#easy maneuverability

[desireeturner2569]

Exploring the Benefits of Dreame's Wet and Dry Vacuum Cleaner for Carpet

Hello everyone! I'm excited to share my experience with Dreame's wet and dry vacuum cleaner, especially when it comes to cleaning carpets. This innovative device has truly transformed my cleaning routine.

The versatility of the wet and dry vacuum cleaner allows it to handle spills and messes with ease, making it perfect for families or anyone who loves to entertain. The powerful suction ensures that both dry debris and liquid spills are efficiently cleaned up, leaving my carpets looking fresh and vibrant.

What I love most is how easy it is to switch between wet and dry modes. Whether it's a quick clean-up of crumbs or tackling a larger mess, Dreame has made the process seamless. Plus, the lightweight design means I can easily maneuver it around my home without any hassle.

If you're looking for a reliable and effective vacuum cleaner that can tackle both wet and dry messes on carpets, I highly recommend checking out Dreame. It's a game-changer for maintaining a clean and inviting living space!

[brandonshaffer9933]

Discover the Benefits of Dreame's Wet Hoover Vacuum for Your Smart Home!

In today's fast-paced world, keeping our homes clean can be a challenge, but with the advancements in smart home technology, it has never been easier. One standout in the smart cleaning sector is Dreame, a brand known for its innovative cleaning solutions, including their impressive wet hoover vacuum.

The Dreame wet hoover vacuum is designed to make cleaning efficient and enjoyable. With its powerful suction and intelligent design, it tackles dirt and spills effortlessly, leaving your floors spotless. Imagine the joy of having a vacuum that not only cleans but also adapts to your home’s unique surfaces, from hardwood to tile.

What sets the Dreame wet hoover vacuum apart is its smart features. Equipped with advanced sensors, it can detect the type of floor and adjust its cleaning mode accordingly, ensuring the best care for your surfaces. Plus, its sleek design and easy maneuverability make it a breeze to use, even in tight spaces.

If you’re looking to elevate your cleaning routine, consider adding the Dreame wet hoover vacuum to your smart home arsenal. Embrace the future of cleaning and enjoy a pristine home with minimal effort!

[stenve89]

Exploring the Exciting World of Maternal and Baby Products

Hello everyone! I'm thrilled to share my journey into the amazing Maternal and Baby Products industry, particularly focusing on the brand momcozy and their innovative baby strollers. As a new parent, I know how important it is to choose the right products for our little ones, and momcozy has truly impressed me with their commitment to quality and safety.

I've been researching various baby strollers, and momcozy stands out for its thoughtful design and functionality. Their strollers are not only stylish but also incredibly practical. They offer features like adjustable seats, easy maneuverability, and ample storage space, making outings with your baby a breeze.

After trying out momcozy's baby stroller, I was amazed at how smooth the ride was, both for my baby and for me. It was easy to fold and fit in my car trunk, which is a huge plus for busy parents on the go. Plus, the safety features give me peace of mind knowing my baby is secure.

I would love to hear from other parents about their experiences with momcozy products or any recommendations you might have for baby gear. Let's support each other in this exciting parenting journey!

[juliabush2450]

Exploring the World of Small Electric Bikes: DYU's Innovations

The e-bike industry is booming, and one brand that stands out is DYU. Known for their commitment to quality and innovation, DYU offers a range of small electric bikes that are perfect for urban commuting and leisure rides. These bikes are designed to be lightweight and easy to maneuver, making them ideal for navigating busy city streets.

With advanced features like long-lasting batteries and comfortable seating, DYU's small electric bikes provide an enjoyable riding experience. Whether you're a seasoned cyclist or a beginner, you'll appreciate the convenience and efficiency of these e-bikes.

Additionally, DYU's focus on sustainability aligns with the growing trend of eco-friendly transportation. By choosing a small electric bike from DYU, you're not only making a smart choice for your commute but also contributing to a greener planet.

Join the revolution of smart transportation and experience the joy of riding a DYU small electric bike today!

[alphamedicalsupply]

Choosing the right healthcare supplies suitable for our needs is as important as taking our medications as prescribed and visiting the doctor regularly. It can impact our comfort and overall quality of life.

[maryfreeman3926]

The Best Stroller for Your Newborn: Discover Magic ZC

Finding the perfect stroller for your newborn can be an exciting journey for new parents. When it comes to comfort, safety, and style, Magic ZC stands out as a top choice. This brand is dedicated to providing high-quality products that cater to the needs of both mother and baby.

Magic ZC's strollers are designed with innovative features that ensure a smooth ride for your little one. With adjustable seats, ample storage, and easy maneuverability, parents can feel confident while on the go. The materials used are both durable and easy to clean, making them practical for everyday use.

Moreover, Magic ZC offers a variety of stylish designs that allow parents to express their unique tastes while ensuring their baby's comfort. Whether you're navigating through crowded streets or enjoying a leisurely stroll in the park, the best stroller for a newborn is undoubtedly from Magic ZC.

In conclusion, choosing a stroller is an important decision, and with Magic ZC, you can rest assured that you are investing in a product that prioritizes your newborn's well-being and your convenience. Happy strolling!

[jeepclinic-blog]

"Find the ideal election campaign vehicle at Jeep Clinic! Our modified vehicles offer easy maneuverability and reliability. Explore our range now!"

Get the perfect election campaign vehicle at jeep clinic! Our modified vehicles feature easy maneuverability, vibrant party-colored exteriors, and comfortable seating options. Check out our website's gallery page to find the ideal vehicle for your campaig

Get the perfect election campaign vehicle at jeep clinic! Our modified vehicles feature easy maneuverability, vibrant party-colored exteriors, and comfortable seating options. Check out our website’s gallery page to find the ideal vehicle for your campaign in Telangana Andhra.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

not all wheelchair users use manual wheelchair

some wheelchair users use giant group 3 CRT power chair that weigh 300lb+ / 136kg+ n cannot collapse or folded must be transported by big vehicle with wheelchair lift or ramp. that wide & bulky n can’t squeeze through tight space.

but also. not all manual wheelchair user use custom ultra light active wheelchair with low backrests, that really light, that easily maneuverable, that narrow n easy fit through tight space with tight turning radius, that can be collapse n put into small car trunk easily conveniently

some wheelchair users use hospital or off-the-rack wheelchair that really hard to use

some wheelchair users fat n so their wheelchair need be wide

some manual wheelchair users use manual tilt in space wheelchair

some manual wheelchair users use custom wheelchair, often even with ultra light frame, but their seating positioning needs make custom wheelchair bulky & big & heavy. over 50 lb / 22kg. some even approach 100 lb / 45 kg (frame for manual tilt in space can be heavyyyyy). my wheelchair like this n it meet (some of) my needs but it inconvenient as hell n absolutely not light n airy. n wish people like. remember we exist

[whimsicallywiddershins]

One of my favorite moments in Arcane was the Jinx and Ekko vs Ambessa war balloon fight in the last episode. For multiple reasons! But I loved how Ambessa was not prepared for Jinx and her chaos AT ALL.

Ambessa is a general with a lot of experience, and we can see her confidence and experience in every scene. She is almost always calm and in control. She expects almost every attack, and even if suprised, she overcomes the challenge and wins. She is never desperate, and takes on a teaching role in almost every scene, even battle and fight scenes. (Ex: lecturing Caitlyn even as they are fighting and before she orders her to be killed.)

Then Jinx and Ekko come in. And Ambessa, for pretty much the first time in the show, is caught off-guard. She doesn't panic, but its pretty close.

Look at her face, when she is ordering her men to face Jinx.

This is not the face of a controlled general who is prepared to fight. This is the face of a woman who is faced with an unknown threat and is trying to figure out what to do, but it coming up short.

Then, she ordered her men to fire on the Firelights.

There is a lot of movement in this moment. She is almost flailing. And it doesn't work. Her strategy completely fails in the face of Jinx and the Firelights adaptability.

Those bolts were big and heavy, designed to punch through armor, not shoot at small, fast-moving targets. The Firelights are used to flying through firefights and it shows.

In a matter of seconds, the Undercity completely routs Ambessa's soldiers. Like it's easy. The Firelights were perfect because they are fast and maneuverable.

