#efficient flossing

[berthaforster]

Innovative Dental Care with COSLUS

COSLUS is revolutionizing the dental care industry with its state-of-the-art dental water flosser. This remarkable device not only helps to maintain optimal oral hygiene but also makes the flossing experience enjoyable and efficient.

I love how easy it is to use and how it effectively removes plaque and food particles that traditional flossing might miss. The sleek design and portability make it a perfect addition to my daily routine.

What are your thoughts on dental water flossers? Have you tried the COSLUS model yet?

Looking forward to hearing your experiences!

[scififantasy-fandoms]

Started embroidering a Robin patch for Robin cosplay I plan to do. Specifically planning to do Tim Drake’s Robin, am doing the “R” stylized like his. Plan to also embroider in the black oval.

[notsomajestic]

The kit didn’t come with enough of one shade of floss to finish 🙃

[mwphisto]

LaDs: their night routine

~ bouncing off the sleep post, here’s my personal head canons on what their nightly routines look like before bed

Xavier

Starts his night routine the moment he gets home from work. Otherwise, he’d prob fall asleep instantly and feel nasty when he gets up.

He is stripping the second his foot hits the bathroom tile. Uniform in the hamper, water on scorching, the bathroom is filled with steam before he’s fully undressed and ready to go

Not guilty of using 3-1s but he does use the cheapest shampoo and conditioner imaginable. The kind you’d find at the grocery store that you know if you used it would totally dry out your hair. For him? It makes it incredibly soft and smells so damn nice (like vanilla)

He's the type to literally wash his face with dish soap and still have the softest, most flawless skin you've ever seen. He's settled for a soft face cloth and warm water post shower and then a moisturizer you bought him.

He'll towel dry and then blow dry his hair, brush it out, and then start brushing his teeth. His eyes are nearly closed at that point.

Zayne

His night routine depends on where he is and what he is doing. For example, if he's working overnight or even a twenty four hour shift? The most he's doing is showering before passing out.

If he's just finished a day shift, he's going to take a little more time with his night routine but the exhaustion still wears him down.

He's very much guilty of using a 2-1 just for the convenience of it. Mostly used when he is at the hospital just to save a little time. Somehow still looks good after using it (ugh, men.) At home, he's very much taken note of all the things you recommended for him - often asks for your help too hehe.

Uses nice shampoo and conditioner at home, not super high end but not something you can find at the convenient store. Smells like pears and jasmine and it's so soft, you could sniff his hair for hours.

He'll use a gentle face wash - your recommendation - brush his teeth (floss and mouthwash since you keep calling him out about his frequent dentist trips), and blow dry his hair before heading to bed for the night.

Rafayel

He takes his night routine very seriously. Typically starting it with a nice hot shower to get all the day's work off of him. Then, he follows it with long soak in the tub (legit like 2-4 hours). He'll sketch and sing and call you while he relaxes.

His shower routine consists of luxurious floral shampoo and a nice deep conditioning hair mask. His hair is naturally a bit wavy so he tries to make sure it's soft and nourished. His hair smells like cherry blossom and strawberry.

He'll let it air dry and then cringe when it poofs up, then he'll go in with leave in conditioner and some scalp serums before blow drying it.

His skin is literally flawless, so he uses a very gentle cleanser, a nice milky toner, a rich moisturizer, and lastly lip balm. But he brushes his teeth before the lip balm portion (which is flossing, brushing, and then mouth wash)

Sylus

He takes his time with his night routine if you're with him in the N109 Zone. Spa night of sorts. if your not with him? His routine is short yet efficient.

Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash are all per your recommendations. But he's very guilty of using the shampoo, conditioner, and fruity body wash you leave behind. Which he does with a smirk despite your complaining.

He's a shower, brush his teeth, shave if need be, and pass out in bed type of guy. But all of his products are top of the line, so like, he can put that little effort in and still look perfect (again, men.)

If you're still awake he'll video chat with you while he does his skincare (literally only does it if you're there or if he calls you) and catch up with you on your day.

He's a brush teeth and mouth wash person, he'll floss when he remembers... speaking of... do you think because he can heal himself he can just heal his cavities before they even happen?

Caleb

Night routine? He has none. I should just end this right here because oh lord help him. His night routine is enough to make anyone shiver. He wasn't that bad when he still lived with you, but on his own? Lord.

He's a bar soap type of guy, y'know the ones that leave a stiff feeling film on your skin? And he is so guilty of 3-1s please.

Once you're back in his life? You get him a whole regimen and call him each night to ensure he is properly doing it (if you don't live together already)

He uses apple scented products, all curtsy of you, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash all have some apple note in their scent profile. You also bought him an acne safe face wash (he had some acne in his teen years) a nice moisturizer, and a good razor for shaving. Oh and a few lip balms and chapsticks.

You set up an auto-renew subscription for these products so they show up at his doorstep before he can run out of them. He spent all those years taking care of you, now it's your turn to take care of him.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 33

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: jealousssy, medical proedures

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were good days in the ER, and then there were entertaining days.

Today, according to Dana, was shaping up to be the latter.

“Heads up,” she said in a singsong voice as she approached the nurse’s station, sliding a cup of black coffee across the desk to Robby. “New cardio attending on the floor,” she whispered “Tall. Tan. Gold watch. Looks like he flosses with hundred-dollar bills and does push-ups during rounds.”

Robby raised a brow. “And?”

“And he asked me who the pretty brunette in the mustard cardigan was.”

Robby’s hand froze mid-sip. “What?”

“You heard me,” Dana said with a wicked grin. “Pretty. Brunette. Mustard cardigan. So basically—your very taken girlfriend.”

Robby blinked slowly. “Did you tell him?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Dana said brightly. “What do I look like? A decent person?”

Before Robby could reply, a voice called out behind him, smooth and confident.

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

He turned. A man with perfect posture, polished shoes, and a dazzling white smile stood holding a tablet. He looked like a walking GQ ad with a stethoscope accessory.

“Dr. Carson. Cardiology. I transferred in from UCSF.” the man said, offering a hand.” “Just wanted to introduce myself.”

“Nice to meet you,” Robby said warily, shaking his hand.

Carson glanced casually across the ER, where you stood a few feet away reviewing patients on the board, your signature cardigan sleeves pushed up and a pen tucked into the corner of your mouth.

Carson’s eyes darted across the room. “Listen, I hope this isn’t inappropriate, but... I’ve seen you and Dr. Williams around, and I was wondering if you might, uh... put in a good word for me?”

Robby blinked. “A good word... with who?”

