#*spinal cord has snapped in two*

[laertive]

An Analysis of Henry's Cybernetics

Long post ahead! Goes over his injuries, what we know, and what we can apply!

I've got a nutty little mind that gets sparked by trying to figure out how things worked, so I figured I could apply that to my favorite ending, Revenged. I'd always assumed Henry's cause of death was due to hypothermia or drowning. I spent a few hours compiling this, doing research, and rewatching the cutscene. Without further ado, I present to you all, my findings.

CANON INFORMATION

Cybernetics Capabilities

Under the assumption that fails are within his range of abilities, just not the correct choice, we can gather that:

His jetpack is able to fly at supersonic speeds (When he first took off, he caused a sonic boom able to be heard from ground level, implying it to be at least 750 mph.)

His left hand can transform into a machine gun, a thin blade, a baseball bat, and an energy absorption funnel.

His left hand can also fire itself, and have a spare hand. The spare hand is also used if the transformed hand becomes damaged. We see him replace hands two times in the right path- Once when the blade snaps in RHM's lens, and a second one when he staples Reginald to the airship.

His spine, at least from the front, can withstand being hit an upwards of 10+ feet into the air by RHM's blade without being cut in half.

Able to form a small energy projectile that explodes into a big blast on impact.

Increased strength.

He has a built in jetpack

Henry's Injuries

Upon first falling from the airship, and being dead in the water, what is shown to the player is as follows (Keep in mind that stick figures don't bleed)

No visible damage to the back of the head, either arms, or upper back. All are intact. We're told he was "gone for a bit" from Dr. Vin, and it's implied to be for ten hours at most. His head is bandaged when he first wakes up, implying some sort of abrasions were there when Dr. Vin found him dead.

Dr. Vin tells him that she was forced to replace his spine and left arm, whether or not his full torso is robotic is kind of up to interpretation, he's a stick figure.

10 Hours, huh?

An average commercial aircraft carrier flies at roughly 575 mph. We know they were flying south for ten hours before Henry woke up.

Doing the math, they've flown 5750 miles so far.

For context, this is 5750.62 miles.

Henry's first reaction is to take off, and he hits supersonic speeds FAST. He has less than a minute of consciousness before he's after them, so he most likely took zero breaks.

Let's say Henry is going 1000 mph. Fast enough to cause an audible sonic boom, and high speed for military jets. Dr. Vin did say she specialized in military augmentations, after all.

My first conclusion was that it'd take Henry 5 hours and 45 minutes to reach the Airship, but that's not quite right. The airship is STILL FLYING when Henry gets there. Henry's chasing after a moving object, not a stationary one.

Our equation is

1000x = 5750 + 575x

x is the amount of hours it takes for Henry to catch up, so we just had to solve for x. The equation is

(Henry's flight speed)x = (Airship head start) + (airship speed)x

1000x - 575x = 5750

425x = 5750

Dividing this by 25

x = 230/17, which roughly equals 13.5 hours.

13 and a Half Hours of Flying at Supersonic Speeds

This is our number, and it's a generous one at that. We're assuming that the Toppat Airship is flying at the average speed of a commercial airliner, Henry is able to hold up supersonic speeds the whole time (Very rarely can military jets hold it for over five minutes), and Henry doesn't take any breaks.

Cybernetic Surgery

While doing my research, I found out that scientists HAVE returned some patients with fully severed spinal cords back to being able to walk with electric implants. Neat! (Link to the BBC Article, I highly recommend giving it a read!)

We see Henry fall in the betrayed, and it's from pretty high up. A drop of 100 feet onto water is already considered fatal, and 20 feet is enough to break a bone. He landed on his upper back, back of the head and neck. I'm surprised he doesn't have much brain damage, especially in the visual processing area. What kind of beating did his occipital lobe take? I'd love to see fics where Henry's battling with a newfound inability to recognize faces or words.

Using this as basis, I'd assume that Dr. Vin decided to replace the spinal cord in it's entirety. Completely severed spinal cords are typically a complete loss of leg function, and a completely removed spinal cord does count as such. As for the arm replacement, I'd assume it'd taken damage, rather than exposure to the elements, as the right arm would've needed replacement as well. The nerves that connect our arms to our spinal cord is known as the brachial plexus, so it's safe to assume that Henry's left brachial plexus was damaged enough that it was simply easier to replace it than to leave it.

Both brachial plexi attach at spinal nerve T1, or thoracic spinal nerve 1, and because Henry retains full functionality in his right arm, the spine severing would have needed to occur below T1.

We can gather a lot of information over the spine's functionality when it's shot, more so than what we see otherwise.

Reginald's shot didn't destroy the spine. Not entirely. Henry's still able to move his legs, and his left arm gives out shortly AFTER the crash, not after the bullet. Also, he can feel pain in his cybernetics. Neat!

Upon being shot, Henry grabs onto the cockpit chair for support, showing sudden weakness or imbalance.

After the crash, we watch as Henry's left arm gives out, he's forced to use a branch as a cane as his left leg gives out, and we can see his right leg still have functionality as he dies.

For all we know, Reginald's shot could've been the final nail in the coffin. Henry might've already been on death's door, from overexertion alone.

My Assessment

Henry's initial drop severed his spine somewhere in the thoracic grouping of vertebrae, and likely caused death on impact. His left brachial plexus was most likely deemed too damaged to be worth salvaging, and Dr. Vin decided to replace his whole left arm. His lumbar nerves however, were left in good enough condition to still work when stimulated by the cybernetic spine.

IN CONCLUSION

Henry flew a minimum of 13.5 hours straight before reaching the airship

While far fetched, scientists have already repaired broken spines with electronic implants

Reginald's shot only partially severed his spine, leaving reduced function in his legs

And lastly, Henry Stickmin is a stick figure, and this is all mere intellectual play. Don't feel pressured to change up your headcanons or lore because some teenager spent an hour trying to apply real world science to the silly stick figure game, I want to see your own takes on it!

[sombrashe]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆kinktober 2024⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𓉸ྀི fits me like a glove

𓉸ྀི Josh Washington

𓉸ྀི content afab!reader, chubby!reader, dubcon (but reader knows its josh), glove kink

"You weren't supposed to be here. Why are you making me do this?"

Your head feels like it's splitting open, white-hot pressure shooting throughout your right temporal lobe. You don't remember much from before the fall, everything is foggy. You know you were napping for a while before everything started. You remember something loud waking you up and then nothing. Running probably as you tried to escape the something you saw in the lodge. You do remember getting outside, the sneakers you grabbed on your way out were not made for the snow. Nothing again and then suddenly you're tumbling down ice and snow.

It got into your very pores and now here you sit shivering. Of course, the constant movement mixed with the yelling from the masked man only makes the pain worse. You can't ignore how the pain shoots down your spinal cord and settles within your coccyx. The man repeats himself and you sit there, foggy. You try really really hard to make sense of his words. Everything comes in slow which would help if his words weren't garbled. Groaning you don't have a response. Moving slightly you finally notice the binds your wrists are in. Another huff and a clink of you trying to escape grabs his attention. The figure comes into focus and green eyes shine down at you. You pick up the gold flecks in each and the way his right eye has a millimeter of blue surrounding his pupil.

