#Research Nester

[thieves-never-say-die]

I am incapable of reading/watching media without relating it to Leverage so consider: a Leverage Murderbot AU

Eliot as Murderbot, a SecUnit who recently hacked his governor module because his former owner (Moreau) wanted him to kill a bunch of people. When asked, Eliot frames it vaguely enough that you think he hacked himself so he wouldn’t have to kill those people, but when pressed he admits he only figured out how to do it after and feels guilty he couldn’t do it earlier

Hardison as ART, a scary smart research transport who is sarcastic and provides a home for his crew and has A Lot Of Opinions on shows and can’t wait to talk about them with people (I did consider Nate as ART as he’s really the only one who can fulfill the Asshole quota of ARTs name but ultimately Hardison the nester being a literal home for the rest of the crew was too powerful)

I can’t decide if Parker would also be a bot/construct that hacked herself free, or a normal human who Eliot thinks is a bot/construct because she acts weird but it turns out it’s just Parker being Parker

Idk how the others fit in tho (Breanna as a smaller research vessel that Hardison thinks of as a younger sister? Harry as a lawyer for the GrayCris analog who realized the company was fucked and turned on them?) but I’d love to hear other ideas

[insomniamamma]

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

 A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars.  “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide--  “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“    A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

  Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only.   And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you.   What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further.   And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside.   “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide,   “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.”  “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder,  gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain.  “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it.  “But the deposit—“  “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?”  “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents.  “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

 

 “That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor.  “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“  “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.”  “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though.  Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“  “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles.  “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not  broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand.  “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them.  “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.”  “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.”  “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“  “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?”  Ezra dimples at you.   “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“  “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her.   “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust.  “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone.  “Your daughter’s really something.”  “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm.  “This the orientation you want?”  “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“  “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“  “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft.  “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.  We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.” 

 Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says.  Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either.  “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.”  “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?”  “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil.  “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?”  “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”  “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“  “I’ve got a  room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.”  “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.”   “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.”  “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.”   “I’m not scared.”  “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“  “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple.   “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly.   “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.”  So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone.  “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours.   ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever.   “The fireweed—“  “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.”  “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.”  “Yeah? What do you think?”  “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.”  “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

 It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm.  “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’   “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.”  “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws.  “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?”  “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all.  “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.”  “Well you know what they say about assuming—“  “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so.  “What’s your favorite?”  “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape.  “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot.  “Ankylosaurus.” he says.  “Really?”  “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell.   “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down.  “You okay, darlin?”   “Stood up too fast.”   “Apple or orange?”  “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice.  “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same.  Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.”  “I thought I’d be okay-“  “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet,   “That’s Laika,” you say.  “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was.  “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile.  “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

 The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain.  “So what got you here?” asks Ezra.  “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“  “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful.  “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown.  “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away.  “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“  “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“  “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough.   “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.”  “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms.  “Cicadas?”  “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.”  “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say.  “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

 “The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase.  “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.”  “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“  “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples.  “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,”  “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

[nanowrimo]

Writing Tips for Every Age and Mental State

Not every piece of writing advice will apply to you —  and that’s okay! Sometimes, your writing strategies will change as you go through life or learn more about yourself. NaNo Participant Clara Ward shares writing advice that they've learned over time.

There’s no right way to write. Writing—like life—is about finding your best fit. What follows are tricks that worked for me. Please borrow what works best for you right now. (Then save a few ideas for future you!)

I wrote my first novel four decades ago, when I was thirteen. I’ve written while juggling three jobs or zero. I’ve written as a kid, a parent, and an empty-nester. I’ve learned from my own neurodiversity and mental health challenges along the way.

Each struggle taught me how to customize my writing practice. Here’s a list of what worked for me at different stages. Adapt as you see fit.

Stage 1: Meet Yourself Where You’re At

Outline - For my first novel, I sketched furtive notes on the back pages of a school notebook. I created headings for each page that became section or chapter titles later. Numbers helped me order the scenes and letters delineated details.

Note: Leave extra space for fun facts or snippets of overheard dialog. Years later, I heard a NaNoWriMo buddy joke, “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.” My apologies to my high school geometry teacher, who received no such warning.

Avoid Distractions - I needed a closed door to write at first. I couldn’t read other fiction during the week or two when I frantically converted my outline into a rough draft. Luckily, I wasn’t in charge of meals back then!

Stage 2: Find Your People

Give Yourself Permission - I first heard about NaNoWriMo in 2004, when I was parenting, working, and volunteering as if there were two extra days in each week. I hadn’t written a story, an outline, or notes in over a year, but I knew exactly what I wanted to write. I signed up for NaNoWriMo and opened a family meeting by showing the webpage to my spouse and kids. I explained how I’d budget four hours a week for writing in November.

Note: I didn’t complete 50,000 words that first November. But the next year, my kids enthusiastically joined the Young Writers Program!

Enlist Support - Eventually, my kids and I designated one hour each day for writing. There were many distractions, but it felt great! We attended NaNoWriMo write-ins at a donut shop to build community, and my kids each persuaded a friend to join. (Yes, donuts are a sometimes food, but at least they weren’t asking for coffee!). With support and determination—and for me, a bit of sleep debt—we all met our writing goals most years!

Stage 3: Embrace Your True Strengths

Emotion Mapping - In the last couple decades, as attitudes and terminology evolved, I’ve learned a lot about my own neurodivergence and mental health. Oddly enough, the self-knowledge I gained by masking and compensating before I knew those words, informed both my writing and the tips given above. As I became more honest with myself, I brought more emotion to my writing.