“Dr. Williams,” Carson said. “I don’t want to be weird about it, but she’s gorgeous. And she seems brilliant. I thought maybe, if she’s single, you could help me out? Slip me her number?”

Across the station, Dana had dropped her glasses.

Santos had visibly stopped breathing.

Whittaker mouthed the word oh no like he was watching a romcom train wreck in slow motion.

Robby just... stared. The kind of blank, stunned stare that said he wasn’t quite sure if this was happening in real life or if he had blacked out in one of the trauma rooms and this was some elaborate hallucination.

Robby blinked. Slowly. Once. Twice.

“...you want me to help you ask out my fiancée?” he said slowly.

Carson blinked. “She’s your fiancée?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. OH.”

Silence.

“That explains a lot,” Carson muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two seemed close. I just thought... You know... good coworkers.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “We live together.”

Dana choked on her coffee.

Carson raised his hands in surrender. “I fully accept defeat. You’re a lucky guy. Seriously. No disrespect meant.”

“No offense taken,” Robby said with a smile that was technically polite but felt like it had teeth.

Just then, you walked up to the desk, flipping through a stack of vitals. “Hey, has anyone seen the labs for Room 4? I’ve been waiting on—”

Carson turned toward her, determined to salvage his dignity. “Dr. Williams. I was just telling Dr. Robinavitch how incredibly impressive your work is.”

“Oh, thank you,” you said, barely glancing up from your chart. “Do you have the BNP for that CHF case?”

Robby watched her, his expression dry.

Carson chuckled. “Direct and efficient. I love that.”

You mumbled confusedly. “I just need the lab results.”

“Right. Of course.” He turned to Robby. “You’re a lucky guy.”

You finally looked up from your chart, confused. “Did I miss something?”

Robby stepped closer, looping an arm around your waist with casual, possessive ease. “Nope. Just clarifying some... relationship statuses.”

You frowned. “Okayyy.”

Carson winced again.

Robby gave him a tight nod. “All caught up now?”

“Crystal.”

As Carson turned to retreat, Dana called out behind him, “Tough beat, doc.”

You looked between them, baffled. “Wait. What just happened?”

Santos made a dramatic throat-slash motion toward Carson.

Robby kissed your temple. “You’re oblivious, you know that?”

“I'm focused,” you corrected.

“On everything except the part where a man just asked your fiancé to hook him up with you.”

Your eyes widened. “That’s what just happened?”

“Yup.”

“Oh my God.”

“You’re very popular,” Robby said dryly.

You laughed. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m possessive,” Robby corrected. “Which is healthy when your fiancé is so charming that other men forget to check her left hand.”

You smiled, stepping in to kiss his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do love it.”

[deathofacupid]

how do the jujutsu-kaisen men help you through a burnout?

gojo transforms into a sugar-fueled, chaos-wielding distraction machine. he views your stress as a personal affront to the universe's inherent fun-ness. his motto, delivered with a wink and a truly unsettling amount of sincerity, is, "stressed backwards is dessert!"

which explains the everest-sized piles of candy, chocolate, and enough novelty-shaped gummies to give a dentist a heart attack, now dominating your shared bed. you're pretty sure you saw a gummy bear wearing a tiny fedora. he's also trying to teach you a "stress-relieving" dance involving interpretive flossing and a kazoo. it's… a lot.

geto goes full-on spa day commando. he marches you directly into the bathroom, where a battalion of face masks, scented candles that smell suspiciously like expensive incense, and fluffy towels await. "darling," he'll purr, "the first step to looking like a celestial being is feeling like one."

he then proceeds to give you a facial that involves more cucumber slices than a salad bar, and a scalp massage that makes you question if you've ever truly felt anything before. it's so luxurious, you almost forget you're stressed — until you realize he's also trying to convince you to try a "snake venom" face cream.

nanami approaches the situation with the precision of a swiss watchmaker. he calmly assesses the situation, asking pointed questions like, "is this a systemic issue, or a temporary lapse in productivity?"

he'll help you dissect the problem, dismantling it with the clinical efficiency of a surgeon removing a particularly stubborn splinter. once the root cause is identified and neutralized (usually with a spreadsheet and a sternly worded email), he'll produce a tray of freshly baked pastries, each one a masterpiece of buttery perfection, and pull you into a hug that feels like coming home.

if the problem is unsolvable, he'll simply hold you, his quiet strength a comforting anchor in the storm. the weight of his arms around you feels like a promise that even in the face of the impossible, you're not alone. it's so tender, you might just cry.

choso, bless his heart, is utterly bewildered by the concept of burnout. he stares at you with the concerned expression of a puppy watching a magic trick gone wrong. he remembers his brothers, how they found joy in… well, mostly brutal combat and shared blood rituals. realizing that's probably not your thing, he embarks on a frantic google search, his brow furrowed in concentration. the search history is a bizarre mix of "how to make human happy" and "best blood-based stress relief."

eventually, he sits you down, and with a voice full of gentle sincerity, asks you to just… talk. and as you pour out your worries, he listens with an intensity that makes you feel like your words are the most important thing in the universe. by the end, you feel lighter, as if a weight has been lifted.

toji decides the only solution is a culinary apocalypse. he doesn't ask questions; he simply orders enough takeout to feed a small army, and then some. we're talking mountains of sushi, enough noodles to fill a swimming pool, and a pizza that could double as a coffee table.

"food makes everything better," he grunts, shoving a fistful of dumplings into his mouth. he's not wrong, exactly. the sheer volume of food is so overwhelming, you can't help but laugh, and for a moment, the stress fades away. it's a chaotic, greasy, glorious mess.

sukuna initially assumes someone has dared to offend you. his first instinct is to unleash a torrent of threats so creatively violent, even demons would shudder. after fifteen minutes of apocalyptic pronouncements, he finally notices the exhaustion etched on your face. he's as clueless as choso, but instead of google, he tries to mimic your own comfort rituals. he drags you under the covers, surprisingly gentle, and even lets you be the big spoon—a concession so monumental, it's practically a declaration of war on his own ego.

he runs his fingers through your hair, a surprisingly soothing gesture, and rambles about his day, his voice a low, rumbling murmur. he traces patterns on your leg, the one draped over him, and as your breathing evens out, a rare, almost tender expression softens his features. he feels a strange sense of peace as you drift off, and the rhythm of your sleep lulls him into a surprisingly restful slumber. you’re the only thing that can make him feel like he isn’t constantly at war, and he treasures that, even if he’d never admit it.

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam at the dentist HCs/incorrect quotes, please?? 🤲 I have a big surgery coming up and I'm terrified

Dick: What's up, doc?