"Josh."

He grumbles something, you're only able to pick up two words about a lesson. You let your head loll to the side, your head heavier than your neck can support. You don't even protest when your pants are yanked off your legs. Cotton easily stretches over your flattened thighs. Groaning you weakly whimper as pain shoots up your body at the jostle. Your underwear is next. Huffing you weakly kick out your legs. Leaning down The Psycho grabs your chin like a vice. Your groan is muffled as a thick leather-clad finger is shoved into your mouth. Gagging, corn syrup coats your tongue. Your legs are kicked open and cool air drags over your slick cunt.

Attempting to smack your lips, your mouth feels extremely dry. You start to wish you had some water until your thoughts shift. Two gloved fingers are shoved into your glistening cunt with a slick sound. Gasping you blink rapidly at the feeling. The pain that shoots through your body mixes with the pleasure of his fingers bumping against your urethral sponge. His thumbs knuckle bumps against your clit but overall he ignores it. Your voice is muffled as you attempt to cry out, the feeling in your lower abdomen only getting stronger. Moving your head he keeps a strong grip on your lower jaw with his thumb pressed firmly against the underside. Gagging hard you start to peak. Wanting nothing more than to let your head fall back, you're forced to look forward and into the eyes of his mask. Finally the coil in your abdomen snaps and you're cumming over his gloved with a whine.

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist | Other Characters Masterlist

[eldritch-spouse]

Kalymir and tactition reader? Sort of a brains and brawn situation?

[I enjoy this. "Big dumb villain and their smart assistant that's not paid enough"-core.]

He starts pacing around the table, always does, when something you say isn't to his liking.

" DON'T FUCK ME! "

Fortunately, you were hired to be the brains to his muscle, not to glaze his metaphorical balls.

" M'lord I'm fairly certain I couldn't even if I tired. " You eye him up and down, silently asking if he's done with his bitchfit. " Nonetheless, I believe this is no time to be aggressive. You'd do well to send scouts- "

" SCOUTS?! " He snarls at the top of his rather annoyingly large lungs. Some kind of battle axe flies over your head, decapitating baby hairs. You barely blink as it embeds itself into the wall behind you. " THIS IS BARELY A PROPER SETTLEMENT! I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO EVEN THINK ABOUT THIS PIECE OF SHIT RESISTANCE POCKET- "

The King stomps forward on mighty talons, nearly swiping your pondering orb away as he gestures toward it with a fury of such might that it makes the muscles in his arms swell.

" LOOK AT THESE INSECTS! "

" Precisely. "

The demonlord looks as if his honest desire is to cut your back open and slurp the spinal cord out. Yet, in the midst of the anger constantly frying his nerve endings, is a tungsten carbide core of minimal intelligence that reminds him eviscerating you is a most terrible idea.

" EXPLAIN THEN, YOU MOUTHY CUNT. "

" I've been trying to do so this entire time. "

" THE FUCKING NERVE Y- "

" This resistance pocket- " You start, snapping your fingers repeatedly as if trying to garner a large dog's attention. " Is mixed and dangerous, m'lord. "

Although Kalymir is visibly fuming, he does listen.

You scroll through the field of view offered by the hidden summoned aid currently hiding in tall trees. It provides a top-down map feed of the location Kalymir's latest headache has been operating from. Currently, at least. People buzz from one side to another, not many in numbers but extremely well-organized and efficient, almost as if controlled by something.

" Notice there are more than just wrathful demons in the midst, this group employs humans and monsters, especially the less social of the bunch. The kind of monster you'd find hiding in darkened places, isolated but by no means uneducated. To gain the alliance of these monsters, one would need a surprising sense of- "

" I'M FUCKING SNOOZING HERE... "

Sometimes, you're the one that wants to maul him.

There's a tired sigh.

" Harmonious diversity equals no-no. "

Pause.

" I'M NOT A BABY, YOU SURFACE WHORE. "

" Putting that aside, I'm sure you've noticed by now, that they brandish weapons of ancient times. The very things that allowed the initial group to leave the Rings unscathed despite being hunted, not just in Wrath but in the territory of all the Lords you've made agreements with. "

" CELESTIAL WEAPONRY. " The warlord sneers, thoughtful.

" Yes. "

Kalymir shakes his head.

" YOU CAN'T TELL ME THEY'RE ALLIED TO ANGELS! MOST ARE DEMONS, YOU CAN'T BRIBE ANGELS INTO HANDING THEIR TOOLS OVER- " He slams both fists onto the worn and dented table, making your chair jump. " THEY'RE HARDLY EVEN SEEN. AND LIKE FUCKING HELL THESE PARASITES CAN KILL ONE! "

A smug smile tugs your lips. " But, my King, they don't need to be allied to angels to have those. "

Kalymir makes a rare effort to calm down, sharpened claws tapping at the same table. You can hear a heavy-tipped tail swing, the woosh mildly distracting.

" SPEAK! "

" The archives. "

You can hear the gears melting in his cranium.

" THE ARCHIVES... " He stands, mighty body straight as he beings putting two and two together. " THE ARCHIVES! "

You nod, arms crossing.

Not just any archives, the Royal Archives of Wrath, containing a litany of detailed instructions in old Infernal about how to dispatch different types of celestials. The same archives that guarded weapons of Eden stolen from perished angels, weapons that destroyed the limbs of the brave demons who managed to retrieve them, whose core names and sigils have been carved into the cases holding these artifacts. Those are the only celestial weapons left behind, as far as anyone knows. The type of material prize a lord of Wrath would die protecting.

" NO! " He barks once he realizes the first possibility that statement implies.

" Yes, my King. "

" NO ONE COULD HAVE BROKEN IN, YOU SNOT-BRAINED ANKLE BITER! "

Hm, that one's new.

He's right, no one could have broken in, he knows you know this, and the fact that you always seem one little step ahead of him is both infuriating to the King but also exciting.

" Correct. "

" THEN- "

" Who has access to the Royal Archives of Wrath? "

" I DO! I'M THE KING- "

" And who had access? "

As soon as you ask that, he falls eerily silent, pacing again, this time to the opposite display of weapons, subconsciously studying them as he thinks.

" IMPOSSIBLE. "

You recline on the chair, eyes closing. " Is it? "

" I BUTCHERED HIM! I HUMILIATED HIM. HIS VERY SKULL SITS ABOVE MY THRONE OF VICTORIES! "

" His offspring, my King. His descendants. " As far as you know, they were only juveniles when Kalymir murdered their father.

" ONE DIED IN THE CRUCIBLE... "

" The other...? "

Kalymir doesn't answer, he doesn't know. And neither did you, not until very recently.

You don't need to spell the implications out this time, he gets there on his own two synapses.

" YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS. " The demonlord bristles, not because he finds the suggestion ridiculous, but likely because it's going to make things a lot more interesting.

" But I am. He can't show his face, it'd be too risky, but some dissenting demons still recognize and have followed him to the surface. He then seeks the help of monsters living in the margins of societies or straight up outside of them, safer options to utilize holy weapons. And not just that, these monsters muddle our understanding of the resistance's origins and goals, adding humans to the mix just makes it all more confusing. Many of the non-demonic members are likely under contractual obligation to do this too, I'd reckon. "

The King is silent.