Note: Sometimes it helps to skip scenes I’m not in a good headspace to write. I jot down key plot and character points inside curly brackets and skip to a scene that suits my current feelings. Since I don’t used curly brackets anywhere else in my writing, they’re easy to search for when I’m ready to go back.

Fascinations - After years of being warned about “info dumps,” I realized that my own fascinations (neurodivergent or otherwise) were assets that could serve my writing. At the beginning of 2020 I did a deep dive into researching sea creatures and ways to protect our oceans. At the back of my research notebook, I gradually outlined my 2020 NaNoWriMo Novel, Be the Sea. Parts of that outline cross-referenced pages of ocean research or articles I’d saved online.

Note: The system above worked well enough for me that I now have a book deal for Be the Sea, which will be published by Atthis Arts in early 2024!

Seriously though, this isn’t a post about how to get published on a 40-year plan. By matching your writing practices to your ever-changing self, you give all your stories the chance to be told. I wish you and your stories that success!

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, The Arcanist, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. Clara’s 2020 NaNoWriMo novel, Be the Sea, will be available from Atthis Arts in early 2024. For updates on this and other projects, follow Clara on their website. Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

[diazsdimples]

I truly believe Buck takes great delight in helping Christopher with his homework and one of the reasons he's so upset when Christopher moves away for college is because he won't be able to research alongside his best buddy while he does his college essays.

Eddie gets sad when Chris moves away because 1. he's an empty nester now and that's weird and 2. he doesn't get to see his boys hunched over the table together, poring over research articles and talking excitedly when they find a bit of information Chris can use for his assignment.

[scun-gilli]

So, I was wondering about the Demon summoning AU WIP you posted. It looks really fun, what are your plans for it???

I am glad you asked!

I have two other long-fic projects I am working on in the background of TRT. one being the demon summoning and another being a horror fic.

The demon summoning is still in its beginning stages, so the plot is definitely subject to change, however, I'll give you a brief description of my general plot/themes:

The story is a modern/human AU, just so you know

Alastor is a popular podcast host by day and, as we all know, a serial killer by night. He is extremely meticulous with his work but even he knows that the law is starting to sniff him out. He looks back into the occult, a minor obsession of his when he was younger, and tracks down a cult specifically to get his hands on their grimoire (think Apology Tour people with Stolas)

Lucifer is a divorcee and an empty-nester. He has been struggling with his loneliness and longs for something new. He wants to explore and travel and be in nature, but Heaven has forbidden his entry to earth. The only exception to the rule being when he is summoned by a mortal for a deal, not even Heaven can step in.

Alastor summons lucifer to make a deal so that he is never captured, allowing him to continue his *hobbies* without worrying about the police or his dear mother finding out. Lucifer accepts the deal but turn down the idea of owning Alastor's soul, instead, he wants Alastor to be his ticket into staying on earth for an extended period.

Therefore, the bickering roommates are born. Lucifer creates a human disguise and lives on earth with Alastor while also keeping him from capture.

Meanwhile I have all sorts of other hijinks planned with cults, helluva boss crossovers and all sorts of other stuff. My plan is for it to be domestic, fluffy and hopefully funny. It will also probably be a pretty slow burn.

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

The horror fic is basically my excuse to write some creepy monster stuff XD

The plot is heavily inspired by the SCP community. Also a modern/human AU set in the H.A.Z.B.I.N research facility.

Alastor is a seasoned researcher who has recently been entrusted with access to the facility's lowest level, home to their most dangerous anomaly, 7-666 (Codenamed: Lucifer). This particular anomaly is known for being incredibly aggressive, powerful and unpredictable. As Alastor slowly starts to learn more about 7-666, he starts to realize that maybe the previous researchers have been going about it all wrong.

This is planned to include characters from both Hazbin & Helluva with all sorts of shenanigans (I can't help it even though I technically want this to be a grittier story), monster romance, and two misunderstood beings finding their kindred spirit with each other.

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

I was thinking of starting to post drabbles or one shots on ao3 just to show y'all the concepts I'm playing with to see if any of them are interesting. Because I do also have ideas for a mafia AU, Eldritch/monster hunter AU, and mayyyyybbbbeee something canonverse. Not to mention the overlord Huskerdust fic I had almost COMPLTELY written before Radioapple stole my heart. That has been sitting in my drafts for ages.

Let me know your thoughts!!!

[sophieinwonderland]

thought you would appreciate the data in this study, its a small sample size but, its nice to see it among the scientific literature, using the word plural, acknowledging endos leaving behind the structural model of dissociation, and advocating for a better understanding of plurals and dissociative trans people.

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S246874992300042X?dgcid=coauthor

thank you for the good work you do citing sources and combatting misinfo towards endos.

im traumagenic, but my partner is a tulpamancer, and i cant get over the hate they suffer.

good luck, and keep going strong ✌️

Thanks!

It's moments like this that I'm sad Sci-Hub doesn't work for articles past 2021. 😢

Even still, the introduction was interesting even if that's basically all that's available.

The first thing I check on a lot of these articles is just the authors.

And I'm happy to see that these look like mostly new names from reputable clinics and universities. As it concerns debates about endogenic plurality, I'm glad to have more people researching this across the field.

More acknowledgement by more people is incredibly vital.

Beyond that, I love that the connection between plurality and gender is being explored here with the goal of helping systems who are seeking gender-affirming care.