Leslie: What are you doing?

Dick: Daffy Duck. I'm thinking of a new career as a voice actor.

Leslie: Okay but can you not do it with a mouthful of sharp objects?

———————

Cass: *brings a punch card and a knocked-out tooth*

Leslie, sighing: Here we go again.

Leslie: *stamps the card*

Leslie: Your next one is free.

———————

Leslie: *in the middle of the checkup*

Steph, getting up: Hang on, my Uber Eats is here.

Leslie: You ordered takeout to a dental appointment?

Steph: Efficiency.

———————

Leslie: You have a helmet. How did you still break your tooth?

Jason: *flashback to throwing his helmet at Dick, missing, and it bouncing back*

Jason: Enough with the questions, okay?

———————

Leslie: Ever consider braces?

Kate: I don't want any part of me to be straight.

———————

Leslie: Oh, you're early! Just check in with the receptionist and take a seat until I call you.

Bette: *goes up to the receptionist*

Bette: Checking in for Bette Kane.

The receptionist: Sorry, I don't have you down here.

Bette: Maybe try my full name? Mary Elizabeth Kane?

The receptionist: Still don't see you.

Bette: I should have an appointment for 2:00 today.

The receptionist: *typing*

The receptionist: I see you now. The doctor's right, you are early. Your appointment is tomorrow.

———————

Selina: *using cat claws as a toothpick*

Leslie: This might be an issue.

———————

Leslie: Say "ahh."

Tim: *screams*

———————

Leslie: You're bleeding because you don't floss.

Harper, who came in after a mission: ...

———————

Leslie: —but I cannot stress this enough, it's important to wear a mouthguard for all contact sports. And some non-contact sports. And training. And patrol. And walking through Gotham. And whenever you're around the Waynes. Actually, I'm just gonna give you the box. Take your time. Pick whatever colors you want. If you need me, I'm gonna be in my office questioning my life choices.

Luke:

Luke: ...I just asked how her day was.

———————

Bruce: Are you sure there's no tooth fairy? Because the Justice League has state-of-the-art tracking system that can locate them. I really think we can form a contract to expand social programs for children.

Leslie: Just shut up and let me do my job.

———————

Leslie: Everything's looking good except for a few minor spots.

Barbara: Yeah, well, call me when they invent stainless coffee.

———————

Leslie: I recommend removing your wisdom teeth.

Alfred: But that's where I keep my wisdom.

———————

Leslie: I see you still have one last baby tooth. It should've come out by now.

Damian: Father said to keep it in.

Leslie: Why?

Damian: He wants me to stay a baby.

———————

Leslie: Cullen, you're next.

Cullen: *climbing out the skylight*

Leslie: Wow.

Leslie: That's actually impressive for a non-vigilante.

———————

Leslie: Hey, Helena. I thought you were off duty this week. How'd you knock a molar loose?

[earlier]

Students: *fighting in the hall*

Helena: Break it up! All of you go to the office! And delete that video!

[present]

Helena: I need a raise.

———————

Carrie: I don't get it. I brush twice a day AND floss. How do I still have cavities?

Leslie: What do you brush with?

Carrie: Toothpaste, obviously.

Leslie: And what do you floss with?

Carrie:

Leslie: Carrie...

Carrie: The British call it candy floss for a reason, don't they?

———————

Leslie: Well done today, Duke. Have a sticker.

Duke: Why are they all the Justice League?

Leslie: Funding comes with a catch.

Duke:

Duke: *picks the Flash*

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, zombies, angst

pairing: osamu miya x fem!reader

summary: good afternoon everyone i decided to ruin lunch because of this tweet

you haven’t seen a clean sky in months.

not without smoke. not without haze. not without the black outline of something burning in the distance.

your throat is raw from the cold air and the weeks of silence. words feel foreign. even your own name sounds strange when you think it.

miwa’s limping two paces behind you, dragging her right leg in slow, stubborn swipes through the brush. the bandage under her jeans is dark and stiff—she tore her calf on a fence three days ago trying to outrun a horde that came out of nowhere, moaning and fast, jaws snapping like dogs. you stitched her up in the rain with a half-rusted needle and dental floss while suna stood watch, holding the flashlight steady. she didn’t flinch once.

she hasn’t said much since either.

suna walks ahead now, machete strapped against his back, the radio pressed flat to his spine with duct tape and fraying rope. he doesn’t look back. doesn’t have to. he always knows exactly how far behind you are, how deep the limp, how much longer you can push before someone collapses.

your breath rattles in your chest like it’s breaking.

you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. and even then, it was half a protein bar and rainwater you boiled in an old tuna can. your backpack’s too light. your socks are soaked. and the cold air bites hard through the holes in your coat.

still, you keep walking.

because last night, suna caught something. a signal.

a man’s voice crackling through static. coordinates. a woman’s voice echoing behind him: “supplies. safe perimeter. we’re holding.”

your heart had nearly stopped. you’d grabbed the radio with shaking hands and whispered into it until your voice broke. no one answered. but the signal kept looping.

a base. a camp. a real one.

and now, after two years of ruined cities and cold woods and empty roads, the three of you stand at the edge of a hill, staring down at fences topped in barbed wire and armed guards watching from wooden towers.

“this is it,” suna murmurs.

you don’t reply. you just run.

but you don’t make it far.

before you can reach the main gate, someone’s shouting. a spotlight blinks on. figures move fast. two, no, four of them emerging from the side path with rifles raised and metal masks hiding their faces.

“stop right there! hands in the air!”

your arms lift automatically, joints screaming. miwa stumbles and drops to her knees. suna’s hands are already up.

they descend like a tactical unit. quick, efficient, not cruel—but not gentle either.

you’re yanked out of line. separated. shoved against a wall and patted down. they check your sleeves, your throat, the backs of your knees. one of them shines a blue light into your eyes. another pricks your finger with a needle and smears the blood onto a glass slide.

you want to scream. instead, you sway.

“we’ve been on foot for three days,” you manage. your voice sounds ruined. “we haven’t been bit.”

“you’ll be cleared after 24 hours if that’s the case,” the soldier replies. “no exceptions.”

they don’t wait for a reply. they’re already dragging you toward a side corridor of concrete and steel, where they shove you through a reinforced door that slams behind you like a prison gate.

miwa is next. suna follows.

the lights buzz above you. flickering fluorescent strips. the room smells like bleach and rust. there’s no furniture, just three mats rolled against the far wall and a drain in the center of the floor.

you want to cry.

but the tears are dry before they reach your eyes.