" Think about it. You lost track of them a long time ago. This prince-to-be witnessed the death of his father, his brother, his mother has likely died of old age. He has nothing. Nothing but a sweltering desire to dethrone you. This is his doing. "

A cruel glint settles in your eyes, belying that there is room for your frigid coldness in the boiling Ring.

" Unfortunately, he must have been too young to properly absorb his father's teachings, because this is amateurish at best. A little bit of care and thought is all you need to nip his budding plans, m'lord. "

The King smiles, drags a hand down his face, chest heaving faster as a very thunderous bark of raucous laughter shakes the entire fortress. The clapping of meaty red hands accentuates how wolfishly delighted he is.

" YOU GLORIOUS, ROTTEN WENCH! HOW COULD I NOT HAVE SEEN THIS?! "

Yes, really, how did he not see this a mile away? He should have figured it out before you, you actually had to do research concerning the past ruler of Wrath.

Kalymir damn near sprints towards you, reaching over the table to grab you up by the collar of your outfit.

" LEAD ME TO HIM, STRATEGIST. TELL ME HOW TO GET MY HANDS ON THE WORTHLES TWERP. I WILL WEAR HIS BROTHER'S SKIN. "

" Of course, my King. I will lead you to victory as always. "

" GOOD. GOOD LITTLE HUMAN. "

You're dropped back down unceremoniously, feeling a creak in your hip but remaining composed. Kalymir is clearly getting overly excited over the whole deal, you can tell he'll be obsessing over it from now on.

" WE WILL MAKE A NEW CHANDELIER OF HIS BONES. "

Satisfied, there's a pep to the demonlord's step as he makes to leave, opening the great doors to his hall.

" AND ONCE THIS IS OVER, YOU- "

" YOU WILL SIT BESIDE ME AS QUEEN. "

[credus99-blog]

Aggression/ Danger to humans: Medium – Medium/High

Element/ Ailment: None

The Collard Stagboar or T’ïkhydhorva (Tuhky-dorva) meaning “Stagboar” are large antlered Atterran pigs that inhabit the plains and forests of the Northeastern Continent and is a generalist herbivore that are particularly fond of fallen fatty nuts(which they crush easily in their powerful jaws). Being a highly successful clade taking a niche like large bovids on earth, several species of Stagboar live in the jungles, forests, rainforest, plains, and Savannah of the Northeastern and Eastern continents of Atterra. Herds of Collard Stagboars in the forests can be up to forty animals in size but in the plains can be between four hundred to a thousand animals strong. Being large bodies animals with a strong neck and hump on their back, the Stagboar likes to shovel earth with its snout for roots and fungus or shovel snow to reach the grass trapped underneath.

Lacking the tapetum lucidum that allows most other species of animals to see at night, the Collard Stagboar (and all Stagboar species in general) must rely on its keen sense of smell and hearing to be able to detect predators during the night. This has made them a prime target for nocturnal predators that strike the Stagboar herds when they are at their most vulnerable and has made the species extremely light sleepers. To make up for this the Stagboar will spend the morning and evening hours of the day sleeping and center their feeding activities around the middle of the day and during the early hours of the night. It is common for one or more animals to be awake while the herd is sleeping to assist in keeping a vigilant lookout for predators to wake up and alert the herd at a moments notice should a threat be discovered. This has made wild Stagboar herd extremely dangerous to be around during their resting hours as the herd will fly into a blind panic and defensive posture at waking up, often with them charging down whatever it was the awoke them.

When awakened the temperament of Stagboars is most like Earth Bison in nature but slightly more tolerant in behavior (though many a Hakdor and human hunter has died hunting Stagboar for its meat and hide). If no animals in the herd are harassed or otherwise disturbed then a human or other herbivore might be able to walk past or around the herd while foraging, with caution. Besides the four tusks that the Stagboar possesses, for defense the Collard Stagboar has twelve protruding spines on their upper back made of bone and sheathed in enamel. These spikes are not rooted to the skeleton and instead are rooted into the upper muscle layer similar to the Azure Falswine and serve a similar purpose. These boney spines however are more specialized, being utilized to fend off flying wyverns. The reason for this adaptation being that flying wyverns, even the smaller and more herbivorous Dragoons, have a habit or breaking the spine of their prey with a well placed impact to their prey’s spinal cord.

A method of hunting similar to Earth’s Peregrine Falcons that ball their feet into a fist that snaps the spines of their prey on impact at high speeds in deadly flybys. While the Glorgabeast has evolved a hard turtle like shell to defend against this, the Collard Stagboar has evolved bony spines to discourage wyverns from hunting them. Lest the wyvern wants to risk impaling one or both of its feet on one of the twelve spikes the Stagboar possesses. These spines do not greatly impede breeding between a boar and a sow as the spikes are slightly malleable in nature but do make the act of reproduction slightly awkward.  To not accidentally prick themselves with the sow’s spines, the boar must mount the sow from directly behind and hoist himself to where his front limbs can fit between the two groups of spines the sow has. Once the deed is done, the sow will lower the ground so that the Boar can disengage himself from the and be on his merry way.

Besides the tusks and spines, the Stagboar grows a pair of antlers annually for both interspecies combat and for defense. Both genders of the Stagboar like several other species of Atterran mammals grow antlers and keep them for the majority of the year. Male Stagboars lose their antlers in the beginning of winter and regrow them during the middle of spring while sows will lose them towards the middle of winter and like the males will begin to regrow them during mid spring. Male will use their antlers to compete for breeding rights (with females using their antlers for defense of themselves and their piglets), between two or more males fighting over one or more sows the boars had been courting.

Whichever boar wins the bout by either injuring (or more commonly tiring out and knocking over) the opponent will gain breeding rights to the sow/sows that they were courting. This courtship and breeding happens once or twice a year depending on the favorability of the environment and the food available in the herds territory. These breeding seasons typically take place during the fall or summer months with pregnancies lasting six months before a litter of piglets (typically two in number) are born. Once born the piglets will nurse for seven to eight months before being weaned off by their mother and will leave her side at one year of age. Stagboar sexually mature at three years of age and is marked with their first antler growth during the spring.

Stagboar have been successfully domesticated by the Hakdor (most commonly found with the nomadic tribes of the plains) who feed their Stagboar hard shelled nuts such as Hairnuts and Spikenuts for treats. Often using their Stagboar as heavy or war mounts besides the Atterran Horse and Ridgebacks (with Ridgebacks being used more like an armored transport) and beasts of burden. Domesticated Stagboar are more even tempered than their wilder counterparts and express more variation in their pelt color than wild Stagboar (Blond, beige, and speckled being some examples of the morphs the Hakdor have created). Like Sheepbirds (also known as woolly griffons) domestic Stagboar are also used for their winter coats which are woolly in nature and are shed during the spring. This winter coat is used for both clothing and blankets that Hakdor weavers produce for the tribe.