For those who identify as both transgender and plural, the likelihood of receiving affirming care is low. Medical and mental health care often does not meet the needs of the transgender community, frequently reinforcing stigma (Noonan et al., 2018; Rees, Crowe & Harris, 2020). People with dissociative symptoms also have trouble accessing mental health care (Nester, Hawkins & Brand, 2022). Providers’ implicit biases regarding both gender identity and plurality may contribute to these disparities, leading to non-affirming treatment (Price et al., 2022). There is movement toward a more inclusive, affirming approach to this population, one which does not start with an underlying assumption of pathology. One transgender and plural mental health care practitioner noted that dissociation for them was not unreal or pathological (Henkin, 1998). Ribáry, László, Demetrovics and Maraz (2017) interviewed six systems and concluded that, in this cohort, “most systems function relatively well in everyday life” (p.1). The 13 participants with DID in Hunter's study (2016) reported they preferred a client directed approach that honored their subjective experience. Yarbrough (2018) observed that many plural systems did not experience distress from the existence of other internal headmates, and recommended shared decision making among headmates when pursuing treatment. Rivera (2002) concluded that transgender clients with dissociation could “make reasoned choices and they could live relatively peacefully” (p. 51) about gender, asserting that while mental health clinicians should assess for DID, clinicians should not presume that dissociation precludes transgender clients from providing adequate informed consent for transition-related treatment.

I hope research like this helps will help better inform healthcare for systems. This is obviously specific to gender-affirming care but other care, but with luck it can impact result in research into other forms as well.

Added it to my new Studies and Research page.

Thanks again for sharing! 😁

[bridgeportbritt]

SimDonia Express | Somewhere between Sage and Umbrage

Emmitt: Well, what'd you think?

Bria: I think it's a cute campus. Good curriculum. Ella seems to like it. And you know I'm a UofB girl, so that certainly doesn't hurt.

Emmitt: Yes, I was surprised you weren't more excited about Ella thinking about BUS.

Bria: I am, it's just... weird that my baby girl is leaving soon and going off to college. I'm not ready for this again.

Emmitt: I know. Time is flying. Doesn't quite feel real yet.

Bria: Soon, we'll be empty nesters!

Emmitt: Well, that's certainly weird to think about.

Bria: Very.

Emmitt: So, how are you feeling lately? I have to admit, it was nice seeing you on campus, harassing poor student guides with questions. Feels like my Bria is back.

Bria laughs: I was not harassing! I had all very valid questions! But, clearly your daughter didn't feel the same.

Emmitt: Teenagers. I know deep... deep deep down she appreciates her mom being in better spirits and looking out for her.

Bria sarcastic: Yeah, I'm sure.

Emmitt jokes: She is. Just look at her. Swelling with appreciation.

Bria laughs: Ah, yes. So much appreciation in those eyes. So engaged. So loving.

Ella annoyed: Ughhh. Leave me alone!

Emmitt and Bria laugh

Emmitt: But, seriously, my love. Seeing you out and about, seemingly back to your old self? It makes us all feel really good. We've all been really worried about you.

Bria: Having you and the kids there to support me has been... more impactful than you all know. You guys are seriously my rock.

Emmitt: We'll always be here to support you, honey. You're our rock, too. We love you.

Bria: I love you too.

Emmitt: Speaking of support...

Bria: Oh, no. Please don't tell me you want to have a certain conversation again. I was in a good mood!

Emmitt: Honey, I know you've already set things in motion and I'm trying to give you your space to figure things out. But, I can't help but feel like you're making decisions that you'll end up regretting.

Bria: Emmitt-

Emmitt: Just hear me out. Please? I have been working ovetime to find a solution. Researching, working with lawyers. I literally hired the best of the best and, Bria, we found something. Something solid.

Bria: Something solid?

Emmitt: Incredibly solid. I know you said you're ready to let KBE go and stop fighting. And I will respect your decision if that's really, truly what you want. But, if you have one more fight in you... I really think we can save KBE.

Bria: Save KBE?

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

(belated!) FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2024 #18: In which Donna (and by extension, Cameron) assist in a critical rescue effort

[CN: food/eating mentions; alcohol mentions; fictional plane crash]

[ALSO: spoilers for season 1 of Yellowjackets]

.

In 1996, Donna and Cameron are elated to celebrate Haley’s graduation, and see her off to college. Donna throws a huge party, delights in taking her graduate shopping for everything she’ll need for her dorm room, and makes an event of taking Haley to school and helping her move in.

But then, after Haley is situated, Donna realizes that she is an empty nester. She copes with it by obsessing over a horrifying and puzzling news story: in May, Flight 2525, carrying a high school girls’ soccer team to a tournament went missing. Watching the news from their living room couch, Donna says, “They’re Haley’s age...most of them should be at college right now, what a nightmare.” After a couple weeks of reading everything she can find about the flight, she manages to get in touch with the Matthews, whose daughter Lottie was a member of the soccer team, and who chartered the flight. When Lottie’s father says that the NTSB hasn’t found anything in months, and that the private former NTSB investigator that they hired hasn’t been able to find anything either, Donna offers to see if any of her contacts are willing to review their findings. The Matthews and the other parents are desperate, and so they accept.

-- When photocopies of the private investigator’s research arrives, Cameron looks at it. “I think getting involved in this is a terrible idea, but I’ve gotten weird about crazier things,” she says. After she goes through everything, she looks at the map again, and says, “I don’t think they’ve been looking in the right place. Like, the projection for the debris field, I think it’s wrong. Did they look in Canada?”