…

the first hour is silent.

then someone slides a tray through the slot in the wall.

you don’t even get a good look at the person on the other side. just gloved hands. no words. the tray clatters against the floor, metal, with dents in the side, and you crawl to it before either of them can.

the bowl’s steaming. thick broth. something floating on top that looks like oil and herbs. a chunk of rice. maybe tofu. the bread is stale, but it smells familiar, and when it hits you fully— you freeze.

because you know this soup.

you know this soup like you know the curve of your own palm, the sound of your own laugh, the pattern of your fiancé’s heartbeat when you used to lie curled against him in bed.

smoked miso broth. charred shiitake. grilled green onions. sesame oil. a pinch of chili flake—he always added too much.

you blink hard. grip the tray tighter. try to breathe through your nose.

it can’t be. you’re exhausted. you’re hallucinating. you’re fucking grieving.

you haven’t eaten in almost three days. it’s not real. it’s not him.

you sit down at the far table.

you don’t taste the first spoonful. you just feel it. like warmth seeping into bone. like time reversing, just for a moment.

you close your eyes and chew slowly. when you open them again, suna’s across from you.

he’s already halfway through his plate.

“this rice tastes like it was cooked with ginger,” he says flatly.

you nod, swallowing hard. “this soup,” you whisper. “this is sammy’s.”

suna doesn’t react. he keeps chewing.

“no,” you insist, voice cracking. “i mean it. this is his recipe. his exact recipe. he used to make this on snow days. he grilled the mushrooms in a cast iron pan. said the smoke made the flavor cling harder.” your lips tremble. “i watched him do it. a hundred times.”

miwa slides in next to you. she’s pale. shaky. but she eats, spoon clinking rhythmically against her bowl.

“maybe someone here’s got the same taste,” she murmurs, echoing suna’s earlier line.

you don’t answer.

because taste isn’t coincidence. taste is habit. taste is love.

and this? this tastes like coming home.

you don’t say the rest out loud: that you’ve been looking for him for two years. that your ring is still in your pocket. that your last memory of him is him kissing your shoulder and saying, i’ll see you at dinner.

they know the story.

you’ve all told your stories, late at night, when the wind howled too loud and the stars were too bright. miwa’s brother. suna’s girlfriend and best friend. your fiancé.

they’d been there for the phone calls that never connected. for the endless nights you clutched your cracked photograph and stared at the ceiling of whatever safehouse you’d found.

so when you say nothing else—just hold the bowl in your hands like it’s the only warm thing left on earth, they don’t push.

suna leans back against the wall, arms crossed.

“pretty good soup,” he says.

but you don’t eat the rest. you just hold it. and shake.

…

the next morning, they let you out.

a soldier appears at the door, taps twice, and steps back.

you blink into the light.

the hallway smells like cleaner and fresh fabric. someone hands you a lanyard with a number on it. someone else tells you where the showers are. what time breakfast is. where to get issued new clothes. you don’t remember half of it.

outside, the camp is bigger than anything you expected.

rows of buildings, concrete and wood, some prefab, some clearly scavenged, line narrow walkways. there are watchposts. bunkhouses. medical stations. generators hum somewhere in the distance.

and people.

people in patched jackets and mismatched boots. people pushing wheelbarrows. people holding babies. some of them look clean. like they’ve been here a while. others look exactly like you: wild-eyed, skin grey from dust, hunched like hunted things.

and then there are the ones in between.

the ones who’ve been here long enough to get warm again, but not long enough to forget.

you recognize it in their eyes: the shellshock. the bags. the flinches. you’ve seen it in mirrors.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass pane of the nearest structure.

you look just like them.

but you don’t settle.

how could you?

even when they give you boots that don’t rub your blisters raw, even when they show you to a bunkhouse where the walls don’t leak, even when they pass you a dry pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that doesn’t smell like death, you don’t rest. your body’s still in fight mode. like if you let your guard down even a little, it’ll all vanish.

miwa’s asleep before dinner.

they gave her a single room in the recovery wing because of her leg. you helped rewrap it after the shower, both of you crouched on a cement floor, scrubbing dirt and infection out of old wounds. her breath hitched only once.

now she’s curled on her side, hair loose over her face, a blanket pulled to her chin.

you leave without a word.

suna’s the one who finds you wandering near the supply shed, staring at an empty crate like it might grow answers.

he doesn’t say anything. just walks beside you until you both see the notice board.

VOLUNTEERS NEEDED: food sorting, guard rotations, radio scanning, nursing / childcare, kitchen / compost.

he looks at you.

you look at the word “nursing.”

you tear off the slip.

…

the clinic is quiet.

the nurse leading orientation says her name is ito. she’s missing her left thumb. you try not to stare. she tells you the real medics were overrun in the first year, so now they use whatever help they can get. you tell her you used to work as w nurse, triage and peds.

she looks at you like you’ve grown a halo.

“you’re in,” she says.

they assign you to morning shifts. you’ll help with wound care, med distribution, and childcare.

you ask about miwa. they say she’ll be discharged tomorrow.

you ask about suna.

ito just shrugs. “he signed up for radio and fencing work. boys like him don’t sit still.”

by mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in screaming toddlers and broken thermometers.

it’s the first time in a long time you’ve felt… needed.

your voice softens as you wrap a bandage. you hum when you hand out cough syrup. you tell a crying mother that her daughter will be okay, that the fever’s already breaking, that she just needs fluids and sleep.

the mother clutches your hand. she thanks you three times.

you can’t stop shaking for ten minutes after.

your name spreads before you realize it.

“that new girl. the one with the soft hands.”

“she stitched up my boy’s leg, even gave him a stuffed toy.”

“heard she used to be a real nurse.”

“she knows things. real things. not just guesses.”

“she was looking for someone, too. a fiancé, i think.”

“she made a baby laugh yesterday. haven’t seen that in months.”

they don’t know your name. but they know your voice. your face. the weight of your touch.

and behind the mess hall doors, stirring another pot of miso broth over an open flame, osamu miya hears the whispers.

he nearly burns the soup.

“what’s wrong?” she asks from behind him.

he turns.

she’s there: his new shelter.

the woman who pulled him from the river when grief nearly drowned him. who bandaged his wrist when he tried to break down a concrete wall barehanded. the one who helped him bury atsumu when he wanted more than anything to sink into the grass with him and stay there for eternity.

she’s real. she’s kind. she saved his life.

he kisses her cheek.

but he doesn’t answer.

because he thinks he just heard your name.