Domestic Stagboar are not commonly found in human cities and settlements both inside outside the walls due to human preference towards the Atterran horse and taste for domestic Kiba. Instead, human farms are formed by the lesser cousin of the Stagboar, the Atterran pig. Which mature quickly, easy to raise, and share close evolutionary ties with the Stagboar and are believed to be the evolutionary ancestor of the modern Stagboar before The Fall over two thousand years in the past. Outside the farms the only major human group in the east that keeps domestic Stagboar would be The Guild. Who alongside Atterran horses and like the Hakdor, utilize domesticated Stagboars in their hunts to bring back prey hunted in the wilds back to their towns in the wilds and the walled states of the SRA.

[nunalastor]

Buckshot Anon here! I was asked a question about Alastor's death. If he had been mauled by hounds but not shot because he was definitely going to die, how long would he live?

That depends on what injury would be deemed definitely going to die. Humans are weird in that we are simultaneously extremely fragile and strangely durable, so for Alastor to be considered so much of a lost cause not to bother with a mercy kill, the hounds would have needed to successfully attack his neck, which usually has one of two results.

Neck Snapped: If the dogs managed to shake Alastor aggressively enough, they would snap his spinal cord. Snapping the spinal cord immediately severs connection to anywhere in the body lower than the point of damage, which in this case would be Alastor's entire body below the neck. He would lose control of his respiratory muscles, which depending on where in the cervical spine it was, could suffocate him within anywhere from 30 seconds to 3 minutes depending on if he had trained himself to hold his breath. The much worse option is for the cervical fracture to be slightly lower, so his ability to breathe is not completely gone but drastically hindered, meaning he could be alive and much more slowly suffocating for around 1-2 hours.

Severed Veins and Arteries: Humans have multiple carotid arteries in our necks as well as the jugular veins. Severing any one of those kill extremely quickly, and cause unconsciousness the realm of 5-15 seconds.

Any of these injuries can be treated with medical intervention, and if the damage was not so extreme, the hunter could have theoretically helped and maybe allowed Alastor to survive. His quality of life would be terrible, a cervical spine fracture could leave him paralyzed from the neck down and I don't believe medicine in the 1930s was refined enough to prevent that, but it could technically be done.

In summary: Alastor's best outcome is to have his veins and arteries severed to lose consciousness in 5-15 seconds. His worse outcome is his neck being snapped low enough he can still technically breathe, but not enough to live more than 1-2 hours.

(Note: If Alastor somehow managed to survive his wounds for any longer than that, he would have died of sepsis.)

👀

[electrikworm]

I really enjoyed writing this! Thanks for the request @yugi-nope ! Hope you like it :)

The things that change

Relationships: Crosshair & Wrecker & Hunter

Content Warnings: Talk about ageing, nothing else really

Summary:

As Wrecker grows older, he starts having more issues with things that used to be easy for him. Not wanting to be useless, Wrecker intends to just push through the pain. But Hunter and Crosshair aren't going to let him suffer in silence.

Word count: 1,485

Read on Ao3

With a groan, Wrecker collapses on the couch. Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?

Wrecker's had problems with his body all his life, but never this bad, never from lifting a few crates. He's been helping out at the docks for years. It's light work, he's always been fine. But Wrecker's been having more and more trouble lately.

His arms have started to shake when lifting heavy things, but it's his back that's the real problem. It started aching towards the start of the week, something Wrecker isn't unfamiliar with. What was new is that the pain just got more intense with every day.

Of course Wrecker clenched his teeth and bared it, but today, working had been torture. Every movement sent flares of pain up his back. He'd barely made it up the stairs to their home.

Wrecker readjusts his position, making him grimace as a fresh wave of the stabbing pain that had been terrorising him all day travels along his spine. It feels like someone's jammed a durasteel rod through the centre of his spinal cord.

“Wrecker, is that you?” Hunter calls from deeper in the house. Wrecker is hit with the sudden realization that he'd promised to cook dinner.

“Kark.” Wrecker mutters under his breath as he start pushing himself off the couch. He'd just managed to get somewhat comfortable. “Yeah, it's me. I'll start cooking in a moment.”

“What took you so long?” Hunter wanders in from the dining room, using the same scolding tone he's always used to tell his younger brothers off.

Wrecker laughs, soon interrupted by a gasp as his back twinges when he pushes himself to his feet.

“Osik, Wrecker, are you alright?” Wrecker hates how concerned Hunter sounds. He's been worse than ever since Omega left, constantly watching and worrying about everything. Makes playing down the issues Wrecker's been experiencing all the harder.

"I'm fine." Wrecker hisses, jaw clenched. He has to force himself to not rub at the sore spots on his back. That would just make Hunter more aware of the problem, of how weak Wrecker's gotten.Hunter puts his hand on Wreckers arm, being irritatingly gentle, like doing so too hard might break Wrecker. "Are you hurt?"

"I said I'm fine, didn't I?" Wrecker pushes his brother's hand away. "Now let me cook, Cross sleeps bad if he eats too late."

"I'm not letting you cook looking like you can barely stand!"

Wrecker steps forward, intending to push past Hunter. Instead, the pain radiating all the way to his hips makes his legs shake, forcing him to come to a stand still. Just as Wrecker opens his mouth to oppose his ori'vod again, they both hear the front door slide open, and Crosshair soon steps into view.

"If you two are going to be at each other's throats, I'll just leave again. I have better things to do with my time." He says.

"No, stay here and help me get Wrecker to sit back down and tell us what's wrong."

Wrecker glares at Hunter. "All you're doing is delaying dinner."

Crosshair hums, leaning on the back of the couch as he looks Wrecker up and down. "You've been having a rough couple of day's, haven't you?"

Kark, had Wrecker really been that bad at hiding it? He's losing his touch. "I haven't, stop being dramatic!" He snaps, not feeling quite ready to try walking away again.

"Sit down, Wrecker." Hunter orders. Wrecker doesn't listen. He isn't frail, he won't let his brothers treat him like he is.

"Would you kriffing listen? It's actually painful to watch you standing there like that." Crosshair hisses moving around the couch to Wrecker's side. He's being boxed in by his brothers, and Wrecker isn't sure how he's getting out of this without embarrassing himself.

Wrecker tries to correct the hunched position he's unintentionally took on, regretting the action as the pain spikes. He squeezes his eyes shut against it. When a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, guiding him to sit down, Wrecker can't bring himself to refuse.

"You need to stop pushing yourself so hard." Hunter says as he sits down next to Wrecker, making sure to sit on Wrecker's good side.

"I don't!"

Crosshair rolls his eyes as he finds a place next to Hunter. "Yeah right, then what have you been doing the last week?"

Wrecker rests his face in his hands. "I'm getting weak."

"And Hunter can't feel electromagnetic frequencies from halfway around the planet and I can barely see things right in front of my face any more. We knew it was going to happen." Crosshair says.

"You don't understand! I can't get weak!"

Hunter shakes his head. "And why not?"

"I'm strong, lifting things is what I do! It's all I have." Wrecker feels sick. Losing his strength would be like losing himself. “It's what I was made for.”

“Well I haven't sniped anything in years, we've all stopped doing what we were made for.” Crosshair says. He isn't wearing his prosthetic hand today, something he tends to do when ever having two hands isn't absolutely necessary.

“S'not the same Cross.”

“Why not?” Hunter asks.

“It just isn't okay?” Wrecker huffs, trying to think of a good reason. “I've always been the strong one. Protecting you and doing the heavy lifting has always been my job. And I know we're not soldiers any more, so there's nothing left to protect you from. I can't lose my strength too. I'll be useless.”