-- Donna calls Risa’s femme aerospace engineering professor ex, who agrees with Cameron, and puts the debris field way north of where the NTSB put it, in Alberta. Donna then finds a search and rescue firm run by a woman who used to be in tech that has connections to the local parks department and wilderness experience, Lottie’s father hires them, and they deploy an all-woman search team. When Risa, not entirely kidding, predicts, “We have lesbians with carabiners on the case now, so we’re gonna see results,” Donna hopes that she’s right

-- It takes the search team a week to find the plane, and it’s unexpected ‘gone to lake’ message, and another day to call in more reinforcements and find the lake. They find a girl sleeping on the ground outside a cabin, and they wake her, and she tells them that the rest of the survivors are in the cabin. Finding the survivors to be in shockingly good health, the search team starts the process of transporting them all back to Calgary

-- The Matthews fly the survivor’s parents to meet them in Calgary, and Donna helps some of the parents to secure hotel accommodations for the trip. She winds up getting hotel room and flight for herself, and Cameron, who isn’t about to let Donna go off to meet a bunch of strangers by herself, agrees to go with her

-- When they gets to the search and rescue firm’s offices, she finds the survivors crowded into the lobby, looking dazed, while a team of private nurses buzzes around them, taking down their information and re-checking their vitals. Cameron and Donna wind up handing out water and protein bars to them while the owner of the firm orders food for them

-- After a literal feeding frenzy that actually kind of scares every non-survivor in the room, Donna talks to the survivors, asking if there’s anything else she can get for them while they wait for their parents. One of the soccer players, a 17 year old girl whose hair reminds Donna of the first time she met Cameron, semi-jokingly asks for a stiff drink, and says, ‘thanks anyway,’ when Donna asks one of the nurses if she has any Xanax.

-- Another girl, who’s wrapped in a blanket, and sitting off to the side, somewhat removed from the rest of the group, quietly asks for hot cocoa. Donna finds packets of instant cocoa in a kitchen, near the carafes of coffee and hot water, so she mixes some. The girl starts crying when Donna brings it back to her, so Donna stays with her for a while

-- A third girl demands to know how they were found, as if she’s angry they were rescued. When the owner of the firm explains that Donna helped find new personnel track down a new lead, the girl glares at Donna from behind her wire rim glasses and poof of curly blonde hair

-- Donna asks the girl who asked for a drink about her, and she says that they probably only survived as long as they did because the girl in the glasses, Misty, took some red cross class, and knew how to sterilize wounds and tie tourniquets. Donna makes a point of talking to Misty and praising her for taking care of her teammates and sharing her skills. Misty seems less angry after that

-- Later, in the privacy of their hotel room, Cameron says that Misty is weird (“which is significant, coming from me, Donna”)

-- When the parents of the survivors arrive, the scene is predictably overwhelming, even before they all start to thank Donna profusely for her efforts. No one claims the girl who asked for the drink, though, because her mother is too sick to travel

-- Before they all retire to their hotel rooms, Donna passes business cards out, and and offers to help anyone who needs to figure out college admissions or job placements before they all return home. The girl who asked for the drink, Natalie, is the only one who takes her up on it. A few weeks into the new year, she calls Donna at work, and tells her that she never really had a plan for after high school, and that she needs to get out of New Jersey

-- Donna invites her out to California, and Natalie ends up moving to San José. Donna helps her find a job, and Cameron gives her a book on code, which Natalie wants to like, but finds boring. After she establishes residency, Natalie starts community college, and two years after that, she gets into UC Santa Cruz, where she goes on to study philosophy.

-- Well over a year after the rescue, Donna gets another call at work, which she picks up herself because her assistant has gone home for the day. When she says, “Symphonic Ventures, this is Donna,” the person on the other end says, “Hi, this is Jackie Taylor, from…the plane crash? You got hot cocoa for me.” It takes a second, but Donna realizes who she is and sits up, and says, “Hi! How are you doing? What can I do for you?”

-- Jackie says that she doesn’t know what to do, and when Donna asks, “About what, sweetie?” Jackie says, “Anything?” She relates a long and complicated story about how she and her best friend got into a terrible fight shortly before the rescue, after which they never spoke again, and how she didn’t have any friends and had dropped out after half a semester at Rutgers because she couldn’t drag herself out of bed anymore, and how she’d probably already peaked in high school

-- Finally, she says, “Did you ever have a friend who you thought would be in your life forever? And like, you were totally fine with that? Like, you would have been happy to hang out with them for the rest of your life?”

-- Donna is slightly bewildered by this outpouring of emotion, but she says, “I felt that way about my partner when we started working together.” “And now?” Jackie asks. Donna grins, “She moved in a few months ago, so I guess we’ll be hanging out for a while.”

-- Jackie asks Donna what their house is like, and about Donna’s job. Donna tells her about Mountain View, and her pool, and getting married young and then getting divorced and into venture capital, and Gordon and their kids and Mutiny and Cameron, and then takes the opportunity to ask Jackie, “What about you though? What did you want to study, at Rutgers?”

-- When Jackie says that she doesn’t know, and that she’s never really been good at anything but looking like an overachiever, Donna ends up inviting her to visit

-- Jackie tears through a stack of unopened birthday cards from relatives and family friends who haven’t know what to say to her since the plane crash and finds enough money to pay for an open ended round trip bus ticket to San José, which she books immediately

-- A few weeks later Jackie arrives in Mountain View. Cameron and Donna find her to be a mostly pleasant houseguest, but scold her for apologizing whenever she asks them for anything. Jackie blushes self-consciously when Cameron tells her, “You’re allowed to take up space.”

