Lots of pining and seemingly unrequited feelings. Some drinking but nothing excessive, and just a tiny bit of bad French. There's nothing particularly unsafe for work although some undressing happens and Ed has very low standards in his fantasies. So, without further ado...

---

There were a lot of things that were likeable about Étienne Maisonneuve. He was attractive, naturally, though it was more how he carried himself, curated himself than anything else. One would look from his dark, carefully coiffed curls to the loud and erratic patterns on his clothes into his bright green eyes, peeking over a sunrise of long lashes and an amused smile, and one would gasp in genuine shock as he nonchalantly revealed how his older, taller, more handsome brothers would comment on his various shapes and sizes with caution or contempt, that he needed to tone his body up or his attitude down. Who would tell Étienne of all people that he wasn't enough? Too much, perhaps.

Edward, naturally, liked the coiffed hair and the loud prints and especially the green eyes. He was (silently) pleased that Étienne was not particularly tall (so they were generally at eye level), and whether Étienne could fit into his jeans one way or the other didn't particularly bother him (as Étienne, whether there were comfortable handles at his sides or whether you could cut your hand open on his hip, always chose jeans that were probably a little too small).

It was Étienne's unconventional physique (and his unconventional physicality) that Edward liked because Étienne was always changing, he could barely be held in his own skin. When Étienne reached out for him, which was often, it was all Edward could do to hang on for the ride. And it made him feel that, even with ten years of medication and self hatred and complete lack of control over his own body, perhaps he could become something desirable too. Even if only for a moment.

But it wasn't Étienne's appearance that was particularly occupying Edward's thoughts, even if it was rather pointedly occupying his lap and flashing a gleeful grin towards the other occupants squished tightly together into the booth. It was what he was saying, and the conjectures of Meaning that Edward's mind was trying to keep up with.

"And so I couldn't pretend like I hadn't seen him, I mean, how fucking cowardly!" (The others tittered encouragingly, not wanting to miss the blow by blow, while Edward busied himself with a cluster of little triangles printed on Étienne's shoulder and tried to pay attention and not think about how he himself was a fucking coward more often than not.)

He missed the details about the confrontation in his concentration.

"But I said to him, maybe if he wasn't a biphobic de crisse de-"

The altercation rapidly being sketched in Edward's head, at least, was full of expression and colour and electricity. Étienne had run into (an acquaintance? An ex? An old flame who had burned him one too many times, who had made him swear off love for good?). One (Étienne?) was on their way in, one heading out of the (cafe? diner? dispensary? trading post? dep?). Words were exchanged, the fur flew, Étienne naturally emerged victorious (pleased? bitter? wounded?). However it had felt in the moment, clearly amongst attentive friends it was a savourable challenge and good humoured.

Edward was convincing himself it was something he had taken that made the details slip through his brain like earthworms through wet mulch. Surely it was down to some substance that made his stomach clench, not the fact that he had heard some version of this story from Étienne enough times to wish he hadn't. Étienne confronts the weak-minded conservative. Étienne dashes any hope of salvaging a relationship against the rocks. Étienne pierces the heart of the next poor sap who dares to remind him he ever had one of his own, just because he can.

This is how Étienne is and has always been, Edward reminds himself as he calmly takes a sip of whatever Étienne has pressed into his hand (he can't taste it). What he thought he read from him over the years was projected onto ink and tears that had long since dried, delusions of childish fantasy. The person in his lap was more real, carried more weight, than whatever scrawling Edward had been trying to interpret since before he was literate.

"Eddy?"

"Mm?"

"What do you think?"

Edward stared at him stupidly. Was he supposed to tell him he'd done the right thing? That his casual cruelty to the poor sap who just wanted to pay his bill and go home was his sexiest quality?

"The drink."

Edward weighed the question.

"It's okay."

Peals of laughter rippled forth and jostled Ed from his position, clearly the wrong answer.

"That's Eddy for you, always a polite word. A true Canadian," Étienne teased as he slung an arm around Edward's neck.

Edward flushed. The only thing more embarrassing than not paying attention was being caught out as undiscerning, uncultured.

Back home, he would have leaned into it, but here... The insult would have to slide off his well-oiled armour. He managed a grin, almost as if he meant it, and took another sip.

---

His guard was still up even after they stumbled up the metro steps, and as he leaned his head against the bus window away from Étienne's shoulder. It remained so even after the front door closed behind them and Étienne had pirouetted away with their coats and boots.

He excused himself to try to settle the emotional soup in his stomach in front of the bathroom sink before Étienne had a chance to pin him in place. For someone who was so easy to be around, Étienne had a way of making him feel uneasy.

Ed's malaise was chronic and ebbed in like a tide; Étienne was mercurial and his mood shifted sharply and unexpectedly. It was in Edward's interest to deal with himself first rather than risk ��tienne misinterpreting him, or worse: feeling responsible for him.

Maybe he'll ask if I'm alright, he thought as he completed his routines. Maybe he'll ask what took so long, or make some joke about getting lost that will lighten the mood enough for me to tell him.

Tell him?

Edward caught his own inquiring eye in the mirror as he dried his hands and swept away the ring of droplets around the rim of the sink. Tell him he didn't perform these little gestures out of the traditional guest-host relationship? That he wanted something impossible?

He leaned on the counter unsteadily, somewhere between faking being sick and being sick.

Here came the tears. What the fuck did he want? For Étienne to knock the door off its hinges and rescue him? To wipe the sick off his face and tuck him in? Or would he rather be back home, imagining becoming the latest villain who dared to try to make E. M. fucking Maisonneuve commit?

This, he reasoned, was the alcohol. Clearly he was simply a sad drunk and the only thing for it was to brush his teeth, splash his face enough to hide any tear tracks, and sleep it off.

He caught himself eyeing the tub in the mirror. It wouldn't do any good, acting on that impulse. Imagining the slip, the fall, the impact and the shout was already giving him a headache. Even if the idea of being exposed, broken, and cradled was appealing. Christ-like, even... he managed a smile. He would find that funny.

Where might his host have got to? Ed doubted he was awaiting him with bated breath. He would surely find him bored, asleep waiting for him on the couch. Or perhaps he had already moved on to amuse himself elsewhere. He dried his hands, flicked off the light and peered down the hall.

There was no sign of life from the living room, but he heard running water. Étienne trying to wash the taste of the evening out, no doubt.

Edward cautiously hovered at the edge of the kitchen, a dimple curving despite himself. Étienne, of all possible things, was furiously washing the last of a generous array of dishes.

"You clean up well, Maisonneuve," Edward gave him an exaggerated once over, smiling at the large amount of water Étienne had somehow spilled down his front in his haste, revealed as he twisted around to acknowledge Edward's presence.

"I was hoping you'd take a little longer, you aren't supposed to know how much I had left to prepare for you and how little I'd done," Étienne smiled and turned back to rinsing the last few stragglers hiding beneath the suds.