…

you don’t know he’s here yet.

you’re too busy stitching up the boy who took a spill off the rope ladder. he’s maybe ten, with big eyes and a cracked tooth and blood down his shin. you clean it with warm water and hum a song he doesn’t know. he doesn’t cry once.

when it’s done, he whispers: “you’re like a real nurse.”

“i am a real nurse,” you murmur.

then he hands you his bread roll and runs.

…

you’re halfway through your own dinner when it hits you again.

soup.

the same as before.

you haven’t had it since quarantine. but now it’s here again.

and it’s perfect.

you stare into the bowl like it’s trying to speak.

suna’s across from you again. miwa limps in and sits beside him. they’re both looking at you.

“not again,” suna says flatly.

you taste it.

same grilled mushrooms. same chili burn. same everything.

you set your spoon down. “i’m telling you he’s here.”

suna raises a brow. “y/n—”

“no, suna.” your voice doesn’t shake. “he’s here. in this camp.”

neither of them speaks.

miwa blinks. “you’re sure?”

you nod. “i know his food. i know his hands. he taught me how to cook. i watched him perfect this recipe for five years. there’s no way this is a coincidence. he’s here. somewhere.”

…

in the kitchen later, osamu burns his hand when he drops the ladle.

he stares down at the burn on his hand. red. angry. pulsing under the skin like a warning.

he should be running cold water over it. should be grabbing gauze. something. anything.

but he doesn’t flinch. his hand just shakes.

and in the distance— your laugh.

it’s soft. not loud. not the belly-deep one he used to tease out of you when you danced barefoot in the apartment kitchen. this one is smaller. quieter. but it still hits him just as hard.

he grips the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles go white.

he wonders who you’re laughing with.

he wonders if you’ve let someone carry your bag for you.

if someone helps you rewrap your bandages. if someone sleeps on the other side of the bunk with you. if someone gets to hear you hum when you stir a pot, or if someone touches your wrist before bed.

he wonders— have you found somebody to hold you, too?

he’s not sure which would hurt more.

you being alone.

or you being loved.

he hears someone whisper, “she says her name’s y/n.”

he walks out the back door before anyone can ask why his eyes are glassy.

…

that night, you barely sleep.

the bunk mattress is too soft. not like the ground you’d been used to. your body doesn’t trust softness anymore. it sinks too much. makes you feel exposed. you keep expecting screams. gunfire. the stink of rotted teeth. but there’s only the hum of electricity and the shuffle of boots outside.

you lie still for hours, eyes wide.

you can still taste it.

the soup.

you taste it like he’s still in your mouth.

…

you wake early. tie your hair back with the same band of fabric you’ve used for a year. slip into your boots. pull the lanyard with your ID over your neck like armor. no one says a word to you on your walk to the clinic.

ito nods when you arrive. “we’ve got two births coming today,” she mutters, already elbow-deep in towels and iodine. “you good with blood?”

you blink. your fingers curl around the edge of the counter.

“i’m a nurse,” you say.

she smirks. “good answer.”

you spend the morning elbow-deep in childbirth and wailing mothers. the first one’s young. the second is not. both scream like they’ve lost the world. both grip your hand until your bones ache.

you guide them through it. breathe with them. hold pressure where you need to. tie off cords with sterilized twine. it’s messy, ancient work. and it makes your blood feel useful again.

afterward, your hands are sore. your back screams. you still haven’t eaten.

but when you walk out into the cold air, the camp smells like firewood and pepper. like the kitchen’s already prepping dinner.

and your heart starts to stutter.

not quietly. not subtly. not like a memory creeping in. no. like a drumline in your chest, like every nerve ending is snapping awake all at once, like instinct. the kind of instinct that makes you run toward the person you love even if it kills you.

he’s there.

broad shoulders. thick forearms. same fucking walk. a little slower, maybe. a little heavier. he’s wiping his hands on a rag, standing by the mess hall’s side door, his hair longer, jaw sharper, but—but that’s him.

that’s osamu.

and you run.

your boots hit the gravel hard. you hear someone call after you, maybe suna, maybe ito, but it doesn’t matter.

you’re running.

your throat is closing up. your breath’s ragged. your ankle aches with every step. but still, you run.

and then he looks up.

his head turns. eyes meet yours. and he goes still.

you crash into him full force.

your hands grip his sleeves, fists in the fabric, and he catches you like he knew this moment was coming. like he’s had dreams about it too.

“sammy,” you choke out, voice breaking on the name.

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

you touch his face. your fingers tremble as they trace the line of his jaw, the new scar on his cheekbone, the dark circles under his eyes. you don’t even notice the tears until you feel them on your lips.

“i thought—” he swallows. “i thought you were—”

“don’t.” you shake your head. “don’t say it.”

he nods. presses his forehead to yours.

you’re crying in full now. shaking in his arms. he’s gripping you like he’s afraid to let go.

he whispers, voice wrecked, “you’re here.”

“i’m here.”

for a long moment, it’s just breathing. just skin. just the weight of two years collapsing into a single, fragile second.

but then—

you hear footsteps.

a voice. soft. feminine. “sam?”

his body goes still. just slightly.

the word is soft. not accusatory. just.. confused.

you freeze.

you turn your head against his shoulder, slow, unsure, like moving too fast might shatter you.

and there she is.

she’s standing maybe six steps away, bathed in the gold spill of late afternoon sun. her skin is warm brown and sun-kissed. her cheeks flushed like she was just laughing. her braids are pulled into a low knot at the nape of her neck, loose tendrils curling around her jaw. and on her wrist—a bracelet.

hand-twisted cord, dark leather maybe, with a small stone braided into the middle.

your eyes drop to osamu’s wrist. same bracelet.

you don’t speak. your breath gets shallow. you feel your pulse in your ears.

her eyes drift between you, slow and blinking.

then—then they widen. just slightly. like something’s slotting into place. like she’s trying to remember where she’s seen your face before.

her fingers twitch at her side. she touches the bracelet once. her jaw tightens.

and then she says, voice cracking around the edges, “i’ll… give you guys a second.”

just that. no venom. no questions. no fury.

just that awful, awful softness. the kind that says: you’ve already lost. i’m just stepping aside to let you feel it.

her eyes meet yours one more time.

and in them—pity.

not disgust. not hate. pity.

and that’s what does it. your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your knees.

you step back.

osamu doesn’t stop you.

your hands fall from his chest.

his arms hang in the air like they don’t know where to go.

you stare at her retreating figure. the way her hand curls over the edge of her other wrist. the way she walks fast, not frantic. like she’s trying to get out of earshot before she hears something she can’t unhear.

your breath catches and you turn to him.

he looks… wrecked. mouth parted. brows drawn. his whole face pale beneath the sun. like he just remembered how to be human a second too late.

and on his wrist, that bracelet glints in the light.

you’re still staring at the spot where she was standing. your mouth opens like instinct, like survival, like hope still has one last thing it needs to hear before it can die.