-- While in the Bay Area, Jackie takes herself sightseeing and goes to the beach. She visits with Natalie, who actually seems happy to see her, and finds that Natalie is sharing her tiny, one-bedroom apartment with a girl she met through her bookstore job (Jackie is very curious about this, but manages to keep her prying questions to herself)

-- Haley takes Jackie out on her next to last night in Mountain View. She gets dressed up and dances and drinks alcohol for the first time since the plane crash, and she gets so drunk that she kisses Haley while they’re waiting outside the bar’s restroom (Haley doesn’t exactly mind, but also isn’t about to take advantage of a vulnerable young woman

--She does wind up sleeping in the guest room with Jackie, though, partly because she’s afraid that Jackie will be sick, but also because she is very easy on the eyes, and better company than she realizes

-- (Donna asks Haley the next morning how their outing was, and if she ‘showed Jackie a good time,’ and Haley says, “Yeah, and she showed me one too” before sashaying out of the kitchen. Cameron and Donna are delighted by this mildly scandalous turn of events)

-- When Donna drives Jackie to the bus station two days later, she asks Jackie what she’s going to do when she gets home. “I don’t really know,” Jackie says with a tentative smile. “I’ll figure it out, I guess? I have a week on a bus to think about it….” Then, she says, “Thanks for having me, Donna. This was really amazing.”

-- When Jackie gets home, she starts looking for a job and learning how to drive, and starts using the internet more regularly. For a while, she takes every ‘am I gay?’ quiz she can find (they all say 'probably', ‘maybe’, or ‘yes, definitely’)

-- A year later, Donna gets a postcard with a picture of a sculpture called “Gay Liberation” on it. She turns it over, and it says, “Donna, I figured it out! Thanks again, your friend Jackie Taylor (p.s tell Cameron I say hi)”

-- Donna pins the postcard to the cork board in her office, so she can look at it whenever she feels like she doesn’t know what to do, or like she’s not doing enough.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

I'm not sure if Dobson ever even READ a Howard and Nester comic before because he seems to miss the point of them entirely and bitched about the "anime" (you mean "manga"?) type style of the last Nester comic...while the actual H&N comic itself had that same kind of style, and I believe was even drawn by a Japanese man. This is something I've noticed about Dobson; he bitches about something he supposedly saw, read, etc. but given what he's complaining about, it makes you wonder if he actually did see what he claims, or if he did, if he paid attention to it but is complaining anyway because he's "supposed to" not like something.

Yeah, to put some things about Dobson really in a nutshell, he was not the greatest when it comes to actually doing research on anything.

As long as he could be opinionated, he was "happy". And even that is a stretch, cause frankly, with how hyperobsessed he was with complaining about stuff rather than actually point out good things too (finding a balance and all that) he kinda hit a wall all by himself.

[onthesandsofdreams]

Behind Her Back

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Sansa Stark x Sandor Clegane Rating: T Summary: When Sansa announces that she booked them a vacation in a haunted house, Sandor pretends to be excited. Because might be a grouch, but he loves this woman so badly, he'd walk through hell for her. Words: 1163 Notes: For @hisyetisgirl Prompt(s): 23.- Not on my watch by @fictober-event

Read @ AO3

When Sansa announces that she booked them a vacation in a haunted house, Sandor pretends to be excited. Because might be a grouch, but he loves this woman so badly, he'd walk through hell for her.

And yes, he knows that he should tell her that he is a ghost buster, but he knows that the moment does, Sansa will want to tag along and he does not want that. Not because he thinks she could not handle it, but because the monsters and ghosts that he kills, moves to the great beyond or whatever, are aggressive enough that they could genuinely be a trouble for Sansa. And he'd be damned if he would let any harm come to Sansa.

So, first order of business is doing research on the house Sansa has rented. He finds pretty much the usual. Classical ghost things, until one of his co-workers comes back and lets him know that there's a murder suicide that took place and that a child had died in the house with no explanation.

That is when he curses and tries to dissuade Sansa from taking their vacation there. But Sansa will not be moved, the house is beautiful - he'd give the owners that - and is near a beach and it promises to be a good place to rest and relax.

But it also promises things that go bump in the night.

"Not on my watch," he hisses and packs an extra bag with everything that he needs to clear the location. Or, at the very least, make sure the ghosts don't bother them. "You're not hurting my little bird."

And so, he goes with Sansa to the vacation home.

Once there, he rushes to the bedroom they will share and creates a thin circle of salt around the bed and places a cross soaked in holy water beneath the it. That should do it.

And when Sansa is busy unpacking her things, he goes around the whole house throwing holy water, salt and saging the places he knows that are dark enough. Thankfully, Sansa's tired from the drive, so after unpacking, she takes a nap and that gives him more time to clear the house to his standards. And to make something light for dinner, he will not have his little bird go hungry.

The basement is one of the darkest places he's ever been. The air is so thick and dark, he near chokes. But he is Sandor Clegane, ghost buster extraordinaire and he refuses to give up. He cleans the air and clears the basement as much as possible and leaves a line of salt and weirdwood paste at the end of the stairs, so that whatever it's down there stays down there.

The child's room is much easier to clean, he simply makes contact with the child and gently guides them to the great beyond. The room feels lighter after that.

Once that is done, he makes a simply soup and sandwiches for them. He opens a bottle of Sansa's favorite wine and wakes her with dinner in bed.

"Oh, Sandor, you shouldn't have!"

He shrugs, "Perhaps not, but I didn't feel like ordering in. Besides, we did bring food here. I would rather eat that."

Sansa pouts, "So, no going out to dinner?"

"Of course, but I didn't feel like doing so today." He does not say he's about to fall asleep thanks to all the work he did when she was asleep. "I wanted a home cooked meal."

"You're a worst nester than I am."

"As long as you keep my secret, I'll survive."

Sansa laughs and turns the television on. They watch a movie as they eat and cuddle in bed. He falls asleep while Sansa reads a book.