And then Jinx almost kills Ambessa. Its a blink-and-you-miss-it scene. She fires at her with the mini gun, and Ambessa didn't even notice. A soldier sacrifices his life to save her, and you can tell by her face she had no idea that attack was coming, and is confused and shocked by it all.

I mean, look at her face. That is shocked fear. She almost died right there, to some random girl she's never even met.

Its the first time we ever see Ambessa afraid or off-balance, and I love that Jinx was the one to make that happen.

[healpimp]

thats how you can tell that they're medic mains <3<3<3

Remade because I forgot to extend the poll to 1 week lol

Feel free to add context in replies/tags!

I'm nosy and want to know your hours and reasons!

[please-read-the-manga]

'Sasuke deserves to die in a ditch.' Actually, though?

Decided to make this its own post because truthfully I don't know the etiquette here, but someone posted something pretty laughably egregious in the 'Sasuke' tag (as far as character interpretations go) and I felt compelled to gather up some manga panels to try and figure out where they were coming from and if you could feasibly justify their take.

The initial assertion, from what I gather, is that Sasuke's supposed inaction towards Orochimaru's other prisoners/experiments is heinous and as a result has warped him into such an evil that even Itachi cannot/should not forgive him. I am summarizing, perhaps crudely, but the original post is not the most thought out concept lol. I did consider it, though... were we ever shown Sasuke participating or condoning Orochimaru's actions? Was Sasuke complicit and, if so, to what degree?

Now, I'll briefly caveat that I think it seems like the original post might have been more of a story request? Which, in that case, who am I really to judge what someone wants to write for their own fun/enjoyment? But taking it in good faith that that's all it is and the post wasn't actually bait (which I acknowledge I'm falling hook, line, and sinker for if it is lol), then that's still a pretty tall order for a story as it (imo) requires such a dramatic departure from the canon portrayals of multiple characters to make it work.

I mean, even the cognitive dissonance Itachi would have to employ in an act of ultimate hypocrisy to judge Sasuke's alleged inaction as any worse/less agreeable than his own active violence would be incredibly fascinating given he is the murderer of countless innocents, operated as a reliable agent in a terrorist organization for multiple years and faithfully did whatever it took to uphold the appearance of loyalty, and encouraged Sasuke to go to any length for enough power to defeat him/later be able to fend for himself post-assisted suicide.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just check out some panels and reflect on what Sasuke was doing while he was under Orochimaru's control and see what we can extrapolate from there.

1.) We can start out easy with Sasuke's alleged interest/participation in Orochimaru's experiments to which we are blatantly shown that he actually has complete and utter disgust for Orochimaru's methods.

He is revolted by what Orochimaru does for his experiments, even (in the panels above) likening Orochimaru's cruelty to that of Itachi's, someone who (at this point in the story) Sasuke views as the ultimate evil.

The rest will be hosted under the cut because adding panels (and I apparently hit the limit of that) drags out the length of these posts to an absurd degree.

2.) Kishimoto makes a point of showing us that Sasuke has deliberately chosen not to kill or even give in to Orochimaru's cruelty during their time together, something Orochimaru even mocks him for.

Sasuke's sole goal at this point in the story is exclusively to kill Itachi so he can achieve justice for his family and bloodline. He even continues to reiterate this point post-Orochimaru's death (but pre-Itachi death/reveal of Konoha's atrocious betrayal of the Uchiha) to Team Hebi.

3.) Sasuke outright states that he was only able to kill Orochimaru while he was weakened. He is also well aware that Orochimaru wishes to possess his body (ie. genetics) and, given that he is prepared to face Orochimaru at this exact, pivotal moment when he is most weakened/Sasuke is most guaranteed victory (ie. Sasuke is not taken off guard at all), I think you can make the argument that he was keenly preparing to attack/kill Orochimaru as soon as he was able. If he didn't do so earlier, then perhaps it stands to reason he didn't believe he was capable of succeeding at any other point.

4.) Sasuke certainly has some degree of freedom and maneuverability that other captives of Orochimaru do not, but he is definitely not an equal to Orochimaru and that power dynamic between them is reiterated frequently. While he is sometimes referred to with respect, he is also referred to as a pet/experiment. A gilded cage is still a cage. The power dynamic of Orochimaru as the master and Sasuke as his captive/future vessel/object of desire is notably and routinely emphasized.

*Note Suigetsu's use of 'we' and 'us'. To me, this implies that Sasuke is viewed by other captives as 'one of them' and not someone operating alongside Orochimaru like, say, Kabuto and Karin. Also, I'm out of images, but there's a panel I had to delete for space which has Orochimaru referring to Team Taka + Sasuke as his 'superior lab rats' again emphasizing Sasuke's shared status.

5.) Speaking of Suigetsu (who we know was experimented upon), he appears to be quite familiar with Sasuke when Sasuke comes to free him. While we unfortunately don't get to see it, its obvious that a relationship of some degree has been formed between the two. Their familiarity with one another highlights that this is not the first time Suigetsu and Sasuke are meeting and from this we can (perhaps) infer that he and Sasuke bonded at an earlier point and, due to the lack of antagonism from Suigetsu towards Sasuke compared to his immediate dislike of Karin who he does state experimented on him, that Sasuke did not participate in his torture.

Keep in mind that, at this stage in the story, this is a hardened Sasuke who has fully embraced his role as the sole arbiter of justice that can do right by his family, but it's still Sasuke. This is still the same Sasuke who fed Naruto, violating Kakashi's rules, and risked never becoming a ninja. This is the same Sasuke who sacrificed his life for Naruto, who called Naruto and Sakura his precious people he wanted to protect, etc. This is the same Sasuke who a few chapters later goes out of his way to show great respect to the ninja cats and Nekobaa, thanking her for everything! Even if he may have been hardened, I'd argue we are almost always encouraged (as readers) to remember that Sasuke is fundamentally a good, kind child (like Naruto) that was horrifically tortured and manipulated by bad actors and the corrupt ninja system into embracing those more violent tendencies out of his deep love for others and a need for survival. Naruto, importantly, never lets this image of Sasuke fall from memory (even calling Sasuke out when Sasuke tries to fancy himself a villain) and, in my opinion, the reader would do well to remember who Sasuke really is as well.

And, in this vein, who is to say he never fed Suigetsu when Kabuto wasn't looking, igniting their bond? That he and Suigetsu didn't talk about their brothers? It's pure conjecture, but thoughts to consider that aren't the most braindead 'Sasuke is pure evil' nonsense you see out there lol.

*Also, 'I knew you'd show up' can imply so much. Did Suigetsu know of Sasuke's plans to overtake Orochimaru? Why was he so sure Sasuke would come rescue him? Much to consider there.

6.) Outside of Suigetsu, let's take a moment to look at how other prisoners/captives view Sasuke. We are directly shown that they, in some form or another, view him as one of them. Again, I interpret this to have emerged from an understood kinship that informs Sasuke's status as 'Orochimaru's next vessel' as not inherently divorced from the idea of him being just as much a captive/victim as them.

Sure, he is afforded some privileges as we've already mentioned (being at Orochimaru's side and not in a cell, for example) but this does not negate the fact Orochimaru always intended to use him, just as he used every other prisoner/captive under his watch. Also, as far as these privileges go, I find it interesting that it's also implied Sasuke was constantly (or at least a majority of the time) accompanied/monitored by Orochimaru and Kabuto given that his mere presence without Orochimaru/Kabuto breathing down his neck is notable enough that multiple people comment on it.

*Note the use of 'chaperone' here, it's an interesting word choice.

7.) Now, let's discuss the curse mark which is the sole reason why Sasuke is with Orochimaru to begin with.

Orochimaru deliberately coveted, targeted, and groomed Sasuke as far back as the Chunin Exam arc so that he could harvest his genetics. He forcibly placed a curse mark (again, read: CURSE, this was not some fun little power-up, it retains extremely negative drawbacks) on the body of a 12-year-old genin who was taking a state-sponsored meat grinder-style exam and found himself up against one of the Legendary Sannin, someone he couldn't possibly hope to defeat.

And we know that the curse mark Sasuke never asked for includes the following:

It debilitates him/constantly erodes his body.

It could have immediately killed him (multiple characters familiar with the curse marks are shocked he survived and continues to survive).