"The illusion of your carefree bachelor life is shattered," Edward mock sighed. He leaned against the wall, unable to answer the impulse to help. Somehow, finding Étienne this concerned over it was so...

It was like a dream, watching this private moment. Étienne fiddling with the cap on the dish soap, scrubbing a particularly displeasing spot, nails scratching over the towel. One might even mistake him for mortal, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans after fumbling around in the dishwater for the plug.

Edward's heart ached sweetly. He couldn't have everything he wanted, but he could continue to savour this tart hurt for a hundred years more. Whatshisname de Biphobe was missing out.

"Effortless." Étienne grinned, scrunching his face in mock satisfaction that blossomed into nothing short of a genuine smile as Edward met his eyes.

"Your secret is safe, I'm nowhere near sober enough to remember your kitchen as anything but spotless," Edward twirled unsteadily out of the doorway to prove his point.

"I'm sorry for that, Eddy," Étienne laughed and reached out to catch Edward's fingers and complete the clumsy flourish. "You flew five hours only for me to find you the worst drink in town."

"I thought you knew this city," Edward's eyes and his resolve crinkled up like tin foil, he couldn't help but interlock their fingers.

"I'll make it up to you," Étienne's gaze sunk briefly, his smile rose.

"Mm? I dunno, I may be ruined for trying new things forever."

"Perhaps I find bad things on purpose," Étienne grinned maliciously. "Get the worst out of the way so that you tolerate the rest. Or that you appreciate my favourites."

"I fly out five hours to "tolerate" the farce of national unity at work, I don't "tolerate" you," Edward looked away from Étienne's face and back down to studying his shirt pattern, dabbing at the damp spots uselessly with his hands and causing Étienne to try to wriggle away.

"What are you doing?" Étienne whined, "It's cold!"

Edward dropped his hands abruptly as Étienne took the opportunity to return the favour, poking and prodding Edward against the wall.

"You're doing, it wrong," Étienne paused, laughing briefly between words, angling for his next attack. He looked up to see Edward's worried expression, which was disturbing enough for Étienne to straighten up and meet his gaze.

"Oh, come on Eddy," he stepped in closer and started playing with the collar of Edward's shirt, "You've barely smiled since you got here. Are you not having fun?"

Edward gulped. He hadn't been, but Étienne knowing this was exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

Then again, what other reason did he have to come out here? Their entire relationship for around two decades seemed to balance on Étienne as his personal concierge of fun, legitimate or otherwise.

"Has something happened?" Étienne's brows knit, eyes searching.

"No," Edward recovered. "No more than the usual bullshit."

Étienne looked unconvinced for a moment, but he expertly shifted the tone.

"I'll help you forget all about it." Étienne, clearly plotting something, grinned wickedly as his arms shot out to pin Edward's to his sides.

"What are you-" Edward flushed as Étienne slowly pivoted him back to the door frame.

To his surprise, Étienne released him as quickly as he had caught him. He grinned over his shoulder at Edward, "You were in front of the fridge."

Reaching in for what he was looking for, he added, "There's a jar in the cupboard on your left, please. And I'll also need a bowl and two mugs."

Edward blinked at him stupidly before retrieving the dishes, opting to use what he could find in the cupboards before turning to the freshly washed items by the sink. By the time he had found the jar, he heard a curious hissing sound and nearly dropped the thing when he figured out where it was coming from.

Étienne's electric kettle was soon whistling merrily, and Edward finally brought himself to comment while Étienne reached for the offered bowl.

"Seems you aren't about to burn the place down," he laughed weakly.

"Ha, no, it took some courage for me to try it out but so far it's worked like a charm and expanded my repertoire significantly. I can make all sorts of things: oatmeal, noodles..."

Edward's heartstrings nearly snapped with the strain. He really needed to heighten his standards. The thought of Étienne preparing cup noodles for the two of them should not be attractive. He had to look away before he started imagining him ruggedly heating water over a campfire.

"And the powder?"

Étienne handed him a spoon from the drawer as he fumbled for whatever he was looking for. "Cocoa. I've been experimenting with my own blend," he replied as he triumphantly pulled a beater out from where it had been wedged in the drawer. Slotting it into place with a satisfying click, Étienne turned up the dial and his hand mixer roared to life.

Edward spied the carton of whipping cream next to the bowl and everything fell into place.

Étienne, catching his eye as the mixer powered down, winked teasingly. "Don't worry, I've made extra for later." He handed Edward one of the beaters and could barely restrain his giggles as he popped off the other and brought it to his mouth.

The cold cream did little to help the first blush creeping up Edward's neck and ears. The sour taste did.

Étienne choked on his beater. "Oh, Eddy, no... I swear this was good yesterday," he frantically tried to grab the other beater from Edward.

"It's not bad," Edward spun away with a smile as he finished licking up the cream. "Better than that first drink you gave me, anyway."

"Eddy, you'll make yourself sick-!"

"It isn't that far gone, honest. If it really bothers you, put some plastic wrap on the bowl and we will cook with it tomorrow. Whipping cream is a decent butter substitute, and it'll taste much better than this heated."

Étienne looked at him with amazement for a moment before he hastily followed Edward's instructions. "Where do you learn this stuff?"

"You've been around three centuries and you don't pick this stuff up?"

"I pick it up," Étienne leaned against the fridge door as he closed it, hands behind his back and a sly grin on his face, "off a plate. With a fork."

"How do you survive?"

"Much better now. You're a life saver, I mean it."

Ed turned his attention to the hot chocolate, saved from spoiling, to distract himself from thinking too much about what exactly he meant. Picking it up, he glanced warily at Étienne who gave him an encouraging nod and smile.

The bitter cocoa, the sweet sugar, the hint of cinnamon... Everything had been smoothly whisked and there was even a kick of chili at the end. Étienne's smile grew as Edward's eyes widened.

"It's good. I like it." Surely he could come up with a better compliment than that.

Étienne didn't seem to mind his awkward bluntness, smiling into his own mug without breaking his gaze. "You see, I may be a fuck-up, but things eventually turn out just as I intended."

Edward said nothing, focusing on the cocoa and not the story of the evening. Of course, Étienne Maisonneuve, conquering hero. Always.

The companionable silence as they drank was unbearable. Edward quickly broke it.

"This might be the first hot meal you've ever made for me." He meant to muster a smile, but must have forgotten.

Étienne blinked in surprise. "Not so," his eyes narrowed in concentration. "You remember I made that... the roux, with the peas and corn?"

"Rubaboo," Edward supplied.

"Rubaboo! Now, I could make that at some point, surely. And far more meal-like than this."

Edward didn't want to think about old times. He didn't want to think about his childish thoughts or his naivety and he didn't want to think about the self satisfied glow in his chest that Whatshisname de Biphobe would never, could never know Étienne as long or as well as Edward did.