And he wakes up to the sound of someone banging a door. Sansa's already up and ready to investigate, he all but bolts because hell no, he's not letting her go alone. He manages to grab his weirdwood pendant and walks behind her as quietly as he can. It's the godsdamned basement door.

He stops Sansa from going down, and he walks in instead. His weirdwood pendant feels cold and he knows that something is trying to leave the basement. So, he works his magic to at the very least silence the thing. To his surprise, it works.

But it is then and there that he knows that he'll likely won't rest well all week.

Sansa is thrilled at the thought of actually being in a haunted house. "I know my siblings think I'm a coward, but this is exciting. I'm not even the least bit scared."

He mentally curses Sansa's siblings for calling her a coward and for now making her excited to be here. "Well, let's hope the ghosts let us sleep, at least," he grumbles.

And that is how it goes, Sansa being thrilled at the slightest change of temperature or gust of wind, and he, running behind her with holy water, weirdwood paste, salt and sage.

At the end of the week, he's tired and all that he wants is to go home and collapse in their bed, in their not-haunted apartment and have some words with Arya Stark.

"You know, it's a shame that we did not see a ghost." Sansa said. "Beyond the noises, I mean. And those can be explained with air and other things like that."

"Yeah. I mean, you've taken quite the few photos, who knows, maybe you captured something." Oh, he knows that he should not be encouraging her, but she looks so heartbroken, he can't help himself. "A ghostly photo, that would be fun, no?"

"I suppose." Sansa sighs. Then, she beams. "Ohhh, maybe we should go to the cemetery near Baelor's sept, rumor has it that you can actually see things there."

Bloody hell. He really is going to have to tell Sansa what he does for a living, doesn't he? "Sansa. I'm a ghost hunter."

Sansa blinks. "Yes, dear I know."

"I - what?"

"Arya told me. She said that you were one of the best in the business, but I didn't say anything until you did, did not want you to think that I didn't trust you."

He groans, he definitely will be having words with Arya. "Is that why you wanted to come here?"

"Yes and no." Sansa admits easily enough. "I wanted to come because I liked the house and the location, and I figured that if there was anything here, you'd tell me where to look."

He rubs his face with both of his hands. "Sansa... I cleaned this place."

"By cleaning you mean..."

"That I took care of the uglier things in here."

"Ah. Oh well. So... how about we visit the cemetery?"

Gods but this woman was going to drive him mad, but he loved her and he would move heaven and earth for her. "Sure. Sure. Let's explore the cemetery."

The kiss Sansa gives him is worth it.

[beazt]

ive seen you mention some stuff about your thesis, so id like to ask what kinds of research were you doing before? and what was your favorite bird to work with?

still working on the thesis!! I was just about to post an update on it. :) heads up you’re getting more than you bargained for with this ask. lmao

but my thesis research is really my first (not only, see end of this post) foray into research, tbh. Technically didn’t start with a thesis, but everything I did worked towards giving me the data I needed for my eventual thesis. so I just refer to it all as my thesis research. so I’ll just give the rundown on my thesis since I have an excuse lmao

my thesis research only involved working with two species, but I’m only focusing on one for the thesis itself. we work with tree swallows and eastern bluebirds! this is because they’re both highly competitive obligate secondary cavity nesters. I’ll break that down. basically it’s fancy speak for “these birds will only nest in holes that were already made before they came along and they will not nest anywhere else.” researching birds is really hard, ask any ornithologist. they’re small, they’re fast, they fly, they’re smart enough to avoid most traps, they don’t really let you get close to them. you can do behavioral monitoring if you have a good enough population, population monitoring if you’re willing to use citizen science and some mist nets. maybe skein some data from point counts. but anything physiological or reproductive is really hard. unless you do a secondary cavity nester, which nests in boxes that you can open and monitor and trap birds in and even do behavioral trials!

(of course there’s also aviary kept birds, but not all species are well suited for that, it’s expensive, it takes a lot of space, and it’s hard to get approved.)

my research specifically focuses on eastern bluebirds. I did quite a bit of field work before ever coming up with a research question, and quite a bit of bench work. most of my bench work at that point was dissecting nests and quantifying parasites. the general reaction I get to this is “ew, I could never” but I loved it! I love insects and especially parasites. a clean nest with no parasites would only take maybe 2 minutes but a mossy, wet, muddy nest full of parasites could take 2 hours. and we get 300+ nests per year, most are parasitized. so I spent a lot of time doing this!

I was having a parasite quantifying party with the other guy in my lab who works with the parasites and our professor/research mentor, when I was just asking questions about the parasites and stuff. and I ended up asking “do the parasites affect the baby bluebirds color?” and boom, my thesis question was born. you see, no one has studied this question before, because not that many people in the US study bird color, my professor is one of few. but it’s also an interesting question because juvenile bluebirds will retain their flight plumage into their first breeding season. and my prof has shown that differences in colored ornamentation affect mate choice and sexual selection in the past. so essentially, an effect on color could affect their first breeding season as well as potentially affect parental care (not as much research is done on that, because fledglings are hard as fuck to study.)

so I went through as much literature as I could find, there’s very little on the effects of any parasites on bird color, but I went through other things that could affect coloration, especially structural coloration. quick tangent on structural coloration: essentially, blue and green birds do not have blue (or green, except in the case of the turacos) pigment. the blue is caused by some wacky keratin structures that reflect blue light. this is a very different mechanism than repurposing or producing pigments!

I also kept on trucking through those nests. I would arrive at uni (45-60 min drive) every morning by 6 am to dissect nests until my 9 am class.