It amplifies and inflames his hatred (we see Orochimaru taunting him and inflaming his survivor's guilt while he is knocked out, ie. utilizing his horrific trauma against him).

And, ultimately, it is implied it would have eventually always required Sasuke to seek Orochimaru out to survive it.

Additionally Orochimaru is frequently shown targeting vulnerable children just like Sasuke and manipulating them for his own gain. This is standard practice for him and as far as extremely vulnerable children go, there are hardly any better examples than Sasuke. There was always an inherent power imbalance shown in the relationships between him and the children he is manipulating. He handles them in a way that is expressly individualized to exert ultimate control over the relationship and exploit their vulnerabilities/trauma tenfold.

8.) And, on top of the curse mark, Sasuke must contend with Itachi's conditioning of his psyche. At the ripe age of seven, Sasuke was actively encouraged by Itachi to give in to killing to try and strengthen his sharingan (ie. the infamous 'kill your best friend' directive). Importantly, Sasuke resisted this! Even though he had no reason not to follow the bloody path his brother laid for him, he refused to give into such cruelty. This is on top of the intense psychological torture and enormous weight that Sasuke had to bear in his quest for justice. Knowing you are the only survivor and no one else cares half as much as you do about avenging your annihilated family and culture is no small pressure to bear. To then actively choose to do it your way and stay true to yourself/values, is also commendable.

9.) I saved this one for later on as it's pretty well known among fans already and so directly refutes OP's concept of Sasuke holding no care for the other captives around him. But Sasuke goes on to free Orochimaru's prisoners as soon as he can. He straight up does not leave them hanging lol.

Side note: I love these panels, I wish a lot more had been done with them. It was around this time in the manga I really wish it had been renamed Sasuke, because everything going on here was x10 more interesting than anything happening with the Konoha crowd lol.

10.) Finally, as far as Sasuke goes, we have to acknowledge that Sasuke's ultimate goals always revolve around avenging the grave injustices done against those he loves/loved. Sasuke continually represents selfless love, he will sacrifice everything so his loved ones (his mother, father, brother, and clan) who have had all these wrongs done against them are given proper rest and justice.

He is deeply traumatized, he doesn't always fully know the entire story (as it's in the best interest of the bad actors around him -Itachi, Orochimaru, Obito- for him not to know everything/the entire truth), and he often struggles to express his thoughts/feelings in an adequate way that will afford him the help/answers he needs from others. So, Sasuke is not without his flaws/difficulties. But you'd have to be purposefully misinterpreting the text/his characterization to not see the good in him that Naruto, the main character, is loudly, constantly, directly shouting about at every chance he gets.

And let's end on the quick, again, laughable idea Itachi would ever 'put down' Sasuke. We have a couple of Itachi's to consider:

We have Itachi 0.0, a traumatized child who had far too much responsibility foisted upon him and who took Danzo's shit genocide deal that guaranteed ONLY Sasuke would be spared. At this stage (and again, we're talking a young, traumatized child soldier) Itachi would rather have his name besmirched for eternity and be the mass murderer to his own flesh and blood than ever put his baby brother in danger. The dilemma he was presented should also be coupled with the fact that Danzo is an incredibly manipulative, evil genocider who simply couldn't wait to mutilate some bodies/rob some graves for his own power/ambition while ruining countless lives (Itachi's included, and especially Sasuke's) as he knowingly shoved Itachi into a corner.

We have Itachi 1.0 that hoped traumatizing his brother and encouraging him to become as strong as possible (by any means possible) and avenge the clan/kill him so he could become this 'ultimate hero' to the village would lead his baby brother to theoretically (lifelong trauma notwithstanding) living a long, safe, productive life after he was gone.

We have Itachi 2.0 that wondered if Naruto might be able to help his (understandably) spiraling brother and was heartened when Naruto insisted he would never kill Sasuke and would always find another way - ie. reiterating the unconditional love Itachi has and always had for his baby brother. This, interestingly, resulted in Naruto being given Shisui's eye that would have forcibly brainwashed Sasuke into serving the state that sanctioned their clan's genocide, but let's ignore the horrible implications of that for a minute...........

And finally we have Itachi 3.0 who admits he was wrong to go about the early plans for Sasuke's life in the way that he did. He states, ultimately, he will love Sasuke no matter what. It's unconditional. He stops trying to forcibly alter his brother's lifepath and he states outright and blatantly that he will always love Sasuke, nothing will change that. His actions have always been influenced by his interpretation of love for Sasuke and that cannot be divorced (in good faith) from his character.

I'm being a bit facetious in some of these summarized points, but generally Itachi's stance on Sasuke's well-being never changes, he always loves Sasuke, only the way in which he offers guidance/expresses his love/thinks about what Sasuke's well-being looks like evolves throughout the story.

*Apologies, I have no idea why the font is so atrocious on these panels lol, but it says "And not matter what you do from here on out, know this... I will love you always."

Idk man, whoever is writing this story OP is asking for, is going to have a crazy uphill battle trying to convince readers that Itachi would ever give up on his brother (that he... directly encouraged this type of behavior in...) when Itachi exists to support and love his brother, when Itachi has always done everything for Sasuke. The debate about whether those actions were in any way good or healthy is wholly separate, but the text outright emphasizes that Sasuke has Itachi's entire, unconditional support and love no matter what. I know some people are allergic to the concept of unconditional love for some reason, but this is a crucial, critical, overwhelmingly highlighted point in the manga and these two specific characters' respective arcs that are known and cherished by many, many people lol, so, I don't know how you renege on that...

But I'd love to see a writer try, I guess. Why not? If you can keep both Sasuke and Itachi in-character and manga accurate, I'd be very interested in seeing a Itachi that not only abandons his beloved brother he has done everything for but also tries to kill him. I definitely wouldn't know how to go about making that convincing given all the direct evidence to the contrary presented in the manga.

Now, the stuff we don't know about Suigetsu and Sasuke's time together or spin-offs that maybe explore a Sasuke that continues on his trajectory to support and lead the people the shinobi world has abandoned? Like the kekkei genkai users (much like himself) who were abused by many in the shinobi world and further victimized by Orochimaru's vile ambitions? I'd, personally, be really interested in reading a faithful exploration of that. There is a lot to explore with Sasuke's time with Orochimaru, but I'd recommend reviewing the actual manga if you're after a realistic/authentic portrayal of these characters in your work.

[rassicas]

Weapon info from the Art of Splatoon 3, pages 97-109

There's more concept art for weapons in the book not shown in this post, but these are all the weapons that included descriptions. Translations under the cut:

Page 97 Splattershot Nova With long range, rapid-fire capabilities A new weapon by the manufacturer that developed the Splattershot and Splattershot Pro. This manufacturer is well known for its intense internal rivalry and competition, as multiple development projects are underway at the same time. This is also the source of the many weapon variants produced by this manufacturer. Page 100 Big Swig Roller Lightweight, mobile, and easy to handle Development was underway for a roller that could spread ink over a wide area, but it was difficult to strike a balance between weight and maneuverability. One day, the head developer's child was seen playing enthusiastically with straws and toys from a fast food restaurant, and the design was drastically changed. Lightweight materials and elastic straws were used to achieve both the desired weight and the wide spread. Page 101 Snipewriter 5H Capable of firing up to five times in rapid succession

This weapon gets loaded with hardened ink lead that can be fired off in rapid succession. In the construction of other pen-shaped weapons, the mechanisms for ink compression and firing take up much of the space, but this weapon lacks an ink compressor, allowing it to be equipped with a mechanism for rapid fire.

Page 104 Tri-Stringer Frozen ink that explodes at the point of impact This new kind of weapon was developed by a manufacturer that specializes in fishing equipment. The weapon is packed with unique tech, including strings with the strength and pliability of fishing line, and an ink freezing mechanism that's the same as what's used to rapidly freeze fish. Despite this weapon being full of intricate mechanisms, it's built to withstand the harsh environment of the Splatlands. Splatana Wiper A katana-inspired weapon

The speed of this Splatana's slashes is thanks to its lightweight frame and a durable, flexible shaft. It's popular among the youth who want to look stylish in both battle and fashion with a dashing slash. By swapping out the sponge, it can also be used as a cleaning tool.