He didn't want to think about sacrificing almost two hundred years by ruining their relationship and becoming the next poor sap to be discussed over one of Étienne's outings.

Suddenly, the weight of his escape from home settled between his shoulders. He put down his empty mug unsteadily into the sink.

"I have to pass out." He was too tired to try to be anything but his blunt, boring self.

"Of course," Étienne smiled, setting his own mug down and fluidly steering Edward out of the kitchen.

"I'd just brushed my teeth," Edward moaned pathetically.

"Mhm," Étienne flicked off the light behind him.

"It's like 6:00 AM in my head and I just got here and I'm boring and tired, and-"

"And drunk."

"And drunk. And not fun." Edward hiccupped weakly for emphasis.

"Where to?"

"Yours. I won't be able to sleep with Rocket Richard staring at me."

Étienne caught him by the shirt before he could collapse on the bed. He quickly unbuttoned it for Edward and held it back, letting gravity do the rest. Edward fell with a soft sigh, eyes closed.

"'Tienne, peux-tu..." For some reason, it was easier to ask for something in French.

"Bien sûr." He didn't see the smile on Étienne's face, but he could hear it. He felt well practiced hands undo the belt and button at his waist; he then half-heartedly tried to wriggle free.

"Et peux-tu me cuisiner," Edward murmured. "Demain."

"Qu'est-ce que tu voudrais, Édouard?" He felt the denim peel off his legs.

Edward was silent for a long time, drifting off, grasping for the right word. "Oatmeal," he said.

He struggled to hang onto consciousness. Though he couldn't keep his eyes open, he heard Étienne laugh. Seconds later, or maybe a few minutes, he heard the clink of a cup set against the nearby night table.

Even nearly asleep, a wave of guilt lapped at him. It wasn't so long ago that he could keep up with Étienne, that he could be fun, almost without pretending. Now Étienne was tucking him in and keeping him hydrated, like a child, or an old man.

"J'm'excuse..." he mumbled.

"Ahh, Eddy. Toujours le 'Canadian'." Étienne teased, a mocking melody on the English. Edward felt the warmth from Étienne’s cupped hand, mussing his hair gently. "Bonne nuit, mon chum."

There were a lot of things he loved about Étienne Maisonneuve. He loved how he never took himself, or anyone else, too seriously. He loved how every time he fucked something up, he would find a way around it or through it. He loved his warm dishpan hands and the solid press of him against his back. He loved the way he was causally cruel, biting and acidic. He loved when his smiles met his eyes and when his eyes met his.

---

END

---

*It's canon in the sense that they are immortal personified cities but it's only "canon" if you accept it as such. I try to position myself somewhere in between @randomoranges' fluffy candy writing and @quatschmachen's angsty torment writing I guess, so today you get a little of both.

[digeethegenie]

Day of the Moogles

Day 05 - Stamp 7th Astral Era - PostMoogle Quests (2.3)

Pay your people what they're worth. Especially if they happen to be moogles.

It was a quiet- well, what passed for quiet- afternoon in the brightly lit city-state of Limsa Lominsa. Yujo, dressed in a purple work dress and a puffy cap, was standing in the Aetheryte Plaza waiting for someone. A long yawn escaped her mouth as she stretched and shook out the kinks and sores of the last week of adventuring. Just as the last breath of tiredness slipped out to meld into the bustle of the plaza. The person (or, rather, moogle) she was waiting for fluttered into view.

The moogle, who was simply known to all as The Deputy Postmoogle, floated towards the lalafell, huffing as they dragged their large red leather sack around its tiny body.

"S-Sorry. Sorry. Got caught up in some stuff, kupo. Got the letters for you, ku-kupo."

They floated down towards Yujo who carefully took the bag from them and looked through the letters, checking to see if any of them were addressed in any way that required "Moogle intelligence", whomever this shadowy cabal of presumably moogles- though she had a running theory that it was Raya-O-Senna helping the moogles as an excuse to do a bit of non-seedseer fun on the job whilst using the moogles being inhabitants of The Twelveswood as an out if anyone asked- may be.

As she thumbed though the letters, she realised that none of them had something she was used to seeing on letters back home on The Spiran Archipelago.

"Hey, Dep." She said, calling the attention of the moogle.

They hummed in response.

"Why do none of the letters have stamps?"

The forest creature tiled their head (and rest of their body, given moogle physiology). "Stamps?" it asked, its pom shaking as they did. "What are those?"

The answer caught Yujo off guard. Then she realised she never had any pay sent for her work on any quests involving the Postmoogle. When she asked Tataru, who managed the incomes and outgoings of all the scions, it was all meal tickets for the various eateries of the tri-state.

"Uh, Dep."

"Yes, Apprentice?"

"Have… You ever been paid for doing the mail?"

"…S-Should I have?"

Realising just a little too late that she could add "Instigator of the first Postmoogle strike in Eorzean history" to her ever-growing list of titles, Yujo's mouth pursed as she tried to keep stum.

"Oh, I don't kupo'ing believe this!" The Deputy Postmoogle cried out as he floated away at erratic speed, in spite of Yujo's protests. Left with the baby- that being the mailbag- Yujo decided to quietly do the job, and hand the bag back to Raya-O.

A couple of sevendays later (during which time no one got their mail and Good King Moggle Mog XII- may he ever negotiate fair compensation and benefits for his fellow moogles- was summoned several times) Yujo's payday had come.

She and Tataru could only stare blankly at the large sack of kupo nuts that were addressed to the Warrior of Light that sat on the table.

[alexxmason]

Just A Touch

Paring: Eli Palmer x Deputy Callahan (belongs to @minilev) Word count: 2100+ Warnings: injuries, minor angst, hurt/comfort, pining, fluff Note: Merry Christmas @minilev 💕🎄a gift for you for the Christmas exchange hosted by @natesofrellis 💕 I hope you like it, and I hope I caught your deputy just right! This was really a joy to write, and I’m grateful to have this opportunity! Happy holidays! 🎄

The spotty signal of the radio made it hard for the woman to hear the request, and when she asked for them to repeat, she finally understood the caller, “Dep! Deputy Callahan? Do you copy?”

“Go ahead,” she cleared her throat after taking a sip from her canteen. Next, Wheaty requested Callahan to check in on their mutual colleague.

 He told her that Eli had taken off and hadn’t checked in for some time, “I know he can take care of himself, but it’s Christmas. So you know, for me? For the whitetails?” It was easy for Callahan to forget it was the holiday season rolling. People would rather be with loved ones and friends, yet they were fighting for their lives in the cold weather. And the snow was beginning to pillow the land.

After trekking out to the last location Wheaty gave her, it wasn’t too hard to narrow down Eli’s tracks. The snow was just beginning to pick up, not enough to wipe away Eli’s tracks but enough to keep the Peggies and Judges in their godforsaken holes.