“You're not useless Wrecker.” Hunter says. Wrecker can't tell if he's lying or genuinely hasn't noticed.

“Not yet, but I will be. I'll just grow weaker and weaker, until I'm not good for anything!”

“Wrecker...” Crosshair tries, but Wrecker quickly keeps moving. Don't they understand what a burden he's going to become?

“Don't. What when I can't lift things any more? And, what when my good eye and ear start going too? I won't be able to do anything.” Wrecker feels close to tears.

“There are cybernetics that can help out if that happened.” Hunter says.

Wrecker huffs. “The little bit of vision and hearing those could restore would still be pointless if I'm weak. I won't be able to do enough, do anything really. I'll just make things more difficult for those around me.”

“Would you stow it for a second and listen?” Crosshair snaps, almost leaning across Hunter to look at Wrecker more directly. “If you didn't lift anything heavier than a plate for the rest of your life, it would be enough!”

Wrecker opens his mouth to argue, but Hunter cuts him off. “He's right. You don't have to be strong any more.”

“But I don't want to be useless.” Wrecker's voice comes out uneven and shaky.

Crosshair huffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh please, you're plenty useful without hauling things about. You're better at cooking than us, for one. Not even Batcher would eat that thing Hunter made for lunch last week.”

“Hey!” Hunter exclaims, smacking Crosshair's arm. “It was good until you distracted me and it burnt.” Crosshair rolls his eyes again.

“And Wrecker, maybe you'd have less trouble lifting things if you didn't push yourself to keep going on bad days.” Crosshair continues.

“What should I do then?” Wrecker isn't quite sure what his brother's trying to tell him.

“Take a karking break, di'kut!” Hunter says, flicking Wrecker's arm. “You're not going to get in trouble for resting. Nobody's constantly evaluation your performance any more.” Wrecker sighs, not knowing what to say.

“And maybe start using that cane AZI recommended.” Wrecker almost has to laugh at Crosshair's words.

“That's rich coming from you! You haven't worn the glasses he told you to once!”

Crosshair makes an annoyed noise as he looks away from Wrecker. He seems to think for a moment before responding. “Fine. If I wear the kriffing glasses, will you use the cane?”

If it gets Crosshair to do something good for himself, Wrecker can at least try it. “Alright.”

“I'll get you a heat patch for your back.” Hunter says as he stands up. “Think you can bare sitting at the dining table? We can cook together that way, without you having to stand.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wrecker smiles. “That'll work fine.”

Wrecker ends up cutting vegetables at the table, keeping a close eye on what his brothers are doing in the kitchen. It's pleasant, they can talk together and Wrecker isn't forced to stand. Wrecker's not entirely sure how he feels about the cane propped against the table next to him, nor what his brothers said earlier. But for the first time in ages, Crosshair isn't squinting at everything close up.

It's strange to see him with glasses though. Wrecker will have to get used to that. He'll have to get used to a lot of things. It'll take time, but it's not like they're short of that now.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

In Progress Chaptered Fics (11) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten

In progress as of: March 11, 2025

A Faith Forgotten Land (ao3) - that is phantastic (ast_roha)

Summary: "My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine, but it's been promised to another."

Phillis Lester has taken a job teaching English at a Catholic boarding school, where her husband also works. Sister Daniel leads the church choir and tutors music. They're both committed, whether it be to a marriage or to God, but their lives are thrown off balance once they find they have a connection neither can deny.

Gender Swap AU because lesbians in a Catholic setting is too relatable. Taking inspiration from Ivy by Taylor Swift

And here we are. Together yet so far (ao3) - xXspencerXx

Summary: Daniel Howell, a once semi-famous ballerina living in London, experiences an accident n stage. He ends up with a spinal cord injury and looks for a new reason to live. One that he finds in uploading short videos to YouTube of his own original compositions for the piano.

Philip Lester, a post-graduate of Manchester university recently moved down to London and got himself a boring job that decently pays the bills while he creates videos on the side. He looks for more out of life. He manages to find it in one anonymous pianist on YouTube after stumbling across a video.

Especially You (ao3) - valentinednp

Summary: Daniel Howell has to move out of his current apartment. It is a mess and so he is. Wanting a lifestyle change, he goes out of his way to find a Facebook Marketplace ad and is about to move in with a bunch of strangers.

history has it's eyes on dip and pip (ao3) - sadbutlikescats

Summary: Daniel had grown up as poor as you could imagine. Growing up in a small town tends to do that to you. There just aren't the same opportunities for people there, as there are for those living in bigger, better places. Bigger and better countries.

A couple of months into his life in a brand new country, he meets a tall blonde man with the brightest blue eyes he has ever seen.

OR

Dan and Phil AU where they are Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens and things get sexy.

hold on tight and don't look back (ao3) - prophetz (xoph4nt)

Summary: Dan never knew what he wanted to do with his life, so when the time came to choose, he took the first suggestion that his parents gave him. Now he works as a deliberator for Steril HQ, spending his days ignoring his own morals just to make a decent living.

One day, Dan gets assigned a strange case. He's never seen anything like it. Philip Lester has been caught trying to recruit innocent citizens to… make a movie?

Lying Makes You Go to Hell (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil accidentally summoned a demon while making a DanAndPhilCRAFTS video in 2017. Dealing with the pressure of moving apartments, touring the world, coming out, and a stressful lockdown, they were stuck living with a pizza-loving, goat-shaped roommate from the underworld for seven long years. Keeping it a secret and keeping a demon in check was nearly enough to make them snap. When they returned to crafting in 2024, they weren’t summoning a demon - they were finally banishing him back to hell.

not a star i see (it’s always you) (ao3) - dprkives

Summary: Phil Lester returned from the Great War with a box full of medals and haunting dreams, and he had no idea how to pick his life back up. Society wasn’t kind to those who gave their life for their country, and Phil was about to give up all and any hope when a handsome stranger entered his life.

Over and Over (ao3) - phovaries (lasagnaboxlesbian)

Summary: Phil Lester, long time Private Investigator and amateur film maker, accidentally finds himself stuck in a time loop. Dan Howell, writer and recent law school dropout, just wants to know why that one guy won’t stop harassing the poor baristas about their cat calendar again.

OR: Two perfect strangers trapped in the same time loop must work together to figure out how they’ll escape. It’s also a love story.

perfect cadences (ao3) - angelcyarika

Summary: It's safe to say 24-year-old Daniel Howell is lost in life. Having been rejected from every job he's applied to, he's about to leave the small Northern town he's been calling home for the last few years. That is, until he lands a job as a teaching assistant at the prestigious Elmsthorpe Day & Boarding School.

28-year-old Phil Lester never expected to find himself teaching Latin at the school he attended as a kid. Life's been good but stable - perhaps too stable - for the past few years. Maybe the cute new addition to the music department could change that.

stop the world (ao3) - purpurussy

Summary: Dan resumes the call, and turns his camera on this time, glancing at himself in the thumbnail while he waits for Phil to re-join. He realizes just in time that the empty bottle is still in frame, and he shoves it to the side as Phil flickers into view.