Page 105 Angle Shooter Touching the line of ink is dangerous

A new Angle Shooter needs to be shaken several times before use, as the ink needs to get properly soaked into the marker's core. Accidents occasionally happen when it's shaken up too much, the ink splashes out and causes the marker to go everywhere. Many don't like the sound of the line being drawn. Page 106 Tacticooler Take a sip and feel refreshed and powered up

This special weapon was developed by a drink manufacturer that is also an official Turf War sponsor. The drinks that are deployed logo-side outward. This energy-giving drink is available all over the world, but the ones sold in the Splatlands are said to use different ingredients.

Page 109 Wave Breaker Damages opponents and tracks their location

A high-tech device that sends and receives active sonar, and shares that information to all players at once. It was developed by repurposing technology used to locate buried treasure in the Splatlands. The sphere contains a cooling mechanism to ensure the stability of the precision instruments, and is cool to the touch. Getting caught by the sonar will make one's head ring.

[dailymanners]

It's Tuesday, and it's been a few weeks I think since my last Off Topic Tuesday, so I want to take the opportunity to talk about something very near and dear to my heart: the bidet.

I am an unapologetic bidet enthusiast. I strongly believe bidets to be superior over toilet paper alone.

Bidets are more eco friendly. People bring up the water usage as an environmental concern, however, bidets actually use less water than the amount of water it takes to produce toilet paper. As the article points out “It takes 37 gallons of water to make just one roll of toilet paper.” (Producing one roll of toilet paper also requires approximately 1.5 pounds of wood.) In contrast, using a bidet only consumes about one pint of water."

Also pointed out in the article: it's more hygienic because your hands are less likely to come into contact with your waste.

And also pointed out, it's (generally) gentler on the skin to use water rather than to scrape yourself repeatedly with dry paper.

And honestly, you just *feel* fresher and cleaner than when you only use toilet paper.

One thing I take issue with in this article is that it makes the sweeping generalization that "Europe uses bidets". Which, honestly, to me seems like bidets are mostly common in southern Europe, and outside of southern Europe their usage is hit or miss.

I know for a fact that Finland is the only Nordic country where bidets are widely used and common in most households. It was actually briefly living in Finland that made me a bidet convert. I still favor the Finnish style of bidet and find them to be superior to the other types, mostly because the Finnish style (a hose attached to the sink) allows more maneuverability than the kind that's built into the toilet seat (more common in east Asia) or the kind that is a separate bowl next to the toilet (more common in southern Europe).

But outside of Finland, bidet ownership and usage is scarce to nearly non-existent in most of the rest of northern Europe. When I came back to Iceland I scoured every hardware and housing goods store I could find, and none of them had a bidet, so I had to order my bidet online.

So no, as a whole not all of Europe uses bidets. Mostly southern Europe, and outside of southern Europe a few places here and there, like Finland.

However, I hope that can change, and more people can see the light when it comes to bidet ownership. Everyone I know who I've talked into using and/or buying a bidet has thanked me, even if they were apprehensive at first.

If you think of bidets as gross or weird, think of this: if you got some of your waste on your arm while you were in the bathroom, would you just wipe it off with paper and call it good? Or would you actually want to wash that off properly? Why should your nether regions get inferior treatment from the rest of your body?

Or, another example taken from a text I had to read in a French class in secondary school that was supposed to open our minds about the foreign concept of using a bidet: imagine you're staying at a hotel in a foreign country, and after a long day you want to take a shower. However, there is no shower in your hotel bathroom. You walk up and down the hallway looking to see if there is a shower anywhere on your floor and you find nothing. So you go to the front desk and ask the receptionist where the shower is, to which they give you a weird look, maybe they have to suppress laugh, or maybe they look grossed out at you even suggesting you want to take a shower with water. They explain to you that there is dry paper in your bathroom, and all you need to do is wipe yourself down with the dry paper (your pits / hair / etc.), and that having a shower with water isn't considered necessary here. How would you feel?

[willtheweaver]

🏴‍☠️Got a crew assembled, supplies gathered, all that’s left is to acquire a ship

I will draw the winner for you all to admire

(You can check out the results here)

Details below (If you have another ship type in mind, post along with any details/propaganda if you want, just remember to limit it to vessels commonly found 17- early 19th centuries):

Sloop- The most popular vessel among pirates. An 18th century sloop would have both square and gaff sails on the single mast. Up to 14 guns could be packed on board, giving the ship more firepower than would be expected for a vessel of this size. The sloop’s small size allows for hiding away in inlets too shallow for larger ships, but it also means that range and cargo capacity are limited, not to mention things can get more than a little cramped.

Schooner- Schooners of the 18th century would have two masts, fore and aft rigged, sometimes with additional square sails on the foremast. Despite being larger than a sloop, it still is on the smaller side for an ocean going ship, and as such, it is able to outmaneuver larger vessels and hide away in shallow waters.

Brigantine- Sporting two masts and a square rig , plus an additional gaff sail on the main(easily modified), this ship provided a good balance between size and speed. Increased firepower allowed the crew to tackle bigger targets that a lone sloop or schooner could handle.

Galley- Popular in the Mediterranean, a typical galley would have two or three masts with lateen sails, as well as banks of oars pulled by prisoners. The large number of people and shallow draft limited operations to coastal waters. But probably the biggest limitation was the lack of cannons (due to the middle being taken up by the oars and oarsmen, the few guns would be mounted on the bow and stern) in an era when broadsides replace boarding as the main naval strategy.

Xebec- the limitations of the galley as well as the influx of renegade Europeans led the Corsairs to develop tougher, ocean going vessels. While originally fully lateen rigged, later versions of the Xebec sported square sails on the foremast. The number of oarsmen was reduced, freeing up more space for cannons.

Chasse-marée- The ‘tide chaser’ was the name given to lug-rigged ships hailing from Brittany and northern France. Although officially used as trading and fishing vessels, their small size and maneuverability also made them ideal for smuggling and small scale piracy. Swivel guns and small cannons can be mounted, but for the most part firepower was limited to whatever guns the crew carried.

Junk- This is a broad category, covering single masted river boats to the great seven masted Treasure Ships of Zheng He’s fleet. Versatile, easy to handle, and able to carry large amounts of cargo and cannons, these were the workhorses of the pirate fleets that terrorized the East Asian waters until the mid 19th century.

Galleon- From the 16th to the mid 17th centuries, these were the primary ocean going ships. Three masted and with a broad beam, they were ideal for carrying vast amounts of cargo across the oceans. By the time of the Golden Age of Piracy (c.1680-1720) the galleon was considered an outdated design. The high fore and aft castles made for a big target that was also top-heavy. Even so, the these ships made up the Spanish Treasure Fleets in both the Atlantic and Pacific. The white whale for any pirate or privateer were the Manila Galleons, laden with gold, silks and spices, and also protected by nearly a hundred 32 lb. guns.

Frigate- Three masted with a square rug, ships of this type were more often used to hunt pirates. A deeper draft meant that some coastal areas are a no-go, but that is offset by the increase in firepower and cargo capacity.

Man-o-War- Officially referred to as third, second, and first rate ships-of-the-line, these are the largest and most heavily armed wooden vessels. Transversing shallow waters or sneaking up on targets are out of the question. These are vessels that rely on intimidation and sheer firepower.

[tribbetherium]

In observing the terrestrial carnivores of later epochs, it is easy to draw superficial analogies, with zingos as equivalent to canids, and carnohams as analogues of felines. But in the Late Rodentocene, 20 million years ago, such distinctions were far less clear. With zingos and their broader group the hamyenas restricted only to Ecatoria and Peninsulaustra, the carnohams of Nodera, Easaterra and Westerna filled the niches of running cursorial carnivores: often coexisting alongside other branches of the carnoham lineage in more familiar catlike forms.

These cursorial, pursuit predators are a polyphyletic group, more closely related to the ambush-hunters of their respective continents than to each other. Yet they are united in convergence to their means of hunting: their curved, blunt claws are only partially-retractable, built more for gaining traction while running, while their jaws are longer and open wider, adapted for delivering powerful bites, and slicing teeth to deal wounds to larger prey as they harrass and exhaust them, waiting for them to eventually succumb to blood loss. This is in stark contrast to other, more typical carnohams that pounce on prey and grapple them to the ground, using a choking bite to the windpipe as a finishing move.