“who…” your voice breaks halfway through. barely makes it past your lips. it’s all splinter, dry and shaking. “…who is that?”

the moment it leaves you, your stomach twists.

you already know. every part of your body already knows.

your pulse thunders in your ears. the ground sways slightly under your feet, the dirt shifting like it might swallow you whole. your chest is too tight. your fingers, white-knuckled at your sides, are trembling so hard it feels like your bones might crack from the inside.

osamu looks at you.

and in his eyes, it isn’t guilt. not the coward’s guilt of someone caught. not shame. not regret.

it’s worse. it’s heartbreak. quiet and immense, like something he’s been carrying for months.

he just stares. doesn’t blink. doesn’t speak. just takes you in. like you’re light filtering through water. like he can’t believe you’re real.

and in that silence, you feel it like ice seeping into your lungs. you already know. but you ask more anyway.

“…how long?”

his lips twitch like the words sting his mouth. he looks down. exhales. his voice is rough and small when he answers.

“since…” he swallows. “since atsumu died nine months ago.”

your whole body recoils.

it’s like something’s struck you in the chest, hard, cruel. like someone reached in and twisted your heart with both hands.

you stagger, the air leaving your lungs all at once. your vision goes glassy.

osamu steps forward, barely a footfall, and your body lurches like prey. your breath picks up, shallow and fast. the warmth of him feels too close, too dangerous. you feel the heat coming off his skin and it makes your stomach flip.

he doesn’t touch you. but his hands twitch. like they want to.

you look at him.

your samu.

your high school sweetheart. your long-distance phone calls and 7am airport goodbyes. your slow dances in the kitchen. your ‘come home safe.’

your always.

and now he has someone else’s bracelet on his wrist. he smells like her. he held her first after the world ended.

your eyes are shining. you’re blinking hard, biting the inside of your cheek just to keep from crumbling right there in the dirt.

you speak, but your voice is barely a whisper. “…i waited.”

and that—that’s what breaks him.

his expression shatters. he lets out this tiny, pained sound, half gasp, half sob, and his shoulders fold inward like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

he reaches out, finally, hand shaking.

you stumble back so fast your heel kicks up gravel.

you flinch like he’s fire. and his hand drops. like it burned you, too.

you can’t stop crying now. the tears stream hot down your face, burning paths down your cheeks. your mouth trembles as you try to breathe through it.

you shake your head, trying to stop your voice from shaking, but it doesn’t work.

“i searched,” you choke out, “i—i prayed. i never gave up. not once. i didn’t look at anyone else. not once.”

your words hit like waves, each one pulling more breath from you. each one dragging you further under.

osamu’s eyes are rimmed red. glassy. his jaw tight. he’s breathing like it hurts.

and he winces. physically, visibly. like every word is a blade to the chest.

but he doesn’t interrupt you. he doesn’t defend himself. because there’s nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

“you were it for me,” you whisper. “i was gonna find you. i knew i would. and you—”

you stop.

you can’t say it.

it’s too big. too painful. too real to speak aloud.

he takes one more step toward you. one more inch.

you take another back.

a boundary. a border.

you put that space between you like it’ll protect your ribs from collapsing.

his breath hitches.

the weight of it all presses down between you, heavy, suffocating. like the air’s too thick to move through. like the silence could split the earth.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers.

his voice is wrecked.

and maybe he means it.

but it’s too late. you’ve already broken. and the worst part?

you still love him.

you’d still trade everything—every mile, every wound, for one night with the version of him that still belonged to you.

and now he doesn’t.

and he never will again.

[arielleslipgloss]

How to be an It Girl (pt 2)

“I don’t care much about what others think. My life revolves around me and only me.” - Song Jia

Learn the importance of having a private life. One of my favorite pieces of advice I can give is to be private. Never share too much, share little by little. Some of our most popular it girls we still don’t know much about. (Ex: Wonyoung, Marilyn Monroe, Song Jia, etc)

2. Dress nicely and have your own personal style. Dressing nicely 24/7 will change your whole appearance. Make sure your clothes are ironed, clean and colors match. Overall try to make your clothes look neat. Nevertheless, having your own personal style includes your own accessory. That is….your confidence! Therefore find a style that makes you feel confident and good!

3. Expanding your vocabulary! Expanding your vocabulary will not only make sound more efficient but also may help you in the future. Simple words like, wanton, vitriol, pernicious will make a big difference.

4. Proper hygiene care! I swear that proper hygiene care is SOOOO important. I’m gonna be brutally honest, who wants to be next to someone with bad hygiene? I’m genuinely not trying to be rude, just honest. The importance of hygiene is HUGE. Simply brushing your teeth three times a day, showering, exfoliating your skin, oil pulling, putting deodorant on DAILY, changing your underwear DAILY, flossing, etc. Whatever you can do for your hygiene DO IT!

5. Be nice to everyone! This is another HUGE tip, being nice to people. Yes, even your haters/enemies. Do you see your favorite it girls being rude to people, no. Exactly, so always be nice to everyone around you.

Remember, “Never pass a mirror without looking at yourself.” - Paris Hilton! Love you, dolls! 💋

xoxo, Arielleslipgloss🎀

[randygrim]

Some iterater designs !!

Individual portraits and hc below (this shit is long btw)

Sliver of Straw she/her

-most articulated, very brittle, prone to fracturing

-does not wear the clothes of her ancients, loaths them after they abandoned her

-magnetic joints, designed for biology

Seven Red Suns they/them

-made w soft metal after older models began to crack, has many many observatorys across their area

-clothes are embroidered with tiny pearls and metallic floss

-elastic joints, designed for astronomy

Looks to the Moon she/they

-least articulated model, made partially with rust resistent material, can detach from power cables to perform field research

-clothes are based on the tides, pearls are meant to resemble reflected stars

-magnetic joints, designed for meteorology

No Significant Harassment he/she

-same model as moon, can also detach from cables

-does not wear the ancients jewelry because she despises them but still wears the same clothes cuz of nostalgia

-ripped out his antenas because of faulty signal wiring that caused migraines

-designed for pathology (specifically to study the rot)

Five Pebbles he/him

-youngest and smallest so he is most power efficient

-jewelry is made of local minerals, being gold, quartz, and bismuth

-elastic joints, made for geology

Additional headcanons I thought were cool:

- both sos and nsh hate their ancients, but nsh was able to come to terms with his abandonenment and heal, where as sos threw herself into her work to prove them wrong

-lttm used to visit pebbles frequently before pebbles' experiment

And yeah! I'll probably post a doodle of what sos clothes would have looked like before the ancients left.