She had been trekking in the mountains for some time, alone for once, to clear her mind with all that’s been going on. Her companions had meant to meet her but needed to resupply. So she was okay with this time alone.

The lack of Palmer alarmed her when she noticed a deep shade of red on the frosted ground and tracks. Multiple people. But a rustle behind the deputy caught her attention.

Too hard for the wind, and the wind doesn’t step on leaves; she’s quick to lift her weapon at the source. But a weak and stumbling Eli Palmer dropped his bow when he saw the deputy. Rushing to aid her bloodied friend and comrade.

“Dep,” the word was barely a mutter. Callahan ran to him to hold him before he could collapse.

She felt him wince and keep in a tiny groan when she had him. Her hand was wet with blood.

An exit wound through his shoulder. Likely an arrow from one of Jacob’s hunters.

Maybe the loss of blood, but he looked weary and exhaustsmile at just the sight of her when he peeked up through his unruly hair, ed. Almost in a daze, but the deputy swore she saw him “I’ve never been so happy to see you... Or a familiar face.”

“Damn, Eli! Are you okay?” The worry in her voice was noticeable when she pushed the hair from his face. Callahan ran her fingertips along his bearded cheeks. Even under the unkempt beard, they were cold and growing pale.

She didn’t notice when Eli sighed at the touch, almost following her hand.

“We need to get you back to the Wolf’s Den.”

Instead of her plan, Eli pointed her into the opposite of the Wolf’s Den; he explained in painful breaths, “It’s too far. McClellan's old cabin is up here.” 

Hesitant, Callahan agreed as she held him as best as she could. Unfortunately, the cold and the wind slowed them down just a bit. The man was right about it being closer.

As the deputy helped him up the steps, she asked, “Eli, what happened out there?” “It’s..” Palmer grew silent when Callahan reached for the door of the old cabin, “Bad call.” He answered her once they entered the empty home.

It’s like any other home and cabin in Hope County. A hollow shell with littered papers and dust-covered furniture. 

It was still cold but much warmer than outside. For now, her warm leather would keep her warm. She was more worried about her injured friend.

“I could say that with the cold coming in and you leaving the Wolf’s Den,” There was a slight hint of snark in her tone, but she tried to hide it when she let him go. 

The woman had him sit at a nearby round dining table with only one chair, “What were you doing out here?” 

Eli didn’t answer. His eyes avoided her own brown eyes; clearly, something was eating at him, but he only instructed her to scope out the cabin and find some medicine.

Instead of pressing her injured ally, Callahan checked the home out. The living and dining space were trashed; random papers were along the ground. Likely peggies looking for any legal papers.

With a slight nudge of her boot, she moved broken glass along the baseboards and out the way as she checked the back room and bathroom. The most simple bedroom with dark wood end tables and a matching dresser, and a made bed, untouched by the rough invaders that ravaged the rest of the home. 

Maybe cultists weren’t savages after all.

The bathroom was just as neatly kept. It could be shocking to see it so cleaned even with all the dust and lack of tenants.

Callahan raided the medicine cabinet and sighed with relief when she found a proper solution for Eli’s wound. She felt even more relief when she found a roll of gauze, maybe just enough for her friend. 

When she returned to the living space, Eli was tending to the fireplace, holding his still bleeding shoulder while blowing into the bottom of the grate.

“You know burning coals are just a bit hotter than burning wood?” A random fact as the Whitetail used a poker to shuffle the cold, old wood inside the fireplace. Like luck was on his side, the fire started slowly. 

It gave them just enough light to their space, and Callahan called to him, “You want me to patch that shoulder up?”

He doesn’t look at her. Only at the fireplace as the flames grew with his care. Each of his movements was painful, but he didn’t turn back at the deputy, “Can you believe it’s Christmas?”

“Time flies when you’re surviving,” she motioned him to her. To the seat she left him at before as she prepared for whatever medical attention she could give him. 

Eli was so hesitant, so shameful as he kept his face down. The long, dark locks covering his face.

“May I?” Callahan asked to remove his shirt. When he nodded to her and stood to make it easier, Callahan pulled the fabric up. Listening to a small wince of pain, she quickly apologized, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the Wolf’s Den?”

“I trust you, Cal,” a free hand takes hers and pats it lightly, “Plus it’s gonna get too cold for me to get out there.”

Her eyes followed his and watched his hand for a moment. A tender and careful touch, but one that lasted a little too long. 

It took Eli a moment before pulling away and nodding to the sweet deputy.

With his blessing and guidance, Deputy Callahan began to tend to his wound. Lightly dabbing away the dried blood. It made the Whitetail contain any sounds of pain. His breaths were controlled and deep as she attempted to suture the open wound. Eli even guided her, his hand on hers just for a moment when he did.

 His hold was gentle, the soft drag of his thumb lightly on her knuckles made her chest twist a bit. It’s the lightest touch, tender and reassuring. It’s something she felt before.

The cabin had warmed up a bit when Callahan was finished wrapping the shoulder. She smiled to herself when Eli attempted to move his arm up.

Still, in pain, he praised her, “Not bad, you did good.”

Callahan noted the continued lack of eye contact again, and she pressed him a bit, “Eli, what’s wrong?” She heard a confused hum and asked again, “You never leave the Den, and it’s not like you to be careless. Is everything okay?”

When he didn't answer right away, Eli let out a deep sigh and rubbed his hands hard. He shook his head and his hair with him, “It’s Christmas. I.. thought about all the whitetails stuck with Jacob. Stuck at the Grand View.” She watched as his shoulders tensed, “I thought maybe with the cold, they would be lax in security. I just didn’t want our people to be left alone like that. Not on Christmas.”

Maybe he was feeling guilty. It wasn’t uncommon for resistance members to feel the weight of loss, the loss of their comrades and friends. It didn’t help that it was being dragged out for months and into holidays meant to be spent with loved ones.

“I’m sure I tripped the alarm and caused a lockdown. And worse.” He told her, “I… just wanted to bring some folks home.”

“Eli..” Callahan grabbed his hand carefully. Her scarred hand ran over his to comfort the shaken man, “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

He went on but kept his face from hers, “No? I came home busted up and failed.” Callahan could hear him exhale a shaken and frustrated breath before he said, “How do you do it?” it confused her what he meant, and he asked how does she keep going when it felt like they were losing.

Callahan didn’t want to talk about herself; she had her own methods and drew strength from her own path. Instead, she asked him the same question, “How do you?” That caught Eli’s attention, his dark eyes peeked through his hair, and he shook his head. It coaxed her to go into more detail, “We’ve been at this for a while. We’re still here.” “I guess that’s true. We have people to fight for,” he answered. His free hand covered hers. Cradling her hands as they held his.

The touch was careful. Fragile even as the deputy inhaled deeply at his tenderness. Eli was hesitant when he lifted her hand to his forehead. She could feel his warm skin now, not at all as cold as before.