The highland leophound (Cynofelicricetus caninailurus) of Westerna is perhaps the most canine-convergent of the carnohams, bearing a short tail, a long snout and pointed ears that make it closely resemble the zingos: distinguished only by its semi-retractile claws and dentition, which remain as two separate cutting incisors rather than merged to form a single piercing point. Leophounds are primarily predators of cavybaras, mostly the smaller species ranging about the 40-60 kilogram range, and while the half-ton giant cavybaras of Westerna are well off-limits as adults, their vulnerable calves are fair game.

The long-tailed dashcat (Velociailurumys pardus) of Nodera's cannonball forests and open grasslands is more of a speed-based rather than a persistence-based cursorial hunter. It chases down its prey, such as hamtelopes or the leaping precursors of the boingos, in bursts of speed of up to 40km/h, using its long tail for balance and its claws to trip up its prey so it can tackle them to the ground and deal a crushing bite to the back of the neck for an instant kill that reduces risk of injury should the prey continue to struggle.

The plains jagsel (Pantheromustelomys longipes) of Easaterra is an interesting case: a more recent evolutionary radiation and within the same genus as the slender jagsel (P. brevipus), a more typical carnoham with a longer body and shorter legs, built for hunting in the mixed scrublands with short, bushy vegetation. Plains jagsels, on the other hand, developed longer legs and less-retractile claws, and are now a distinct species from its more typical relative: enough to the point that they no longer recognize each other as the same species if their paths do cross, and if a rare mating does occur, any cubs concieved are inevitably miscarried or stillborn, their chromosomes seemingly now too incompatible to produce viable young. The two species now have behaviorally diverged as well, as plains jagsels now frequent open grassland where they run down their prey, leaping jerryboas ancestral to the oingos, which are fast, evasive and able to change direction quickly: and so can the plains jagsel, being more agile and maneuverable to capture its prey. A hint to its recent divergence from a traditional carnoham is its killing method, a suffocating bite to the windpipe as opposed to the slashing and crushing bites of other cursorial species.

These species, and their direct descendants, would continue to be successful for the Late Rodentocene and most of the Early and Middle Therocene. However, in the Late Therocene, 65 million years PE, the ongoing collision of the continents would finally allow the different apex predators of the continents to encounter each other: causing increased competition between the zingos, carnohams, Borealian flightless ratbats and the beelzeboars, carnivorous bumbaas that arose in the Therocene. Now in direct competition with the zingos, who had the advantage of social intelligence and cooperation, hunting in organized packs, the cursorial carnohams would eventually dwindle and disappear by the Glaciocene, leaving only the ambush-hunting feline-like ones, and a few aberrant bear-like Early Glaciocene forms. By the Temperocene, the only survivor of the carnohams would be the meowse, a small semi-arboreal carnoham that, over time, would gradually diversify once more, returning the carnohams to prominence on the landmass of Arcuterra.

----

[shivunin]

Breath and Bone

After Rook is injured in the Crossroads, a spell gone wrong makes the injury dramatically worse. With Rook unconscious, Lucanis must help her reach the Lighthouse and safety.

(Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook Ingellvar | 6,360 Words | AO3 Link | CW: broken bones, implied past child abuse)

“It's never enough being one. Why do I hope to contain you: always undoing and undone; every place you touch me changes shape.” —Robert Fanning, “Song of the Shore to the Sea”

“Nice one, Rook!” Lucanis shouted from the other side of the clearing. 

Rook, stepping back from the fresh corpse she’d just driven her spellblade into, did not have the breath to respond. The Crossroads was a dizzy thing, ridden with a resonant hum. When she fought here, she could feel it all through her, as if the place was singing in her bones. It was easy to get lost in that rhythm. It was especially easy when she was fighting like this, Venatori swinging blades everywhere she turned, no space at all to breathe or strategize.

A missile hissed as it passed her, and Lenore summoned a barrier just as a second might have hit. Somewhere behind her, Bellara shouted something she couldn’t hear. Days like this invigorated some of the others, she knew. After battle, Taash or Davrin seemed energized, as if the adrenaline rush of combat clung to them a little longer than the act itself.

It wasn’t like that for Lenore. Death was a familiar friend; killing was an entirely different creature. She had long since accepted its necessity. That didn’t mean she loved the fight. Quite the contrary, in fact. If there had been any other path for them, she would have taken it a hundred times over by now.

She ducked nimbly, drawing a miasma of death from the ground to drive the nearest foes back. They choked and gagged at its touch, so familiar to Lenore, and staggered away from her. 

The field had been whittled down somewhat. As she watched, Bellara waved her arms to draw the attention of an assailant. When the warrior turned to fight her, Lucanis appeared behind him as if from the air itself and drove a blade neatly between his ribs. 

This! This was what she’d been working toward! It was so heartening to see that their group combat practices were paying off, that their techniques and strategies were interlocking so effectively. She would have to bring this up to both of them later, because it deserved to be pointed out. She would—

Something struck her leg, midway between her knee and her ankle. There was an ominous crack somewhere in that region and an answering swell of pain. She’d made the first, most basic mistake in combat and taken her attention from her enemies. Luckily for her—for all of them—her instincts had been honed by the constant fighting, too, and she reacted without thinking. Lightning arced from her hand and spread, striking the one who’d hit her and spreading to the two behind him. One toppled immediately, arms splayed, eyes hollow. The other shook, caught in place as the power coursed through them, and crumpled to the ground a moment later. 

“Nice try, filth,” said the one before her, and swung his blade at her again. 

Not good. She could barely put weight on her leg, which would dramatically hinder her maneuverability. The pain was getting to her already, crawling from her leg to her chest and choking her lungs. She couldn’t think straight; needed to do something to fend him off. Something—

He swung again, and her shield flickered into existence just before the blade would have connected with her forehead. Her reserves had been drained by the lightning, and they drained further as he added a second hand to the hilt of the blade to bear down on her. 

Lenore gritted her teeth. Her head felt fuzzy, her face clammy. She hadn’t the strength to hold him off now. She barely had the breath to hiss between her teeth, let alone call out to one of the others for help. Healing magic was out of the question—she’d never had the knack of it. 

None of them could heal, really; up to now, they’d mostly been working around this with potions. Not for the first time, she wished she’d formed the sort of bond with a spirit that might’ve given her this skill. Alas, her talents lay elsewhere—her hands had always been for death, never life.

Wait. There was an idea. 

In the Necropolis, inhabited skeletons often encountered the sort of damage that cracked a bone or two. There were spells to mend them when this sort of thing occurred, and materials to patch missing pieces if necessary. She’d learned those spells when she’d been an apprentice, but hadn’t needed to call upon the knowledge in years. 

Her bones were still covered in living tissue. It would be risky to try this herself, but she had little choice. In a moment, he’d break through her barrier. If she could just remember—

“Give in to me,” the Venatori demanded. “Kneel!” 

Lenore panted with effort and dragged the words from her memory. The shield dimmed around her, bright where it touched the blade and nearly insubstantial everywhere else. She had so little energy left. This would take most of it; she’d only have one shot at patching herself up. She had to make it count. 

“Rook’s hurting!” Bellara yelled somewhere beyond her. 

Rook tensed, sucked in a breath, and spoke the words of the spell. Several things happened in quick succession: 

Devoid of the power it took to sustain it, her shield faltered and the sword broke through. Lenore ducked to her right, taking her weight off her injured leg, and hammered the base of her staff into the Venatori’s throat. 

As she moved, the spell took effect. Pain swelled within her and broke like a wave, the bone in her leg mending itself over and over again until it had multiplied itself enough to break through the skin. She screamed without knowing it, without really hearing it, as if the pain itself made a tunnel from her leg to her throat and poured itself forth from there. 

Bolts laden with electricity shot from somewhere in the distance, hammering into the unbalanced Venatori’s back. He stumbled, nearly tripping over one of the many spurs of bone now projecting from Rook’s leg. 

“Rook,” Lucanis shouted from what seemed like a great distance, “hold on!” 

