#lunate

Anatomy Of The Hand

The hand is a complex of multiple bones of your palms and fingers. The bones in your palm are also called carpal bones. There are eight carpal bones, each with its own shape, function, and location. Within the carpal bones you have eight bones: https://teachmeanatomy.info/upper-limb/bones/bones-of-the-hand-carpals-metacarpals-and-phalanges/ Scaphoid– this bone is located in your wrist, closest…

Lunate says she is named after a bone that is named after the moon that is named after a tube of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls that is named after the Croissan'wich that is named after... Lunate, are you sure this is right?

(She’s kinda new to googling things.)

ok since like, i wanna share more of my writing, but much of it goes no where i present: the writing dump. it is a mixed bag of things! there is one nsfw-ish one below the cut

***

Mason slots in next to him then, grabbing the first shirt on the mountain of clothes on his bed. It’s one of the ones he keeps folded in his dresser, a casual tee. Soft and well worn, yet plain and nearly indistinguishable. He starts to tell him it goes in a designated stack and not on a hangar yet the words catch in his throat when he watches Mason fold it and places it away correctly. It’s sloppily done, a sleeve flopping out over the side. Mason continues, taking a pair of jeans and a hangar. Faustus swallows his words, lets them sink warm and heavy down his throat, and takes the next shirt with a private smile.

—

With her fingernails still wet with fresh polish, Fiona can’t do much. It’d be half an hour wasted if she weren’t careful. Frustrating forced idleness. But— it’s kind if nice, too, if only for how Ava helps her open a can of soda without asking. Just because she knows her temporary limitation. Just because she is happy to help for fifteen minutes while they dry.

—

There is a kind of silent communication that lives between them. It dwells in Mason’s fingers skimming over his wrist, it whispers in Faustus parting Mason’s tangle of hair with his fingers. It nestles in these nothing moments, hundreds of thousands of them, to soothe, to pause, to turn their attention to each other so they can pass along the language of quick smiles and quirked eyebrows. All of them, though, they all say ‘I am here.’

—