Callahan dropped to her knees before she took a hand from him and put it on his wounded shoulder as the deputy asked, “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

“I will be,” his voice was soft, still so gruff and optimistic.

It didn’t stop a slight flush build when Callahan ran her hand up his neck to his cheek, dragging a thumb along his cheekbone. It was rough with his facial hair, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter. Not the terrible cold and the unavoidable danger in the county. The holiday didn’t even matter.

What was important was the company. The safety of her ally and friend. 

A companion whose face Callahan held in her face. Cradling such an unruly man that was mistaken for a Peggie, but yet so much more. 

Eli didn’t stop himself from leaning into Callahan's touch, not when he felt the deputy’s thumb caress his cheeks. Resting his hands on her shoulders, she let out a small sigh when he pressed his forehead to hers.

There was no objection when the deputy felt his nose against her, the slightest and softest touch. It was hesitant till she doesn’t pull from him. It was just them, and there he wouldn’t let her go. Now when the deputy was so close. 

It’s then he finally peeked up. Finally, locking his dark, soulful eyes onto hers. They’re more enthralling than he wanted them to be. Too inciting, her lovely cheeks were warm to his touch.

Like the raging fireplace illuminating their room, Eli’s cheeks were burning, and he was thankful for this beard. But he doesn’t stop to put the faintest kiss on her thumb. So when he felt her shudder a bit when kissed her fingertip, everything in him pulled him to her.

He’d lost so much, and his inspiration brought him his strength. The fire in Cal’s eyes, he was it then when she said his name. A soft and hushed “Eli,” but it makes it sweeter when the young woman’s hands brushed his long hair from his flushed face. His own hands cup her beautiful face.

Her eyes wandered along his face, his eyes, and his lips. Then, watching as he took in deep, shuddering inhales with her touch before grazing his lips against hers and planting the softest kiss on her lips.

It was almost more painful than his shoulder when she held his hair tightly, but it only coaxed him to kiss her more deeply. More desperate when he feel Cal’s fingers in his hair, mewling softly into his kiss.

With a burning intoxication, Eli wrapped his arms around the deputy. Holding her tightly against him, groaning deeply when he felt her tongue along his.

Her enthralling gaze and touch took hold of the Whitetail, or Eli was just weak.

It didn’t matter. They’ll be okay. They had the company.

[painterofhorizons]

Floating Day WIP, Shepard’s Birthday Edition

After @shadoedseptmbr got me thinking about Shepard’s birthday and that threw me dep down the post-Akuze feels spirale again, have Reda’s first bday post-Akuze for a bit.

She has barely turned her datapad back on at night when Anderson’s call rolls in. One moment she’s checking that there are indeed no other missed calls or messages from the day, the next she’s already seeing his face without having a memory of actively accepting the call.

“Anderson-“

“Happy birthday, kid”, he skips a greeting, and just gets over with what he knows she dreads so much right now before it can get awkward.

She has had enough training today playing happy little family with Cynthia to not flinch at his words and somewhat keep her posture. “Thank you. I missed your first call, sorry about that.”

That was one way to put her actively ignoring him earlier this day. He doesn’t seem to bother.

The transmission flickers and his image breaks for a second, replacing his voice with static noise.

“-good day?”

Her jawbones tighten at the hint of small talk he tries to make. She’s still not up for that, no matter how hard he tries, or how often.

She nods, and her neck suddenly feels stiff. “Yeah, sure. You know Cynthia. Full program, cake, beach, presents. It was nice. You know, I-“

She stops mid sentence, the polite smile fading from her face. So much for the cake and the beach and the presents failing at doing their part in the end.

His voice is low and steady. “I know.”

The datapad slightly trembles as her fingernails press into its backside. She tries to get back into the fake birthday mood, shaking off the 98 percent of her that’s not feeling it. Failing. “It’s been a good day, I guess.”

With all the cake, and the beach, and the presents.

She shouldn’t be here, eating cake, enjoying views.

Before he can dig deeper about how much fun she’d had – not that she expects him to, he’s just trying to play normal, and normal is that it is her birthday, and people are friendly on birthdays and talk about cake and presents – and because she’s too stubborn to accept that he only calls because he’s trying to be friendly and because he’s stuck with her because he picked her up from the dirt eight years ago, she asks the same damn thing she asks him for months now.

“News on your end? On mine? Any chance you’re about to tell me this ain’t the beginning of two weeks stuck behind a desk here on Earth because I swear to everything people believe in that it won’t take me more time to go rampage.”

Anderson chuckles, she can see that much over the bitchy transmission.

“I see you’re having a great day, Shepard.”

“As always, Sir”, she snarls, but can’t hide a tiny smirk.

Yes, it sucks. It sucks being stuck here, with no end in sight, not only today but all of the days. And a call won’t change that. But she still appreciates it – the cake, and the beach, and his calls. That he called twice today, even though it’s been only eight days since his last call and not fourteen as usual, because today happens to be the day she picked for a birthday eight years ago. And even if he’s just being nice to her – that’s still him being nice to her. And Cynthia. And even is she can’t really enjoy it, she can appreciate it.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Thanks for the tag @wretched-mischief @clicheantagonist @kyber-infinitygems and @natesofrellis

Tagging: @direwombat @funkypoacher @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @marivenah @purplehairsecretlair @chadillacboseman @roofgeese @confidentandgood @derelictheretic @strafethesesinners @noetikat (no pressure of course) and anyone else who might have something to share.

So this is a very, very rough draft of what I have going on in chapter 10 right now. I've been trying to pluck away at it. It's been slow going, but such is life:

Her head was still spinning as she sat up in her tiny little cot. Rubbing at the lines between her brows, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to collect her bearings. 

She hated morphine, it gave her awful nightmares, ones she couldn’t wake from. More vivid than anything her regular dreaming mind could come up with. The last time she’d been given the stuff was while she was healing after her fifth, and last round, of surgery and skin grafts. Dreaming of Wilson sitting with her on the side of her bed, telling her to just adjust the drip, to let herself fall asleep, to let herself die. That it would be easier that way. 

She pressed the palm of her hand to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut trying to fight back the shadow that stood at the foot of her bed now. 

Just a hallucination. It’s not real. Ghosts aren’t real. 

She pulled back the thin wool blanket someone had the decency to throw over her and swung her legs over the side of the bed, heavy boots thumping down on the beige linoleum floor tiles. 

Tracey entered the room, her brow lifting at the sight of the deputy sitting up once more. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Dep.”

“Thanks.” Kit could barely lift her eyes without the sting of the fluorescent lights burning her.

“Got a real taste of what Faith has to give, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“The shit she spouts about wanting to save people, help people. It’s all bullshit. She’s still the same user and abuser she always was when she was just another junkie. Except now her fix is provided by “The Father”. Hardly any better than some sort of scum that we used to rely on.”