She’d no idea what she could possibly be holding on to when the whole world was shuddering like a freshly reanimated corpse, but she tried anyway. She must have fallen at some point in the chaos because her hands scrabbled at stone and dirt now, not thin air. If her leg hadn’t hurt so badly that it eclipsed all other feeling, her head and tailbone would no doubt be aching from the impact.

The Venatori, now bleeding profusely, staggered to his feet. Behind him, a violet blur felled first one, then another of the remaining Venatori who stood between Lucanis and Rook. There were few of them left, which was probably good. It still wouldn’t save her if she fell to this one right now. 

Her staff had fallen behind her. Rook dragged herself backward, scrambling for it. Her hands were slick with something and they moved slower than they should, as if the air itself was more viscous than it ought to be. Every time she tried to grasp the smooth wood, it slid away from her. A flash of teal and brown flickered at the corner of her eye: Bellara was running toward her from the other side of the clearing. Even as she identified her friend, another Venatori darted into Bellara’s path and blocked her from view. 

Only five left now. If she just held out—

The violet blur spread tenebrous wings and shot closer, impossibly fast. Fast enough? It was hard to say. Everything looked—felt—so very strange. Her head pulsed in time with the wound in her leg.  The Venatori lifted his sword and swung, a blow that would connect precisely with her breastbone. At last, at last, her hand wrapped around the polished wood of her staff, though it fought to slip from her grasp.

Unbidden, her mind began to recite, in clinical and removed tones, precisely what would happen to her body when the blow connected: if her sternum did not collapse, one of the sternocostal joints would. The force of the blow would penetrate her chest, likely striking her heart. If it did not, it would certainly rupture the pleural cavity and steal her breath away. The latter would not kill her immediately. She’d tended plenty of corpses that’d taken at least one more blow to die after this precise strike. If she hung on for long enough, one of the potions the others carried could still heal her. If not…

If not, she’d already shown Emmrich exactly where she wanted to be buried. 

Behind the Venatori, Lucanis—or maybe Spite—struck down two more Venatori; they fell before him like sheaves of wheat before the scythe. She might be impressed at his accuracy and speed if she weren’t possessed by mortal terror. Perhaps Emmrich would be able to coax that thought from her corpse after she—after— 

The blade whistled through the air, a silver gleam meant for her heart. At that precise moment, Lenore finally grasped her staff and summoned another barrier. It failed almost immediately, but held just long enough to arrest the sword’s motion in midair. The Venatori grunted and lifted the sword again. 

This had to be it; she had nothing left, not even a drop of magic.  Rook took the staff in both hands (it was so heavy; so heavy that she almost couldn’t lift it, though she’d been wielding it for months now) and held it over her chest. It was a poor shield, especially when she was shaking so hard she could barely see straight, but it was better than giving up entirely. 

“For Razi—” the Venatori began, but the word was cut off abruptly. 

Between one blink and the next, the air was filled with that purple glow, illuminating her attacker from behind. Even now, Rook held her staff in shaking hands, warding as best she could against whatever blow may yet come. It wasn’t necessary; already, blood trickled from her attacker’s mouth, still open to speak a syllable that would never come. 

When his body dropped, it fell to the side and away from Lenore. Lucanis stood behind him, his face like stone. Spite’s wings spread from his back. His knife dripped blood onto Rook’s boot. She looked at that instead of her—instead of the bones branching above it. 

There was no clever comment, no regards from the Crows. Instead, his eyes held hers. 

“Can you walk?” Lucanis asked, eyes gleaming with the telltale sign of Spite’s ascendance though it was undeniably his voice she heard. 

“No,” she managed through gritted teeth. 

Behind him, Bellara shouted as the last of the Venatori fell. Lucanis must have seen her leg by now; his face grew more grim, eyes pinched at the corners. She could hardly look at it herself, though she could see the jagged, pale sections from the corner of her eye. 

Lucanis stepped closer and crouched, neatly blocking her view of whatever she’d done to herself. Without meaning to, she reached for his elbow and squeezed, far harder than she would have under any other circumstances. She couldn’t have said what kind of comfort she sought then; there was nothing he could do for her and both of them knew it, though he was already reaching for the vial at his belt. 

“Bad idea,” she told him, lifting a hand to clear the sweat from her brow and realizing at the last minute that mud, blood, and something green dripped from her hand. She used her elbow instead, though it wasn’t much cleaner. When she drew her arm away, new red streaked over the fabric. 

“Why?” Lucanis asked. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and lifted it to her forehead, carefully dabbing at something there. His face was so very grim. She did not like it; did not like that she was the cause. 

“What I did—” gorge rose at the back of her throat. Lenore swallowed and tried again. “Healing is the problem. It might make it worse. Unless you’ve got something for—for pain or sleep…”

“No,” he told her, tucking the vial away. “Only this. Can you bear it until we reach the Lighthouse?” 

“Don’t have much choice,” she said. Bellara rushed into view, face already paler than usual. 

“Rook, that looks really bad,” she said. “What can I—is there anything I can do?” 

Lucanis rested his hand over Rook’s at his elbow and looked up at Bellara. 

“I am going to carry her back. Can you find something to keep her leg stable?”

“I—yeah. Yes. Give me just—give me a few minutes. I have an idea.” 

Bellara darted off again, flitting from body to body. After a moment, she perched near the collapsed pile of metal that’d once been a guardian of the crossroads. Something pulled Rook’s attention to a pile of rock floating past and she watched its slow, gentle path across the sky. It was not engrossing; it was something she had seen dozens of times by now. Nonetheless, she could not look away. For a moment, every other sound was drowned out by the rush of her blood in her ears.

“Rook?” Lucanis said. “Rook. Can you hear me?”

It took some effort to unclench her teeth. Lenore nodded instead, turning her head to look at him. He’d leaned closer while she’d been distracted. He reached for her hand now, apparently unbothered by the muck still caking her palms. 

“Hold on,” he said. “As tight as you need to. I am here. I will stay.” 

At last, she managed to part her lips. Her mouth was dry, but she didn’t dare reach for her waterskin. Any movement felt like it could upset the delicate balance she was maintaining. An ounce more pain and she would be lost. 

“I will pass out,” she told him as clearly as she could manage. 

His hand tightened around hers—surprising, since she had his hand in a vice grip and couldn’t seem to unclench her fingers. She hadn’t expected him to hold her back. Sweat dripped into her eyes, stinging as she blinked it away. 

“When you lift me,” she clarified. “It’s—going to jostle the–the wound. I won’t be awake. That’s good. You can move faster if you aren’t worrying about my comfort.”  

“I understand,” Lucanis said. “Don’t try to talk. Rest now; we will do what we can.”

“Stupid,” she told him, and took in a shaky breath. Bellara was moving toward them again, something golden in her hands. “My fault.”

“Leave it,” he told her. “You can blame yourself later.” 

“Got it,” Bellara said, skidding to a halt beside them. “This will hold your legs in place. There’s a bit that should keep anything from hitting the, um—pieces directly. I’m going to put this on now, okay?”

“Wait,” Rook said. The adrenaline was wearing off; she was thinking less and less clearly, the pain echoing and magnifying with each passing moment. “Tell—tell Emmrich—the spell is the one for—for mending bone. He’ll know—so stupid, tell him I’m sorry—”

“I’ll tell him, I promise,” Bellara said, her voice soothing. Briefly, she rested a hand on Lenore’s shoulder. “I’m putting the brace on now, alright? I’ll be as quick as I can.” 

She couldn’t help the noise she made when Bellara reached under her leg to fasten the brace. Without thinking, she turned and pressed her face against Lucanis’s knee to muffle the cries, uncomfortable as it was. All the while, his grip on her hand held steady. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Bellara chanted, her voice strained. “Almost done, just a little more—sorry!—almo—”

Between one syllable and the next, the universe blinked.

Now, the wind rushed through her hair. They were no longer in the same clearing. Instead, the Crossroads sped past on either side. The ache in her leg had intensified, though she could feel from the tight band around her thigh that the splint was still in place. 

“How close?” Lucanis asked. 

“We approach the requested destination, Dweller,” the serene voice of the Caretaker responded. 