This was fun!!! I cant w8 to do some slugcat designs next

[vanillablankcanvas]

Favorite food? and least favorite food

John Dory - Troll equivalent of beef jerky. Bug jerky? Yeah let's go with that. 😏 Snail jerky, cricket jerky, worm jerky! And steak! 🥩 Hates mushrooms! 🍄 There was a time when it was all he could find when foraging! Yes it kept him alive, but it was disgusting!

Bruce - absolutely LOATHES eggs🥚At one point when he was younger, to keep up his physique he would eat only boiled eggs for days at a time. He quickly got sick of them! His favourite food now is fried chicken wings 🍗. Yaaaasss!

Clay - Clay likes sandwiches. 🥪 They are efficient! They can be custom made to whatever he is craving or whatever is he has available. They are quick and easy to make and he can pack one to eat later. At the Hole n Fun, sunflower seeds were a staple. They could make them into flour, then into bread. Clay hates sea food. Can't stand the smell of it! He tolerates it the best he can when visiting Bruce, but if he can avoid it, he will! 🐟

Floyd - he likes a specific dish that's made by the Hard Rock Trolls. It's a very spicy pizza-like meal from a restaurant called 'Upper Crust'. 🍕 He has tried to recreate it but it never quite tastes the same. Cannot stand the taste of olives. 🫒 He will sit there and pick every last one of them them out of a dish before he can eat it.

Branch - If you ask him he will say his favourite food is he will say potatoes. 🥔 They can become many different meals, he can store heaps of them and regrow them from cuttings. Buuuuut secretly his favourite food is his Grandma's Fluffleberry Cake. 🍰 He likes sugar like any other Troll but he can't tolerate OVERLY sugary things e.g. candy floss, meringue. Too much of it reminds him off the taste of Ring Pops and it makes him sick.

Fun fact - All of the brothers like the taste of coriander/cilantro. To Poppy and Viva it tastes like soap. 🫧

[massivetittiesandwarcrimes]

With the holiday season approaching I thought I would put out this quick gifting PSA:

Do not, under ANY* circumstances, give any of the women, mothers, or wives in your family appliances, household goods, or things for the family/kids.

It is rude, dismissive, and sexist.

Gifts for birthdays and holidays are supposed to be about the person receiving them: giving a woman one of the above gifts sends the message, intentional or otherwise, that you do not view them as a person beyond whatever role they have in the family (homemaker/wife/mother).

Objectively, this also applies to any man, fathers, or husbands, but honestly I have never seen that happen to them.

I've seen plenty of wives and mothers be given new can openers or toys for their kids, but I've never seen a husband or dad be gifted a diaper bag or toaster.

Additionally, if you are going to buy makeup or beauty supplies of any kind for the women in your lives, for the Love of All that is Good and Holy (and to save you time, effort, and stress) bring the item with you**. The lipstick she likes? Bring the one she has with you. Her favorite shampoo? Take a picture or bring the empty bottle with you; don't worry about looking weird for carrying around trash or half open items from home, employees see it all the time. Trust me.

(*The only exception is if she looks you Directly in the eye and Explicitly says 'I would like [specific appliance/child care item] for the holiday i.e. playpen or new washer)

(**it's just like going to the hardware store: if you need a specific size screw, fixture, filter, or whatever, it is so SO much easier to bring the item you're replacing or need with you. It means you don't have to try to remember or describe to a helpful employee what you need.)

Oh! And one final note before I leave you: if you have any artist or crafters or hobbyists in your life (knitting, crochet, embroidery, beadwork, painting, woodworking, etc) do not just buy them something related to their hobby. Unless it is someone very new to the hobby who is just learning the ropes, I guarantee they have specific brands or tools or such that they use or need or want. And because many arts, crafts, and hobby things can be a bit pricey, it is safer and more efficient all around to either ask them very specifically about anything they want or need, take them with you, or simply get them a gift card to the store they prefer.

[brought to you by someone who has both A) Bought my mother some very nice and interesting yarn which she has never used because I only got her one skain and B) been gifted art supplies that I do not know how to use (pastels), already have plenty of (beading thread), and are completely wrong/useless for my needs (random selection of embroidery floss that is very pretty, but nothing I need for the current projects I have). Yes it is very nice that you are trying to do something for the artistic person in your life, and they will appreciate it because it is a gift and thoughtful, but if you want them to actually get use out of their gift, you're going to have to be a bit more strategic.]

[thatladyingreen]

I finally finished a mend that I feel sufficient pride over to share with Internet strangers! The liner of my backpack had torn away from the upper edge of the rear side. I really like this backpack, and I'm kinda nostalgic about it because I got it during my first year teaching (2019, yep I started in the panini year). I also didn't want to waste the rest of the pack (though it definitely still needs some cleaning and other minor restorations).

So here it is!

I also replaced the drawstring with an old one from a hoodie, and I made ersatz ends with beads and embroidery floss.

It's not the neatest nor the most efficient work (y'all, this took me over a week to do), but I'm superbly proud of myself for doing it ☺️☺️ Hope this inspires some visible mending hopefuls to pick up a needle and go for it!

[solshii]

WuWa Special Dishes

Jiyan, Lingyang, Encore, Calcharo, Danjin, Yuanwu, Yangyang, Baizhi, and Aalto

Just remembered the existence of special dishes after I got Jiyan's and thought of showing most of the others' special dishes. I don't have all the recipes unlocked so I can't do all of them! (Guys I killed so much poor animals for this I feel like a murderer but at least my Uncle Mahe made bank today)

See Jiyan's here: Jiyan's Special Dish: Yesterday in Jinzhou (yeah he had his own blog I'm a Jiyan hyperfixator)

Lingyang: Liondance Companion

How to obtain: Cook Jinzhou Skewers with Lingyang as the assistant.

Increase all party members' ATK by 120, lasting for 15m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

Snacks Lingyang made for the Liondance audience. The treats were a perfect combination of fatty and lean meats, complemented by fruits and vegetables to balance out the heaviness. Ideal for enjoying while watching the performance.

Encore: Baa Baa Crisp

How to obtain: Cook Star Flakes with Encore as the assistant.