Tracey stood in front of her and placed her hand on Kit's shoulder, leaning down to look into the deputy's eyes.

“Got some feelings about her clearly.”

Pulling out a flashlight from her pocket, she waved the light in front of Kit's eyes, checking for pupil response. “I used to hope she could be freed from that cult. The day I got out, I had hoped she might come with me one day. Now, as far as i’m concerned, she can go down with them.”

Kit's eyebrows rose, surprised by the reaction of the Herald's old friend. “You want me to kill her?”

“I’m not saying you specifically. But if there’s anyone who’s got the skill to do it, it would be you.”

Kit didn't flinch. She didn't show any emotion at all, despite having just been told that she was thought of as a suitable killer.

[hartshorn-and-isinglass]

So I guess my week is just going to be literally watching the cat 24/7. Great. Amazing. No notes.

Speaking of which, I have no idea where she is right now. None. I cannot possibly convey to you how few opportunities she actually has for hiding in this tiny apartment, and yet... she's done this twice so far today. She's licking her wound back open, so I have no choice but to find her and put her back in the cone whenever I do discover where she's hiding.

I'm SO tired. At this rate of sleep dep I'm gonna get a visit from the incubus again, LOL.

ETA: ah. She has crawled inside the sofa. That would explain things.

[meduseld]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Oh man thank you ilu! This was tough, not just bc work barely gave me the time to fill this out. These are a rough top five, not in direct order:

Water Is Sweet, Blood Is Thicker: aka the Ormthur one where I went whole hog and I'm still so happy with the vibes and so forth. I just love it lol.

2. This Is Not My Beautiful Wife: I had such a blast with this Superbat one, and recently realized Pleasantville was a bigger influence on it than I thought.

3. Out Past the Party Lights: I genuinely think all my FC5 fics are amongst my best work but that's the problem with such a tiny fandom it appeals to like 3 people especially since the Dep is what you chose to make them.

4. Been Here Too Long (Trying To Get Along): I keep using a character having uh, a date with Rosie Palms, to explore them and I am just so happy with how this one came together and how it builds on the world too.

5. (It’s) What’s for Dinner: I would say all my Severance fics are really top tier too, and it was hard to choose just the one, but I think this might be it. It's a doozy to write for since there's so much dramatic irony and layers happening and balancing what are essentially two characters in one for every character

[goyal-hospital123]

What is Arthroscopy? Understanding the Procedure and Its Benefits

Arthroscopy is a minimally invasive surgical technique used to diagnose and treat joint problems. Unlike traditional open surgery, arthroscopy involves making small incisions and using a thin, flexible instrument called an arthroscope to examine the inside of the joint. This advanced procedure allows surgeons to see, diagnose, and treat joint issues with less trauma to the surrounding tissues, resulting in faster recovery times for patients. If you're dealing with persistent joint pain or injury, consulting the best arthroscopy doctor in Jaipur can help determine if this procedure is right for you.

In this blog, we’ll explore what arthroscopy entails, its common applications, and the benefits it offers over traditional surgical methods.

What is Arthroscopy?

Arthroscopy involves inserting a small camera (arthroscope) into the affected joint through tiny incisions. This camera provides a detailed, magnified view of the joint's internal structure on a monitor, allowing the surgeon to assess any damage or abnormalities. In some cases, arthroscopy is used for diagnostic purposes, but it is often combined with surgical procedures to repair joint damage.

The most common joints treated with arthroscopy include:

Knees

Shoulders

Hips

Wrists

Elbows

Ankles

Surgeons can use this technique to address a variety of conditions, such as torn cartilage, ligament injuries, inflammation, and loose bone fragments.

Common Conditions Treated with Arthroscopy

Arthroscopy is effective in treating a range of joint issues, including:

1. Knee Injuries

Knee arthroscopy is one of the most common procedures performed to treat conditions like meniscus tears, anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) injuries, and cartilage damage. These injuries can occur due to sports activities, accidents, or age-related wear and tear.

2. Shoulder Injuries

Shoulder arthroscopy is used to repair rotator cuff tears, treat frozen shoulder, and address labral tears or shoulder dislocations. The procedure can alleviate pain, restore mobility, and improve overall shoulder function.

3. Hip Impingement

Arthroscopy is often used to treat femoroacetabular impingement (FAI), a condition where extra bone growth on the hip joint causes pain and limits movement. The minimally invasive technique helps in reshaping the bone and repairing any labral damage.

4. Wrist and Elbow Injuries

For individuals with conditions like carpal tunnel syndrome, ligament tears, or tennis elbow, wrist and elbow arthroscopy offer relief without the need for more invasive surgeries.

5. Ankle Injuries

Arthroscopy is also performed on the ankle to remove bone spurs, repair ligament damage, and address chronic ankle instability.

Benefits of Arthroscopy

Arthroscopy has gained popularity due to its numerous advantages over traditional open surgery:

1. Minimally Invasive

The small incisions used in arthroscopy cause less damage to the surrounding tissues, leading to faster recovery times and less post-operative pain.

2. Shorter Recovery Period

Patients who undergo arthroscopy generally experience shorter hospital stays, quicker rehabilitation, and a faster return to their normal activities compared to traditional surgeries.

3. Lower Risk of Infection

Because the procedure uses small incisions, the risk of infection is significantly lower compared to open surgery.

4. Precise Diagnosis and Treatment

The use of an arthroscope allows for a clearer and more detailed view of the joint, enabling surgeons to accurately diagnose and treat issues that may not be visible through other diagnostic methods like X-rays or MRIs.

5. Smaller Scars

Since the incisions are smaller, arthroscopy results in minimal scarring, which is often a concern for patients undergoing surgery on visible areas such as the knee or shoulder.

Recovery and Aftercare

After arthroscopy, patients typically experience less pain and discomfort compared to open surgery. However, recovery times can vary depending on the severity of the joint issue and the specific treatment performed. Most patients can return to daily activities within a few weeks, though full recovery may take longer for more complex procedures.

Physical therapy is often recommended to help restore mobility and strength in the affected joint. It’s important to follow your doctor’s post-operative instructions closely to ensure the best outcome.

When to Consult an Arthroscopy Specialist

If you are experiencing joint pain, stiffness, or limited mobility that doesn’t improve with rest or physical therapy, it may be time to consider consulting an arthroscopy specialist. Arthroscopy offers a safe, effective solution for diagnosing and treating a variety of joint problems, allowing you to return to an active, pain-free life.

Finding the right specialist is crucial for a successful outcome. If your shoulder pain persists, for instance, it’s important to consult the best doctor for shoulder pain in Jaipur to ensure you receive the best possible care and treatment options tailored to your condition.

In conclusion, arthroscopy is a highly effective, minimally invasive procedure that can help patients with joint problems recover faster and with less discomfort. If you're dealing with ongoing joint pain, speak with a trusted specialist to explore whether arthroscopy could be the right solution for you.