Warm leather curled more tightly around her shoulders and the scene resolved itself into something that made sense. Lucanis held her at the prow of the rowboat, one foot braced on the bench before them. She turned her head to see him better and found him examining her already, his face solemn. 

Something about his chest looked odd, but it took her a moment to place it: he’d removed the blade and all the vials from his armor there. Why? Nothing made sense. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and his brow furrowed.

“For what, Rook?” 

What could she say? She turned her face into his chest instead, closing her eyes for a moment. It would be easier, she decided, if the world would just stop spinning. 

“It was a stupid mistake,” she mumbled against his chest. 

“You’ve said that,” he told her. “More than once. I will tell you again what you told me after Weisshaupt: we all make mistakes, Rook.” 

She tried to hold onto his words, but they scattered to the winds. His grip on her shifted slightly, his hand curling around her shoulder. 

“Look at me, Rook. You have to stay awake. You have a concussion. That’s why you aren’t thinking clearly.”

Staying awake was a singularly unattractive prospect. Everything hurt; the dizziness was only getting worse and she’d made the mistake of looking at her leg again. Just the sight of it, bone jutting from her leg in three directions and curling in on itself like the horns of a halla, was enough to make her stomach lurch again. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. 

Through his armor, she could hear his heartbeat. 1, 2, 3, she counted, 1, 2, 3—like a waltz, played in double time. She couldn’t remember why she was apologizing. Had she played a waltz for him before? She’d played for him—for all of them—but she couldn’t remember—

“I’m sorry,” she told Lucanis again, and the grim lines branching from the corners of his eyes deepened. She wanted him to never let go of her; when she turned her face into him again, the world felt quieter.

“Don’t apologize to me, Rook,” he said, and the universe blinked again. 

|

It was quiet in Rook’s room, for which Lucanis was grateful. There had been far too much noise in the infirmary from when he’d carried her there to when Taash had brought her here. Neve’s sleeping spell yet held her; Rook’s face was still, though the space between her eyebrows remained faintly creased. If the spell had not failed when Taash had rebroken her leg and Davrin had set it, Lucanis did not think it would break in the face of too much noise. Even so, he was relieved that she was here, in her own space, and that the others had gone away for a time. 

“Why does she still sleep? Wake her up,” Spite said from the head of the settee she slept on, peering down at Rook’s drawn face. 

“Waking will hurt her,” Lucanis told him. “Her leg is still broken.”

“Then fix it, if it’s broken,” Spite said. 

Lucanis ignored the demon and leaned forward, glancing at Rook’s leg. The cold spell had reduced some of the swelling, though it was still visible under the second brace Bellara had brought her. The damage was clear beneath the metal and leather: her skin gone red and purple around the break, sliced to ribbons where the new growth had speared through it, dried blood still caked in the creases of her ankle where Lace hadn’t quite washed all of it away.

Like most Crows, his knowledge of healing was limited to the most basic necessities. In a fight, it was better to remove your opponent from the battle than to stop moving and patch up your fellows. He had studied certain medical writings in training, but only to better identify the weak points of his opponents. At most, he might’ve been able to bandage her wound long enough to get to safety, or perhaps offer one of the potions he kept on hand. In this—the bone jutting from her skin, the way she’d cried out when he’d lifted her from the ground, the tear tracks still visible on her cheeks now—in this, he’d been of no use at all. 

Even now, he was not entirely sure what she’d tried to do. Emmrich’s explanation had mostly been different versions of a horrified “why that spell” or “what an incredibly inadvisable course of action.” Lucanis had not disagreed with either statement, but he had not found them especially enlightening either. The necromancer had undone her spell, at least. He was glad of that.

“She smells all wrong,” Spite said, still peering at Rook. “All wrong.”

All the long way back to the Lighthouse, Spite had been uncharacteristically helpful. He had slipped beneath Lucanis’s skin seamlessly, as he once had in the early days in the Ossuary. He had done nothing but help speed them along, pushing their body faster than Lucanis might have been able to alone. It had seemed that they were, for once, of one mind, one mission: bring Rook somewhere safe and get her the help she needed. Everything else had been peripheral. 

It was…quiet now that the others were gone. This was a relief. It also meant he had far too much time to think. He might almost—almost—be grateful for the distraction Spite provided now. Whenever he turned to look at the fish, the water behind him, his stomach turned and his hands shook. As long as he faced forward, he could still pretend to ignore it. 

“Wrong,” Spite repeated. “Blood and elfroot and pain. Not like Rook.”

Lucanis sighed. He had not enjoyed carrying her back, though he would do it a hundred times over if she ever had need of such assistance again. It had been a fraught thing, willing her eyes to open again even though she would go on apologizing to him every time they did. He had a great deal of experience trying to hold still, but it had been worse to know that every involuntary shift of his body had caused hers pain. 

He had not liked carrying her, but it had been—he had felt—something to hold her pressed against him, to wrap her in his arms. She had clutched him to her, hands snarled in the belts at his chest, face pressed into his body. He had wished, on that long ride back, that he could curl himself around her and shield her from what she’d done, though it was a useless impulse. 

Useless and foreign besides; he had never felt such a thing before and did not know what to do with it now that he had. 

Now, his hand rested beside hers on the bed, close enough that he could feel the faint movements of her body when she breathed in and out. When Emmrich had finally deemed it safe, Lucanis had administered the healing potion to her himself. He’d slid a hand under her neck to tip her head back and ease its passage into her throat. Though he was no longer touching her, he could still feel the memory of the softness of her skin against his palm. 

Once, he had watched Rook tune her violin on one of the balconies outside the main tower. She’d struck a tuning fork against her knuckles and held it between two elegant fingertips, eyes closed to listen. The tone had spilled out into the air long after she’d touched it, humming until she finally set it aside to turn the small knobs at the top of her instrument. 

Lucanis supposed he did not feel so very different than that tuning fork now. The touch of her skin still hummed inside him, though he had long since let go. He could not help wondering if he should reach for her hand now, if only to still that hum. 

 “She needs to rest and heal. Then, she will smell like herself,” he told Spite.

Spite crouched, his nose an inch from Rook’s. Slowly, Lucanis’s smallest finger brushed against Rook’s.

“She should smell of incense,” Spite told her, as if to remind her. “Leaf-rot. Rosemary. The rest is wrong.” 

“She doesn’t smell like rotting leaves,” Lucanis said, as he had a dozen times before. Spite bared his teeth. “I don’t know why you always say that.”

“You’re wrong. She smells of sweet rot. Always. Only Rook ever does.” 

What use was there in arguing? It hadn’t swayed the demon yet, though they’d had this argument more than once. Lucanis shifted in his chair and found his hand resting against Rook’s. Should he let go? Leave? Work on finding a healer in Treviso they could bring her to? 

Her hand was so still, soft and cool in his.

When he had been a boy, there had been an illness (he could not recall what it had been; a fever, perhaps) and a dark room, bed hung with dark cloth. It had not been in Villa Dellamorte, but the home his parents kept. It had been—warmer, he thought. Less marble, more carved wood. One night, Lucanis had lain in the dark, ill and horribly lonely, and he had woken to find his father’s hand in his. What a comfort it had been, to know that he was not alone in the dark with his pain. 

Lucanis ignored Spite and curled his fingers around Rook’s. There were calluses on odd places near the first joints of her fingers. Musical in origin, he supposed, not caused by her staff. He had not seen them before, but now he could feel scars across her palms, across the backs of her hands. Where had she gotten them? He wondered if she would answer, should he ask.

It had seemed…foolish, potentially dangerous to hold her hand in most of the places they’d visited. What if one of them needed to draw a weapon? Precious seconds might be wasted in untangling themselves from each other. Beyond that, she would be a target if anyone knew that he wanted—that he thought—

“You will make sure she’s fixed,” Spite said, voice abruptly louder, and he leaned across the bed to put his face near Lucanis’s. “She won’t stay like this. It isn’t right.”

“Yes,” Lucanis agreed. “Neve is looking for a healer who can help. Emmrich has already undone the worst of whatever she did to her leg.”

Spite had been with Lucanis for more days than he’d been able to count, but he still had difficulty reading the demon’s expressions. He did not even know if they were facial expressions or if that was just how his mind interpreted Spite’s existence. On someone else, he might have thought the narrowed eyes and sneer meant displeasure. On Spite, it must have been approval instead because the demon winked out of existence a moment later. It was a relief when he was gone, as if some imperceptible background noise he never really heard had finally ceased.  