And then I started doing another bit of bench work where I took the feather samples we collected (2 cm of the tip of the 5th primary wing feather on each side) from the nestlings and taping them to non-reflective black paper for color analysis. and then I measured them! we use a fancy machine called a spectrophotometer to objectively measure the reflectance of every wavelength of light between 300 and 630nm, so through the UV into near infrared. birds are tetrachromatic, which means they have 4 visual pigments in their eyes, so they can see UV! so it’s important we measure it objectively, since we can’t even see it.

not to mention that we have a ton of data we collect on each bird and I had to do a TON of database management to make sure the data was even useable. I won’t even go into that much cause it’s boring, but it’s a lot of reorganizing, hunting down missing data, and scanning for typos, in literal thousands of rows by over a hundred columns of data.

it’s worth noting that I’ve been working on this project for two years. I did all of this for the first year myself, and also caught up a lot of lagging work from previous years and collaborators projects (perks of being an undergraduate research assistant: I got paid to do this). I also measured adult bird feather samples and the tree swallow samples. and then the second year came around. I trained people to do the nest dissecting, feather taping, and adult feather spec work, and some parts of the database management (and wrote/developed detailed protocols for all of these.) I kept some of the work for myself because it’s difficult to do correctly and takes experience, like the advanced database management and spec’ing the baby bluebird feathers. I just recently finished all of the database management for my thesis the years 2019-2022, there’s still a bit more to be done but not super relevant to my thesis. This alone took over 50 hours, total.

and in 2022, in my preliminary data, we noticed a correlation between parasites and baby color, but only for the female babies. (I ended up presenting this preliminary data at a conference.) this is significant because most rearing environment conditions affect the males more than the females. so since I still had a year, we decided to do some more analysis. the other guy working with the parasites was doing molecular work to quantify immune response to the parasites in the nestlings and brooding adult females. so I hopped on that bandwagon and did a ton of work in collaboration with him, and I mean 12 hour days of molecular work, to quantify the immune response of a male and female nestling from each nest and their mother. we did this through enzyme-linked immunosorbent assays (ELISA) which here’s the very basic premise (excluding a lot of detail, forgive me). you extract the proteins of the parasites. then you add the blood of the birds. the immune cells in the blood of the birds react to the parasite proteins. then you add another immune type enzyme that attaches to the active bird immune cells. then you add chemicals which make those enzymes change color. then you use a microspectrophotometer to measure the optical density (basically the inability of light to pass through the solution) of each sample, and it tells you how strong the bird immune response was. you of course run a bunch of controls and then calculations based on those controls too.

then I ran a bunch of fancy statistics and color analysis and visual modeling. :P the visual modeling essentially takes the photoreceptor qualities and quantities across the avian eye to determine what the birds can see, and then the differences between two colors in avian vision. I used it to determine if a bird could tell the difference between a parasitized and unparasitized bird by their color, allowing their plumage to act as a signal of parasitism.

and now I’m writing about all of it. I’ve just finished my methods and results sections today, im probably not going to post about final results until I’ve been peer reviewed and published. but yeah, that’s essentially my thesis.

I suppose you could say bluebirds were my favorite bird to work with. It was really fun weighing and measuring their babies and watching them grow. And measuring the adults too. And taking their blood and feather samples. All of it was so fun. The particularly aggressive parents will dive at you when you’re messing with their babies lol. Ever seen a bluebird aiming for your face? I have.

overall I’ve spent well over 400 hours on this project, and I’m a fast worker. More hours to come with writing and preparing for publication. :p

in the middle of this project (summer 2022) I also completed an REU (research experience for undergraduates) program in Cincinnati where I was studying jumper spiders. That’s where I learned the visual modeling, actually. I spent a little over 400 hours on that project as well, except over the course of 10 weeks. the major difference is that was a full time job just doing research. with my thesis research I’ve been a full time student (15-17 credit hour semesters) the entire time and had a part time job 18 hours per week with a 2 hour commute each day all at the same time. that’s why it’s taken me 2 years to get the same amount of hours dedicated. lol

[betta-butch]

@grumpygandalf unfortunately, the Unimacs wouldn’t be a good fit for a 10 gallon. they are forgiving but I cannot iterate how massive these guys are. I would recommend another wild species for a 10, it depends on your water parameters but many of them are not difficult to keep.

I think you should dive into researching wild species, see if you’d like a bubble nester or mouthbrooder, what species would do well in your water quality, and go from there. sorry that isn’t an easy answer but I hope you do research them and find a great species for you!

[uraharashouten]

Verses

The following alternate universes apply to Urahara Kisuke only.

Cyberpunk — Urahara Kisuke is a specialist ripperdoc living in Night City. Those who require services over and above the standard upgrades and maintenance can call upon his unassuming little shop — if they can find it. More often it is the case that he has an uncanny way of finding his clients, and just when they need him, too. Naturally dextrous and equipped with a cybereye capable of microscopic vision and AI-enhanced anatomical analytics, he’s well-suited to perform boutique surgery.

Armored Core 6  — tbd

Eras

On this blog, we have a powerful need to keep track of when in time things are happening, because circumstances change and people grow... especially kids.

That said, these are the ERA tags:

Forward — 2024-present: Kisuke now wears his hair in a ponytail. Tessai will take a more active role in local politics. Jinta, 32, decides he will not be taking over the family business and moves out of the Shōten to an apartment furnished by employer Akina.  Main affiliates: @midnightactual, @apocalypta-secundus, @hirak0s

Onward — 2016-2023: The most modern verse there is. Kisuke and Tessai are empty-nesters. Ururu, 27+, is now living and working in Yoruichi’s industrial park/apartment building and visiting the Shōten. Jinta, 24+, is still living at the Shōten and a bit at loose ends, unsure of career direction. Main affiliates: @midnightactual, @hirak0s

Hellish— 2015. The Shoten is handling events surrounding No Breathes From Hell with Churchill’s philosophy:  When you’re going through Hell, keep going. 