[fincrew]

The Six Most Expensive Countries For Car Ownership

Buying a car is a costly endeavor, which explains why many people complain about the cost. Desired vehicles, in particular, are often quite expensive. The uncertain economic climate exacerbates the problem we're in right now. In Malaysia, motoring is not for the faint of heart - especially if you're into brand new cars. The further problem is that the country imposes some of the highest road taxes on automobiles globally. Recent car sales and parts sales for motor vehicles contribute the most to collecting import and excise duties. Then again, is Malaysia the most expensive country for buying and operating a car? Continue reading to find out.

Most Expensive Countries To Own a Car

Cuba There have been many positive changes in Cuba, at least on paper. Before 2011, it was nearly impossible to buy or sell. The island has been opened up to car manufacturers due to a tentative deregulation plan. Many popular brands and cars are available today, making it theoretically possible to buy and own one. Cuba has, unfortunately, remained an expensive country for automobile ownership. The second-hand market remains unaffected by the liberation, so many drivers cannot afford to buy used cars. The high cost of most cars is due to centralized price-setting and various taxes. Kitts and Nevis No doubt that this is a beautiful paradise on earth. As far as cars are concerned, St. Kitts and Nevis are more like a private hell. The costs of taxes are staggeringly high, making buying a car here one of the most expensive options. Perhaps only one positive aspect of this situation is that the island is tiny. Motorbikes and bicycles may be sufficient for your purposes. Brazil Car prices are ridiculously high in Brazil because of high taxes, high labor costs, and limited raw material supplies. You might end up doing some window shopping for a Brazilian-made car, like a locally manufactured Volkswagen. Many people consider importing cars because the available selection is poor. However, importing a vehicle can result in you being charged up to 100 percent of its value! There is also a lot of paperwork needed with autos, and fuel is heavily taxed! North Korea It is unlikely that many will or plan to buy a car in North Korea, but we would certainly have our hands full if we did. It may be possible for some government officials to get their hands on a Merc-copied Pyongyang 4.10, but others may not be so lucky. The purchasers of older Russian Volgas might find themselves dismayed to discover that their parts have not been imported in more than 20 years. You may want to take precautions if you own an automobile made outside of the country. Kim Jong Il reportedly got stuck behind a Japanese car in a traffic jam and ordered all Japanese vehicles to be confiscated at the time. Malaysia In Malaysia, car import policies protect home-grown automakers, particularly Proton. It is considered luxurious to drive a Toyota Camry or Honda Accord in this country. Malaysia has a unique situation when it comes to car prices. Here, even the most standard models sell at luxury car prices, making Malaysia the second most expensive country for car buyers. Even the least affluent Malaysians can afford to drive a Proton, which is not prohibitively expensive to own. Singapore Almost everyone knows that Singapore leads the list of the most expensive countries to buy a car. The truth is: Only 15% of Singaporeans can afford a car. Some car prices here are insane, such as the $135,988.00 Toyota Corolla, almost identical to the price of a new Scion FR-S. Even a Volkswagen Golf costs around $90,000 here. Those vehicles sell for about a third of that price in the UK. Cars in Singapore are so expensive because of their small size and dense population. Several measures have been set by the government of Singapore to regulate car ownership and use due to fears that there will be traffic jams if there are too many vehicles. The Land Transport Department also imposes a Certificate of Entitlement (COE), quotas for transport, road taxes, and electronic road charges, in addition to mandatory registration of vehicles. Despite Singapore's expensive car ownership, the country's public transportation system is among the world's best. The bottom line is that car ownership isn't always necessary, even for high-ranking executives. Read the full article

[aloflowers]

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[gobboguy]

Chapter 18: The First Month, Part Three

Alone in her dimly lit room, Ionia gazed down at her gruk'zad robes, now stained a deep crimson with the blood of Long-Hair. The pungent odor of Orcish blood and sweat permeated the air, assaulting her senses and making her head spin. With a grimace, she summoned her Inner Fire, channeling it to sharpen her senses and dull the overwhelming sensation of disgust.

As she stood amidst the suffocating stench, Ionia realized with a sinking feeling that she now carried the unmistakable scent of an Orc. She longed desperately to rid herself of the foul odor, to cleanse her body and clothing of the taint of battle. However, the filthy gruk'zad robes were her only option, their oversized form hanging loosely from her slender frame. Constantly readjusting the sash to secure the garment, she sighed heavily, resigned to her current predicament.

With a determined resolve, Ionia resolved to seek out Gelbeg and demand better-fitting attire, or perhaps even the luxury of a bath. Tying her tangled and blood-soaked hair back into a makeshift ponytail, she braced herself and stepped out into the torchlit corridors of Cairn Doom, her mind set on finding a solution to her discomfort.

The interior of Cairn Doom exuded an aura of darkness and foreboding, with its rough-hewn walls of black stone towering overhead. Torches flickered sporadically along the corridors, casting dancing shadows that seemed to twist and writhe with a life of their own. The air was thick with the musty scent of damp stone and the pungent odor of Orcish bodies, creating an oppressive atmosphere that weighed heavily on the spirit.

As she traversed the labyrinthine halls of Cairn Doom, she encountered various chambers and rooms, each shrouded in shadows and mystery. Dark alcoves held ancient relics and crude idols dedicated to MOG, their surfaces etched with primitive symbols and runes. The occasional glimpse of torchlight glinting off metal hinted at hidden weapons and armor strewn about, a reminder of the fortress's martial nature. Overall, Cairn Doom stood as a testament to the raw power and primal instincts of the Orcs who called it home, a place where darkness and danger lurked around every corner.

As Ionia traversed the dimly lit halls of Cairn Doom, her steps echoed softly against the cold stone floors. Peering into the first room she passed, she observed several burly Orcs hard at work, their muscles straining as they forged weapons and armor with practiced skill. Sparks flew from the anvils, illuminating their sweat-slicked bodies as they toiled away, creating tools of war for their brethren. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal reverberated through the chamber, a constant reminder of the fortress's martial nature.

Moving on, Ionia glanced into another room where a group of Orcesses bustled about, tending to Orcish children and preparing hearty pots of stew over crackling fires. The room was alive with activity, the air filled with the savory aroma of bubbling broth and the laughter of playful Orc-Whelps. Boys and girls frolicked together, engaged in mock battles and hunts, their tiny voices mingling in the thick Orcish accents of their caregivers. Continuing down the hall, Ionia caught sight of a separate chamber where whip-thin Orcish priestesses adorned in nothing but a thick coat of red paint knelt before a shrine dedicated to MOG. They chanted reverently, their voices rising in unison as they prepared a goat for sacrifice, their devotion to their deity palpable in the flickering torchlight.