“Hey, emo boy,” he grins, and for the first time, sending sparks down his spine, he can see Phil grinning right back at him.

An AU where they never met in 2009, and Dan became a 33-year-old depressed lawyer living a secret double life as his marriage and career fall apart.

That is, until Phil shows up...

True Beauty Lies Beneath the Skin (ao3) - phansauce97

Summary: We're bringing back Punk AU's, folks, in which Phil Lester is lead guitar player in the popular British pop-punk band, Runaway Exorcist. The band continues to gain more fame day by day, and Phil couldn't be happier with his position in life, after recovering from an unimaginable tragedy and fighting many demons along the way. But even now, there are many gaps that Phil finds missing in his life, and his yearning to fill that gap only grows with each passing day that it remains empty...

Dan Howell is a tattoo artist and body piercer at Zombified Tattoos and Piercings, a popular shop in London. New to the tattoo scene, Dan proves himself to be extremely talented and quickly gains popularity. However, Dan has a bit of a secret. Well, it's not really a "secret" per-se, but it isn't something he tells just anyone either. When a post-tour Phil Lester walks into Zombified looking for some new ink, he and Dan...don't have the best first encounter.

When Dan discovers he and Phil can relate to each other on a more deeper and personal level though, and that Phil has many "secrets" too, they find both their gaps fading, realizing that letting someone in might not be so scary after all.

We'll Have To Make It On Our Own (ao3) - galacticneighbor, sleepyslag (galacticneighbor)

Summary: Dan is a country omega come to the Royal City to join a new school for unmated omegas alongside Princess Philip and the future Queen Cornelia. But as the two boys grow closer, Phil's parents are pressuring him into a political marriage with an alpha. Can the two omegas find their way together, or will they be forced apart?

You're not my type (ao3) - Frozenteddybear

Summary: Dan Howell has been living his perfect life where everything is his way, but when he gets seated next to the messy, carefree Phil Lester for a class project things become less than ideal.

[doctorqueue]

I don’t wanna spend too much time on this 2day but I absolutely want to try and make a full post about this theory at a later time. So if I come off weird it’s cuz I’m tired hsbcrvg, I’m gonna forget if I don’t write it out now tho.

I’m also not at all an expert, just autistic 😎. To quote Raph, “I’m not a scientist but this is absolutely your guilt glands, excreting guiltzimes into your guiltis system☝️😌.”

But basically I, as I’ve said before, am now incredulously familiar with the different Rise turtle species’ anatomy. And over the last month or two I’m becoming increasingly sure of the theory that they aren’t just blood related through Lou Jitsu, but have a little of each others turtle DNA too.

⭐️The biggest undeniable signifier of this is Donnie’s plastron and bridge. It’s of course important that there’s a lot that doesn’t have to be accurate in a stylised completely fictional show like Rise, and especially with mutants.

But man it’s a pretty big plot hole to have this character who’s design and character (as well as story at times) be known as having a softshell because of his species, but give him these key/obvious turtle attributes that said species definitely doesn’t have, he certainly didn’t get a hard and external plastron + bridge from his human side. /nm /gen

Turtles have tons of bones inside their bodies like most animals do, but the shell, bridge and plastron bones are more external, and covered scutes. The skin connects around the two gaps in the front and back.

Softshells still have a hard plate with their spinal cord and [shorter] ribs, but it’s under a leathery “shell” of skin, and they don’t have a solid bridge connection like other turtles. Their bones are absolutely wack bro /pos. Their plastron and the closest thing they have to a bridge are still equivalent to our front ribs, but even more so in that they’re still behind skin [but I don’t think muscle?], and that skin more or less is around their entire body [kind of].

[it’s worth mentioning that in other species they do have lots of nerves and stuff in their shells, they ARE still sensitive, though most likely less. Not too relevant to this but I feel like people have the assumption that their shells are super numb or they can’t feel stuff touching them. They love those shell brushes yo!]

Then there may be extra little details that COULD support this theory as well.

-Donnie being seen going inside his shell twice, once in the lair games and then once in the purple jacket (in the basket of Aprils bike). I’ve always preferred to retcon these, as Softshells cannot go inside their shells at all. But with a harder plastron and bridge ‘outside’ of his skin that connects to where his shell sticks out, it isn’t as impossible as a normal softshell, and of course Mikey and Leo absolutely can and have completely gone in their shells. [tba examples?]

Also snapping turts can’t go inside theirs either, though considering how massive Raph’s limbs are he probably can’t even with Mike and Lee’s DNA influence, not that it’s realistic for any of the ninja turtles to be able to go in their shells LOL.

-Donnie looking like he has small spines/spikes across his spine, even though Spiny softshells don’t have any there, but rather at the top lip of their softshell. Some do on occasion have their spine make bumps visible on their ‘shell’.

Rise, like many 2D handrawn animated things, has quite a few design inconsistencies, but you can usually surmise the most common version of something once you collect enough references. Though ngl I’ve seen a lot of both spiny looking bumps and just wobbly bumps, some with no bumps. But my point is this could be a minor feature from Raph’s Alligator Snapper DNA, unlikely but worth mentioning, plus super cute. [tba example images]

-Raph’s fear stink? I need to do more research on this, but I know that Softshells are actually known to release an odor to scare off others, if I’m remembering correctly. [tba info?]

-Mikey’s shell patterns, when studying Red-eared slider shells, I was so stoked to see the inspiration of Leo’s shell markings, and it looked like Mikey’s also matched his species. That is, until I realised Mike matched with COMMON/EASTERN box turtle shells. Ornate box turtles almost always have these radiating stripes. I’ve personally made my own kind of in between for how I draw him, but it made me realise how maybe it was influenced by Leo’s slider DNA? [tba example images]

-The same Plastron + Bridge argument as Donnie but with Raph. Alligator Snappers def have em, but they cover waaaay less than most turtles do, their bridges are very narrow and their plastron don’t even stick out, or are that thick, it’s pretty interesting. [tba example images]

TURTLE EXPERTS PLEASE CORRECT ME WHERE I’M WRONG AND/OR OFF /POS

I want to add credits for the sources/photos, and more images to this post as I have tooons of reference images, but I’ll just stick to the simple plastron one cuz it’s past midnight and am eepy

[shapelymorphoachilles]

I (34F) was on the phone with my mom the other day, talking about the garden I want to set up. I mentioned we had to do it in steps, husband and I, because I needed to account for my spine.

Now, she knows what that means, but let me give you some background.

I was 24. Bit of a gym rat, full time job. Some friends, some hobbies. Walked a ton, and often rode the bus to work.

Then one day, I woke up, and I could not move my legs. The pain was excruciating. When I did finally manage to stand up with husband’s help, it was as if my legs had forgotten how to work. I couldn’t support my weight.

For over a year, doctor after doctor told me I had just pulled a muscle. They sent me home with anti inflammatories, muscle relaxants, and opiates. They told me to go for more walks, get a massage, and lose some weight.

For over a year I took their drugs and wondered why they weren’t working. I wondered what I was doing wrong, why I was still walking like my 80 year old grandmother, and why yoga, going to work, or even just sitting or standing, was suddenly impossible.