Increases all party members' DEF by 40%, lasting for 30m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

After multiple attempts, Encore triumphantly created a dish she was pleased with. Golden and crunchy, each bite resembled a miniature lamb. And after indulging, one would surely dream of frolicking among sheep. With this culinary masterpiece, there's no need to fret - it can be savored without hesitation.

(This took me like 12 attempts to finally get in comparison to everyone else who took me like around 3 attempts so they're not lying when it took Encore multiple attempts to make her dish 😭😭 If that was intentional that is such a great detail)

Calcharo: Ration Bar

How to obtain: Cook Food Ration Bar with Calcharo as the assistant.

Increases the DEF of all Resonators in the team by 36% for 15 minutes. In multiplayer games, it only affects your own characters.

Calcharo has a fondness for Huanglong's Food Ration Bar. He believes it efficiently satisfies basic energy needs in the wild and has a unique taste. To cater to some of the younger merc's preferences, Calcharo has enhanced the bar by adding dried fruits, sugar beans, and various seasonings, creating a variety of flavors.

(Idk about u guys but something about Calcharo liking the food ration bars is so weirdly cute or I'm just a girl)

Danjin: Loong Whiskers Crisp

How to obtain: Cook Loong Whiskers Crisp with Danjin as the assistant.

Restore 50 points of Stamina.

The delicious scent of Loong Whiskers Crisp enveloped Danjin as she bit into the perfectly crisp exterior, her teeth sinking into the dreamy floss coating. Despite her love for this sweet treat, she always wished for more. The kind stall owner suggested adding extra ingredients to enhance the sweetness even further, a tempting offer that Danjin couldn't resist.

Yuanwu: Sanqing Tea

How to obtain: Cook Angelica Tea with Yuanwu as the assistant.

Increases all party members' max HP by 28%, lasting for 30m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

The Sanqing tea from Yuanwu Boxing Gym has healing properties, aiding the spleen, lungs, and alleviating worries. A cup after a boxing session boosts blood flow and circulation while soothing the mind. The perfect combination of exercise and tea brings a sense of inner peace, momentarily freeing one from mundane concerns and desires.

Yangyang: Fluffy Wuthercake

How to obtain: Cook Wuthercake with Yangyang as the assistant.

Increases all party members' ATK bu 33%, lasting for 30m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

A Wuthercake made with Yangyang's special formula. It incorporates whipped egg whites instead of the usual yolks. The result? A fluffy and tender treat that is both delicious and nutritious, thanks to the addition of berry jam. This revamped recipe caters to all ages, from seniors to picky kids, making it a satisfying indulgence for everyone.

Baizhi: Iced Perilla

How to obtain: Cook Perilla Salad with Baizhi as the assistant.

Increases all party members' Crit. Rate by 12%, lasting for 15m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

In moments of research block, Baizhi turns to the chilled Perilla she always has on hand for a refreshing pause. The cool, herbal flavor soothes her senses and helps calm her racing thoughts. As she finishes her plate, her mind clears and she's able to refocus on her work with renewed determination.

Sanhua: Crystal Clear Buns

How to obtain: Cook Loong Buns with Sanhua as the assistant.

Increases all party members' DEF by 28%, lasting for 30m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

Sanhua revamped the traditional ingredients used in Loong Buns, creating a refreshing and translucent treat perfect for cooling down during hot summers. This delicacy quickly became a staple on the City Hall's tables, winning over the hearts of all visitors... and the Jinzhou Magistrate herself.

Aalto: Misty Tea

How to obtain: Cook Happiness Tea (the recipe is named Xi Ling Tea) with Aalto as the assistant.

Increases all party members' DEF by 14% and max HP by 12%, lasting for 30m. (This effect only applies to your own Resonator(s) in Co-op Mode)

The tea is a favorite of Aalto. As the water in the pot turns to mist and then back into water in the cup, the aroma of the tea is coupled with the soothing mist. "Now, let's get down to business." It seems Aalto's mastery of tea-making is just one of his many skills in the business world.

Notes on the special dishes of those who I haven't included here

Mortefi: Crispy Squab (Recipe obtained at Casket Delivery level 10 aka you have to get all Sonance Caskets)

Chixia: Jinzhou Maocai (Recipe obtained at Chef level 4)

Taoqi: Kudzu Congee (???)

Verina: Morri Pot (???)

Jianxin: ??? (She's the only one I don't have asjsj)

Bonus pics of my Jiyan <33

[aroworlds]

Because I'm after a craft more time-intensive than that of hand-sewing doll clothing, I've embarked on a two-part tutorial series showing how I give my Barbie dolls pride-themed (or pride-coordinating) embroidery floss hair.

Today's post details making hair plugs, my process of rehairing, a way of making partlines better suited embroidery floss, and--finally--why this rehairing method isn't the most efficient.

[ynda44-blog]

CENTRICIDE SLEEPING

Ancap

Sleeps like a cat on its back

Somehow taking up the whole gosh darn queen sized bed despite being a skinny little gnome

You will be sleeping on the floor, sorry

Monogrammed silk pajamas

Snakeskin eye mask

Gets high and has spa night

Has NFT throw pillows

Ancom

Sleeps in an oversized Dead Kennedys shirt

Facedown on the bed with their face to the side

Usually brushes their hair (with their hands), washes their face (with tap water), and brushes their teeth (with a bottle of Jack) before sleep

Will sleep on top of you in a child’s pose type thing

Twin bed

Commie

(One mention of malnourishment)

Sleeps like a board. Like how they teach you to sleep in socialist efficiency school or sm

Insomniac

Tortured by pressing philosophical questions

Dunks his head in a year old bucket of rubbing alcohol to get clean

His pajamas are just a pair of sweatpants

Holds his day clothes while he sleeps because if he doesn’t he can feel his ribs through the blanket

YOU WILL sleep on top of him for OPTIMAL HEAT CONSERVATION

(And so he can pet your hair and whisper his anxieties to you in Russian)

Military cot

Blueman

Stole Ancom’s pillow; sleeps on his side hugging it

Very very very ashamed of this

I TOOK IT AT THE BEGINNING OF CENTRICIDE IT DOESNT HAVE THAT DEGENERATE’S GERMS ON IT

Toothpaste, floss, hot shower, soap, hairbrush

Tank top and striped pjs (he hates himself and they are covered in filth)

Drools a lot

He will grab onto you like a leech

Your faces are like an inch apart

You’re on your sides facing each other and he’s squeezing you like he’s consuming your mortal form and digging his raggedy nails into your back

If you’re asleep he will reposition your limbs. If you’re both asleep he will reposition your limbs