“Don’t worry,” Lucanis told Rook in the ensuing silence. “The others will find somebody to help. I’ll wait with you until they do. It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”

She would have laughed at that. She liked to laugh, his—Rook liked to laugh. 

Her hand didn’t move in his. Still, he did not think he was imagining the growing warmth in her palm. Lucanis reached for the cup of coffee he’d set aside and sipped it without letting go of her. Whatever came next, he would be there. 

Even if nobody else had heard it, he’d made her a promise.

|

The first thing Lenore felt when she woke was the warmth wrapped around her hand. 

Pain followed quickly, but she’d been braced for that. She had not been braced for comfort and was less sure about what to do with it. 

“You’re awake,” Spite said, and Rook opened her eyes to look at him. 

The demon sat in a chair beside her bed, one foot propped on the seat while the other rested on the ground. He was the one holding her hand, of course. 

“I am,” she answered, studying him. “Did Lucanis fall asleep there or did you walk him here?”

Not what she was asking, really. What she meant was, which one of you decided to wait beside me while I was out? It would have been harder to ask that; harder still to admit to him how much she wanted to know. Better to sidestep it entirely. 

“Here,” Spite replied. “He promised. To stay.”

“And you didn’t want to make a run for it while everyone was distracted?” 

The ache in her leg was…significant, but better than she remembered in her awful, cluttered recollection of the moments following her injury. A cautious glance downward revealed only the usual quantity of bones. Nothing twisted past her shin, bones projecting outward and curling around each other like halla horns. She almost wished she believed in a god so she could thank them. 

“He promised,” Spite replied, as if it was the obvious answer. 

“Does Lucanis know that you keep his promises?” she asked, smiling at him. 

Spite smiled back slowly, each side of the mouth creeping up in turn, as if testing himself to see if he could. 

“No,” he said. “Are you. Fixed?” 

Mentally, she felt along her body. Her head felt better, she thought, though her leg was a miserable tangle of pain. The rest of her was stiff, as if she’d been lying still for a very long time.

“Not all the way. Something still hurts down there. But better than earlier, yes.” 

“Good. Your pain. Was wrong.” 

Wrong?

“Did it bother you to carry me around?” 

Rook thought to push herself up, try to sit, but thought better of it. She’d have to let go of his hand if she wanted to move and it hardly seemed worth it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her hand. Actually—now that she was thinking about it, she couldn’t remember a time when anyone living had held her hand for longer than the time it took to lead her where she was supposed to be.

“No,” Spite replied at once, and looked as if he would go on. Abruptly, his face went blank and Lucanis blinked himself awake. 

“Rook,” he said. “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” she said. 

Now that she was awake, he would take his hand away. She was certain of it. She held very still so he wouldn’t notice that they were still holding onto each other. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. His forehead creased as he leaned closer, shifting until both feet rested firmly on the ground. 

“I’ve been better,” she said, but he did not laugh. “Feeling a little stupid. I feel like I should apol—”

“Don’t, Rook,” Lucanis said, lifting the hand that wasn’t holding hers as if to halt the words. “I think you’ve apologized enough. If I never hear you say ‘I’m sorry’ again, it will be too soon.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“Hm,” Lucanis said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Some strong emotion suppressed; not a smile, she thought. “Emmrich called it…perseveration. He said that those with head wounds often repeat phrases or thoughts, and you’d happened to choose that one.”

“You disagree?” Lenore asked. 

His thumb traced something on the back of her hand, slow and soft. She repressed a shiver at the sensation—so comfortable, so easy. It was like they touched each other casually all the time, which they certainly did not. He had made his interest clear—clear enough for her, at least—and yet they had still remained largely hands-off until now. 

“These marks on your hands,” he said, and paused. “I have seen others like them.”

“Have you?” 

The urge to snatch hers back and hide it under the blankets was immediate, the effort to ignore it not inconsiderable. Lucanis lifted his own hand, angling it so the light shone over the scar tissue there, criss-crossing his knuckles and the back of his hand in straight, silvery lines. Thicker than the ones on the backs of her hands, yes, but mostly the same.

“You are not a Crow,” he said. “You were not trained the way I was. Emmrich’s hands are largely unscarred. Those are very old—before you left the Necropolis.”

“Correct on all counts,” Lenore told him, and turned their hands so hers was pressed against the blanket and out of sight. 

He watched her for a moment, free hand settling slowly on the cot beside her leg. She wondered what he’d read in her face. She wondered what he wasn’t saying nearly as much as she hoped he wouldn’t keep talking about it.

“You do not have to apologize to me,” he said at last. “I was glad that I was the one with you when you fell.”

“You shouldn’t have had to carry me back,” she told him firmly, shifting her weight onto her elbow. Her grip tightened on his hand. “I’m meant to look after myself better than that. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” Lucanis said, squeezing her hand in turn. “Stop. I would do it again.” 

He was so very close—she hadn’t noticed him getting closer—and she still felt so awful, so grateful, and his hand was so warm in hers—

“Lucanis,” she murmured, as if speaking too loud would ruin something precious and fragile, “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

Lenore hadn’t been touched or held in so long. She had almost—almost—convinced herself that this didn’t bother her, that she didn’t care. She’d been wrong, though; she cared a great deal. Cared like a plant cared for watering, like strings longed for a bow. Before she could change her mind or retreat from him again, she was lifting her face to his and kissing him.

|

Lucanis could count on one hand the number of times he had kissed somebody, and nearly all of them had been in the process of completing a contract or training for the same. They’d all been more or less the same to him, the experiences blurring together into the same dull sensation, all duty and never desire. 

This—Rook’s face upturned, her soft mouth pressed to his—was like none of those other times. He hardly had time to recover from the shock of it before she was pulling away again, eyes searching his face. Too fast; not enough time to understand. He needed more.

On instinct, he reached behind her and cupped the back of her neck as he had before, carefully pressing her close to him once more. Her lips were soft and surprised under his, as if she had expected him to pull away. When he kissed her, she made a surprised sound and squeezed his hand.

 Had he worried that it was Spite, not Lucanis, who wanted to kiss her? Had he somehow believed that touching her would quiet the hum of fascination under his skin? All ridiculous, all incorrect; this was something entirely different. His hand fit at the back of her neck perfectly, as if it had been shaped precisely for this. He was barely kissing her, but the faint pressure of his mouth against his was almost overwhelming. He was already touching her, already holding her to him, and yet he was hungry for exactly that—as if the touch by its very existence required more of itself, required more of him. 

Too much. He withdrew, though he didn’t let go of her yet, and found her eyes still closed, her lips softly parted. 

What was he to do with this? He wanted to press his thumb to the pulse beating at her throat, wanted to lift her from the bed and hold her again, wanted to kiss the hand he held in his until—until what? 

“You should rest,” Lucanis told her, his voice so quiet he found himself surprised he’d said it aloud at all. 

Rook nodded once, eyes still closed, and pressed her lips together. When she moved, he could feel the shift of her spine under her skin. Would it feel the same if he held her hand while she moved, while she played her music for him, when she drew magic from the Fade? Would it feel the same with his hands around her hips, or her—

The thought was strange enough, foreign enough, that he let go and climbed to his feet. For a moment, Rook held very still, face still tilted. Lucanis took a step back, lest his hands betray him and reach for her again. 

“You’re still healing,” he told her, and took another step back when her eyes fluttered open. Her eyelashes were so fine against her skin, her eyes so warm and soft in the pale light of the water. He wanted to look closer. Instead, he stepped back again and wished he had something to do with his hands. Anything that would remove the sensation of her hand in his, her mouth so sweet against his. 

“I’ll check on you later,” he went on. “Somebody needs to start dinner, and a note from Teia and Viago arrived while you slept.”

“Lucanis,” she said, her voice soft and quiet. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Thank you. For staying, I mean. Both of you.” 

“Of course, Rook. Anytime,” he said, and slipped from the room before she could take him up on the offer. 

“Coward,” Spite hissed. 

Lucanis, striding briskly away from the door so he would not turn around and open it again, found he could not disagree.