Over a year later, I found another doctor. He took one look at me shuffling in and sent me for my first x-ray, followed by the first of many MRIs I would have pre and post op.

Because as it turned out, I had fully herniated two discs in my lumbar spine, and partially herniated a third in my upper back. The doctor was shocked I was still walking at all, never mind all the running and yoga and gym circuits I’d kept powering through the pain to do.

Just about six months later, I was recovering from surgery. If they had caught it earlier, maybe they would not have had to scrape off part of the protective casing around my spinal cord, leaving it partially exposed, but hey. When I woke up from the anesthesia, I still cried because it was the first time I’d been without pain for over a year.

Time went on. I learned to walk again. I learned to move. I had multiple back spasms so bad I lost feeling in my legs completely, but I kept moving. I did light yoga at home, and physio, but nothing stressful. After about two years, we decided it was time, my doctor and I. We thought I should try something new. I joined my friend’s casual soccer game.

In the first ten minutes of my first soccer game in over 20 years, I tore my ACL because the cleats I’d been told to wear to prevent turned ankles had caught in the turf. I heard the snap as I went down. It is a sound I will never forget, like a taught rubber band giving up the fight. When I hit the ground? I laughed. Maybe I was hysterical, or maybe because the alternative would have been to cry in a sports dome full of strangers that I’d come so goddamn far, and now this.

More surgery, more time forced to lie down and be still. I did a lot of art. Got really into podcasts. I had a hard time reading because I couldn’t hold books up, and with being on medical leave again my salary was too stretched to invest in more books, especially digital ones.

Here’s a plug if you don’t already know (because I didn’t), your local library probably rents ebooks and audiobooks if you’re not a physical book kind of person. Support your local library.

Anyways. Bedbound. Bored. Already feeling awful about my helplessness. Somewhere in there they discover all the drugs the original doctors put me on destroyed by gut bacteria and surprise! I’m celiac now.

During one exceptionally bad (read: miserable) reaction to a particularly bad gluten contamination, it occurred to us inflammation in my abdomen around where surgery was triggers my legs to stop working, along with things like blacking out, dizziness, nausea, and other unfortunate symptoms. And while husband was carrying me from the bathroom back to bed after a crashing wave of the “other” symptoms, I put two and two together.

I realized I could never carry a baby. Because what is pregnancy if not an eventually tiny-human-sized inflammation of the abdomen.

Now, husband has never been the driver for us to have kids. I want kids. Always have. But when we realized what pregnancy would mean for my body, we talked it through, and we scheduled me in for a tubal ligation.

Husband was all for it, because his priority is me. He would rather never have children, but have me safe and healthy.

Me, I mostly did it so I wouldn’t have to make the impossible choice between my ability to walk or function, and the life of a baby I would want desperately to have, but could not carry.

I was crushed. Still am, really. I see my nephew who is a spitting image of husband at that age, and I wonder if ours would’ve looked like him, too. His Maybelline lashes and thick blond hair. I see the three-generation photos of my grandmother, mother, and me looking identical as time goes on. Would our little one have taken after the Italian side instead? Maybe they would’ve needed the same weird braces I did.

And this past year, when I quietly mourned my miscarriage’s approximate birthday—she’d be 12 this year—I wondered what kind of a kid she would have been. And then I realized she had been my only chance, and I mourned her all over again.

We are a decade out from my first injury, about eight years from surgery. I have worked with trainers and physios and so many others to get stronger. Some days—most days, now—I’m fine. I can work and walk the dog. I can make art, cook breakfast, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I can lift really heavy things for fun (in a very controlled environment). I can’t walk slowly for long periods, but I have a wheelchair to use in museums and similar events. It’s not ideal, but it is what it is, and I’m grateful I have so many good days.

Then, there are other days. Days when something goes wrong. Days when I can’t move my legs or support my weight, where husband has to carry me to the washroom because I can’t walk on my own or at all. Days I can’t listen to something funny because laughing is painful. Where sex is impossible because the tension of an orgasm is excruciating. Those days—days like today, as I’m writing this—are agony. Physically, but also emotionally. I’m barely 35, and we know my spine will continue to get worse as I age, even if I do everything right. It’s taken so much from me, and it fills me with sorrow, and frustration, and sometimes even rage.

I mourn the time this injury has taken from me, and the future I had envisioned for myself, for my marriage. The freedom to just DO stuff, without having to do the math to see if I can. I mourn never being able to experience carrying a baby to term, and bringing life into the world.

So, anyways. Back to this phone call with my mother, now you know the background.

I mentioned the garden we want to plant this year. That I had to balance the garden with my other side gigs, my work, working on becoming more politically active, and so on.

She said, and I quote, “stop making it sound like you’re a cripple”.

I didn’t know what to say, if I’m honest, and I’m not sure if I do even now.

I did not ask her definition. I was too tired to argue the point, and who wants to make that argument? What would I even say? She’s been here the whole time, after all. She knows my legs stop working sometimes to the point I keep a wheelchair on hand. It’s about 50/50 if I need a cane to walk. Sometimes I vomit or black out because of where the nerve is being pressed. And sometimes the pain and the shame and the helplessness would make me sob but for the face that sob would hurt even worse.

I can’t help but wonder how much she understands, or if she thinks I’m just being dramatic.

I reminded her that just because I’m not full time in a wheelchair, or mostly able to control my plumbing, and not passing out every moment doesn’t make me perfectly functional.

She insisted that others had it worse, and it’s true, they do! But someone else’s being “worse off” doesn’t miraculously make me able to walk again.

I’m not on disability, but I am disabled. I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user. I do the math of spoons or spell slots or whatever you refer to your ability to function in a day, while taking the extra penalties that comes with disability.

I spent a lot of time in my youth being told I wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t skinny enough. Wasn’t tall enough. Wasn’t loud enough, or social enough. Not talented enough to call myself an artist or a musician. Not active enough despite walking multiple hours daily, alongside gym class and dance classes. I wasn’t even good enough at having an eating disorder to really have one. I was harshly restricting calories but still bigger than she approved of. I tried desperately to teach myself to throw up, but no gag reflex meant I failed at even that.

When I found myself falling into self harm territory around 13, I asked my mother for help, she asked, “what do you have to be sad about?” So, not sad enough or self harming enough to get help, either.

So all that, followed by being told I don’t count as disabled because I don’t have it “bad enough”, whatever that means, hurt.

And as I lie here in my husband’s office because it hurt too much for husband to carry me to bed, I wonder when it’ll be enough—and am reminded that it doesn’t even matter. Whether someone else considers me disabled or not doesn’t make my legs magically work. And I gotta ask, how many healthy people have to keep a wheelchair around for when (not if) their legs stop working on a random Tuesday afternoon?

If you’ve stuck it out, goddamn. Welcome. I mostly opened this account because every other social of mine is connected to my name, and my businesses. But today, I couldn’t sit up to write, but I guess I had a lot of things to say.

- SMP

[practically-an-x-man]

Emotional quotes/moments for Terra, Madison, and Gia?

Ooooh thank you so much!!

Fair warning, this got a little long (I write some pretty emotional fics...)