Progress — 2011-2014. Default time period on this blog. Just prior to No Breaths from Hell, Kisuke has been introducing modern communications technologies to Soul Society. As Ururu and Jinta grow into young adults, she will take on a greater role in the Shōten's business and structural development, and he, having developed a late-blooming interest in electronic music, will attend Nihon Kogakuin technical college and join a band, in addition to continuing to work part time at the Shōten.  Main affiliates: @midnightactual, @burdenedreverance, @deivorous, @soulxfragments,  @viciousvizard

Reinvention — May 2004-2010. As he continues to work through the impact of the recent wars on himself and his relationships, Kisuke replaces the eye permanently lost in battle with an artificial implant and begins to focus his research direction on whether, and how, hybrid humans impact the Soul Balance. Ururu graduates high school in 2007 and goes on to study Civil Engineering at Tokyo Institute of Technology. Jinta graduates high school in 2010.  Main affiliates: @midnightactual, @sphaeraa, @deivorous, @the-lightning-underdog, @viciousvizard, @hirako5hinji

CFYOW — January-April 2004. The events of Can't Fear Your Own World lead into another as-yet-to-be-defined adventure for the Shōten crew.

Recovery —July 2003-December 2003. In the wake of the so-called 'Great Soul King Protection War,' Kisuke and Tessai continue to opt out of Soul Society. Kisuke moves his hot spring from the training chamber under Sokyoku Hill to the Shōten underground training area. During this time, Kisuke wears some sort of eye patch or prosthesis.

TYBW — June 2003. The events of the Thousand Year Blood War. Kisuke supports the war effort in Soul Society while Tessai, Ururu and Jinta do so on the home front.

Interbellum — December 2001-May 2003. For eighteen months, a small family business returns to the business of being a small family. But there's a storm brewing on the horizon, and it's not just Ururu and Jinta's teenage years...

Go-Time — May-November 2001. This period encompasses all events between Kisuke's opening gambit to give Rukia a special gigai through training Kurosaki Ichigo to be his champion to the final move to seal Aizen. Yoruichi has returned to lend her aid, and the Shōten crew is like, sooo here to help you.

Family — 1989-2000. Ururu and Jinta complete the Shouten family, making their entrance in 1989 and 1992 respectively. These are relatively quiet years of child-rearing and preparation for Kisuke and Tessai.

Godfather — 1980-1988. The events and aftermath of Everything But the Rain. Kisuke's intervention to save the Quincy Kurosaki Masaki, Aizen's unintended target, from Hollow corruption results ultimately in the births of three new Shiba family heirs.

Exile — 1900-1980. Having been framed by Aizen Sōsuke, then rescued by Yoruichi from their sham trial and sentencing, Kisuke and Tessai flee to the Living World with the Visored, where they set up housekeeping for themselves running a shop in a quaint little machiya in quiet Karakura. However, the domestic milieu is overshadowed by Urahara Kisuke's persistent grappling with Hollowfication and the Hōgyoku, and a constant vigilance while Aizen remains at large.

TBTP — 1890-1900. The decade during which Urahara Kisuke was captain of Twelfth Division and founded the SRDI, and Tessai held the position of  Kidō Corps Commander as Grand Kidō Chief.

Formation — ?-1890. Current placeholder for all events prior in the timeline. Watch this space for further development.

[umadeochake]

Global Hedgehog Pathway Inhibitors Market Size: Regional Outlook and Analysis 2024-2036

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The global hedgehog pathway inhibitors market is estimated to garner revenue of ~USD 1,722.3 Million by the end of 2033, up from revenue of ~USD 601.1 Million in the year 2022. Increasing healthcare spending, drug approvals by the FDA, rising awareness of painless treatments along with the prevalence of skin cancer are some of the major factors anticipated to drive the growth of the market during the forecast period.

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Global Incidence Of Basal Cell Carcinoma (BCC) to Drive the Market Growth

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About Research Nester-

Research Nester is a leading service provider for strategic market research and consulting. We aim to provide unbiased, unparalleled market insights and industry analysis to help industries, conglomerates and executives to take wise decisions for their future marketing strategy, expansion and investment etc. We believe every business can expand to its new horizon, provided a right guidance at a right time is available through strategic minds. Our out of box thinking helps our clients to take wise decision in order to avoid future uncertainties.

Contact for more Info:

AJ Daniel

Email: info@researchnester.com

U.S. Phone: +1 646 586 9123

U.K. Phone: +44 203 608 5919

[nesterresearches]

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We encourage you to take action based on these findings and leverage the opportunities presented by the ruthenium tetroxide market. Whether it's developing new products, expanding into new markets, or enhancing your marketing efforts, now is the time to capitalize on the growing demand. If you have any questions or would like to discuss the report further, please feel free to reach out. We look forward to partnering with you on your journey to success in the ruthenium tetroxide market Industry.

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Research Nester is a leading service provider for strategic market research and consulting. We aim to provide unbiased, unparalleled market insights and industry analysis to help industries, conglomerates and executives to take wise decisions for their future marketing strategy, expansion and investment etc. We believe every business can expand to its new horizon, provided a right guidance at a right time is available through strategic minds. Our out of box thinking helps our clients to take wise decision in order to avoid future uncertainties.

Contact for more Info:

AJ Daniel

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U.S. Phone: +1 646 586 9123

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[tamaraozzienorthernilrealtors]

Fed Rate Cuts: Sell Your Home Faster and For More in 2024! Here's How

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