As Ionia traversed the foreboding halls of Cairn Doom, she couldn't shake the sense of looming menace that emanated from the architecture itself. The walls, fashioned from cold, dark stone, seemed to close in on her with each step, their jagged edges casting sinister shadows in the flickering torchlight. Massive pillars rose like sentinels, their rough-hewn surfaces bearing the weight of centuries of Orcish history. Intricate carvings depicting scenes of battle and worship adorned the walls, serving as a testament to the strength and reverence of the Orcish people. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and metal, adding to the oppressive atmosphere that permeated every corner of the fortress.

Continuing, Ionia kept stalking through the dimly lit halls of Cairn Doom, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls. As she passed through one of the adjoining rooms, she spotted an elderly Orcess hunched over a loom, her gnarled fingers deftly working the threads.

Approaching the Orcess, Ionia cleared her throat to gain her attention. "Excuse me," she began tentatively, "could you perhaps sew me new clothes? My current attire is in dire need of replacement."

The elderly Orcess continued her work without so much as a glance in Ionia's direction, her expression impassive. Ionia's frustration grew as she repeated her request, but the Orcess remained silent, her refusal to acknowledge her palpable.

Feeling defeated, Ionia turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her mood darkening with each step. As she made her way back to her quarters, a sense of loneliness and isolation washed over her, leaving her feeling more disheartened than ever before.

As Ionia turned a corner in the dimly lit hallway of Cairn Doom, she collided with Gelbeg, who was heading in the opposite direction. Pressed against his massive gut, she was enveloped by a wall of flabby flesh and underlying muscle, causing her to recoil in disgust. The familiar smell of Orcish sweat and grime assaulted her senses, and she gagged involuntarily, taking several steps back to put some distance between them.

"Ah, Ionia! What brings you wandering the halls?" Gelbeg exclaimed in surprise, his tusks glistening in the torchlight as he grinned down at her.

Coughing to clear her throat, Ionia straightened herself and attempted to demand better clothing. "I need new clothes, Gelbeg," she stated firmly, her voice tinged with irritation. "These filthy rags are unfit for anyone to wear."

Gelbeg studied Ionia intently, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her gruk'zad was stained with blood, and her face bore streaks of dried crimson where she had attempted to wipe it away. Despite her efforts, her scent had improved somewhat since she first arrived, a testament to her adaptation to life among the Orcs over the past month. Nodding thoughtfully, Gelbeg acknowledged her resilience. "You've proven yourself worthy, Ionia," he remarked, his voice gruff but approving. "You deserve proper clothing."

With that, Gelbeg pushed past her, gesturing for her to follow as he led the way down the dimly lit hallway of Cairn Doom.

Gelbeg led the way down the dimly lit hallway, his massive form casting a long shadow on the stone walls of Cairn Doom. Ionia followed closely behind, her gaze lingering on his towering figure. She couldn't shake the feeling of suspicion gnawing at her mind. Why was Gelbeg suddenly so willing to help her, after weeks of dismissiveness? Was there an ulterior motive behind his sudden change in attitude? Despite her doubts, Ionia resolved to remain vigilant and not easily swayed by the Orc's apparent kindness.

As they turned a corner and entered a room filled with looms, Ionia's attention was drawn to the same elderly Orcess hunched over her work that Ionia had encountered before. The Orcess, with graying hair and sagging breasts that nearly touched the floor, glanced disdainfully at Ionia before bowing her head respectfully to Gelbeg. Gelbeg exchanged some harsh words in Orcish with the Orcess, and after a moment's hesitation, she responded in kind. Turning back to Ionia, Gelbeg announced in his gruff voice, "You'll have a fresh gruk'zad made for you in a few days."

Ionia looked up at Gelbeg with a furrowed brow, her confusion evident in her voice as she asked, "Why the sudden change of heart? Why does she help me now, after being so dismissive before?"

Gelbeg's expression remained stoic as he responded, his voice gruff but with a hint of respect, "Your defeat of Long-Hair proved your worth to us, human. You have earned a measure of respect among the Orcs."

Ionia's eyes narrowed slightly, her frustration evident as she retorted, "Then why do none of the other Orcs show me the same respect you do? Not a single one has acknowledged me until now!"

Gelbeg's gaze hardened as he replied firmly, "Your victory in battle does not automatically grant you a place in Orc society, human. You still have much to prove before earning the respect of all."

Gelbeg's voice held a stern tone as he explained, "Your victory over Long-Hair was impressive, but it was not enough to secure your position among the Orcs. Without sealing your victory, you will continue to invite challenges from others seeking to prove their dominance."

Ionia's confusion was evident as she asked, "Seal my victory? How could I have done that?"

Gelbeg's expression remained impassive as he replied, "In Orcish tradition, victory is sealed by urinating on the fallen opponent. It is a sign of dominance and ensures that no further challenges will arise."

Disgust crept into Ionia's voice as she exclaimed, "That's barbaric!"

Gelbeg shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact as he explained, "It is the Orcish way, whether you understand it or not. If you wish to survive among us, you must learn to accept our customs." With that, Gelbeg turned and left, leaving Ionia shocked and bewildered by the harsh realities of Orcish culture.

A few days later, Ionia found herself in her dimly lit chamber as Gelbeg arrived with a new gruk'zad. His bulky frame barely squeezed through the door, and he presented the garment to her with a grunt of effort. Ionia's eyes widened in surprise as she took the clothing from him, noting the improvement in its quality compared to her previous gruk'zad.

The new gruk'zad resembled the traditional garment of the Orcs, its fabric a plain blue color accented by a vibrant red sash tied around the waist. Along the edges, a simple vine design was embroidered, adding a touch of elegance to the otherwise modest garment. As Gelbeg nodded, Ionia held the gruk'zad up to her nose, inhaling the scent of fresh fabric. Satisfied that her now fully soiled gruk'zad could finally be exchanged for a cleaner one, she set about changing into her new attire, grateful for the small comfort it provided amidst the harshness of life in Cairn Doom.

Gelbeg hesitated as Ionia continued to inspect the gruk'zad, his brow furrowing with uncertainty. "That cloth will need sanctifying if you're to gain acceptance among the Orcs," he explained, his voice tentative.

Ionia's confusion was evident as she glanced up at Gelbeg. "Sanctifying? What do you mean?" she inquired, puzzled by his cryptic statement.

Gelbeg sighed heavily, his expression weary. "The Orcs find your scent offensive," he admitted reluctantly. "Sanctifying the gruk'zad involves breaking it in through combat, impregnating the cloth with the sweat, grime, and blood of battle," he explained matter-of-factly.

Ionia's sneer was palpable as she crossed her arms defiantly. "I refuse to partake in such barbaric rituals," she declared firmly.

Gelbeg merely shrugged in response, a sense of resignation in his demeanor. "Then the Orcs will never truly tolerate your presence," he remarked before turning to leave. As Gelbeg departed, Ionia pondered the gravity of her situation, feeling a growing sense of unease about her future among the Orcs.

[topgialainet]

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