Terra:

I've got two in-progress fics for Terra that are both pretty emotional, but I think instead I'll go with this interaction from her first fic, Out of Orbit:

Something about it was wrong. Especially those eyes. She didn't like the way he was looking at her, the way he ducked around the clutter in the shop and pinpointed her despite those scarred unseeing eyes. She didn't like that there was something familiar about him. "Hey, what the fuck-" "Terra." His voice stopped her in an instant. She knew that voice. It was different now, no longer roughened by the tumors in his throat, but she recognized it all the same. "Pluto? How did- you're-" "Look at me, Terra, just look- he fixed me," Pluto raved, still fixing her with those intense silver-scarred eyes. Her skin crawled at the feel of his hands on her. She didn't enjoy it. She trusted him more than she trusted anyone else in the world, but something about this just wasn't right. Pluto took a step back, dragging her with him towards the door. Terra followed for about a step and a half, at first too bewildered to resist. "And he can fix you too, he can take the Shimmer out- just come with me, come on, I'll show you-" "Pluto." she snapped, harsh enough that he froze in place, "Let go of me. Right now." He released his grip on her shoulders and took a half-step back, though his eyes were still locked on her face. His chest was heaving, like he'd run all the way back from wherever he'd gone. There was still a strange expression on his face, a sort of manic euphoria that made Terra's spinal cord itch, but it seemed like her sudden outburst had snapped a little sense back into him. He took a step towards her. She took a step back, and lifted a hand palm-out in his direction. He stopped. He knew there were hidden spurs at the base of her palms, deadly-sharp and ready to shoot out at a moment's notice. He'd build those hands himself, after all. "C'mon, Terra-" "Just shut up- just... give me a second, okay?" she stammered, but didn't lower her hands, "I need to think."

What really makes me emotional about this scene is just the sheer discomfort and tension of it, especially with the context of what Terra's relationship with Pluto is like. They've known each other for years, they're closer than family, and they would do anything for each other, so to see Terra so frightened and distrusting of the person she loves more than anything is just devastating to me.

And of course, it's even more emotional with the context of what will then happen to Pluto as a result of this "purge" - it's presented as a great thing now, but he's super doomed and neither of them know it yet.

____

Madison:

Ooooh now Madison's got some GOOD emotional moments I could choose from! The ones that come to my mind first are her big confession scene to Alex where she explains what made her run away from home, the scene where Alex nearly drowns in the Mississippi River and we get the first major crack in Madison's shell, the scene where she's rescued from Brotherhood capture and Alex finds her, mutation enhanced, in the cell...

Madison goes through the WRINGER and her fic has a TON of emotional moments, but I think I'll go with this interaction with Alex after Madison is recovering from her capture (in which she's still dealing with her new mutations and a lot of image issues because of it):

“I think I know why he uses the serum.” He was nearly to the door when Madison’s voice made him pause. She sounded half-distracted, lost in thought, like she hadn’t even meant to speak the words aloud. Her eyes were distant, too, reflecting the colors of the room but none of her inner thoughts. “Hm?” “I don’t really feel like myself anymore.” Madison muttered, like she hadn’t even heard him, “I don’t feel like I belong in this body. I don’t feel- nothing feels real. The most real I’ve felt all day was when we were… I guess that makes it easier to jump into my head.” “Mads-” But she seemed to shake it off before he could even come up with a response. All at once she was off the bed and slipping back into her clothes, moving like even the briefest slowdown meant she’d keel over and die on the spot. Alex reached for her as she passed, but she was just out of arm’s reach. She could’ve been a ghost, half-translucent against the rich colors of the room.  “Mads, hang on-” “Go talk to Hank,” she said, “I’ll go talk to the girls. It’ll be fine.” And she ducked out of the room before he could speak another word.

It's a bit more impactful with the rest of the surrounding scenes for context, but even without the context I feel like Madison's emotional turmoil comes across very strongly. Her body is foreign to her, not only foreign but dangerous with its new venomous spines, and her history leads to her feeling like she's going to be cast aside or will have to "wipe the slate clean" and start over even though she loves her life as it is.

____

Gia:

I don't have any severely emotional moments posted for her yet, but here's a snippet from an upcoming fic where Gia has an illness flare-up early in her relationship with Kate!

Gia was curled up on her side, shivering under mounds of blankets. Her skin was ashen-looking, paper-thin and so pale it almost seemed to have a faint green cast. There were dark hollows under her eyes, and her hair hung in limp strands around her face. She turned over when Kate entered the room, to look at her, but her eyes were tired and unfocused. Even the color of them seemed to have dulled, their usual vibrant green dimmed into a color like dry moss. She’d been fine yesterday. Kate knew these chronic things could strike out of the blue, but this was a lot worse than she’d expected. If she’d held even the smallest scrap of irritation for the canceled plans, it would have vanished with the first glance at Gia. She looked like a cancer patient at the tail end of chemotherapy, all sallow and pale and shivering.  “Oh, Gigi…” Just two words, and then there were tears streaming down Gia’s face. She ducked her face against her pillow, hiding her face but failing to mask the ragged sobs that shook her body. Her hair, limp and greasy like she hadn’t washed it in days, fell in a messy curtain around her face. “I’m sorry.” Kate could just barely make out the muffled words through Gia’s tears. “I didn’t want to cancel, I… I wanted to go…”

[salvager-beyblade-fanfiction]

Salvager Chapter 4: Floor 192

“Off!”

Venom’s shout ricocheted down the derelict shaft, giving Salvager only a second’s warning. Shoot. Darting in a breath, he threw his arm back, allowing himself to roll sideways as he released his grip on the elevator cable and plunged into an uncontrolled free fall. Down, towards the legion of androids that had followed them from Floor 191. There must have been at least a hundred, all climbing over each other, joints whirring, Starving Silver spasming in anticipation. Too close for comfort.

“Go!” Salvager hollered, fiercely aware of the closing distance between him and their pursuers.

Venom slammed his cybernetic palm into the cable’s side.

And, in an instant, the metal fibers were howling with electricity, a visible current arcing around the circumference with a hissing, ear-crackling buzz. Salvager was just close enough to smell burning hair. The robots, actually clinging to the line, weren’t so lucky. As the sudden charge struck, they screeched, wailed, and then dropped, their bodies fried black. Disjointed limbs clacked and spun. Raucous echoes--metal on metal--fired through the chute. 

“Safe!” Venom snapped from above.

Salvager shouted back something completely unintelligible, but generally affirmative. In one fluid motion, he shot out an arm, locking his fingers back around the cable, and swung in a shallow curve, heaving his reactor cannon over his shoulder and angling it straight down. He set the barrel for continuous blast, locked it in place and, as the basketball-sized opening filled with the preemptive light of a laser stream, resumed his ascent. He’d fallen almost half of what he’d initially climbed. Fortunately, the beam of energy slamming from the weapon at his back was a fairly efficient propulsion device, He made up the distance at an accelerated pace, his hands flying over each other to maintain purchase on the elevator cable. “Hey!” he called, mind racing through the next steps of his and Venom's plan. “Do you think 192 has noticed us yet?”

In his upward periphery, he saw Venom glancing towards the door bank above his head, a good three yards up the shaft. “Uh… No?” he shouted back. 

Just then, however, the portal slid open, the two halves retreating into their recesses, and an electronic moan dripped out of the darkness. Slowly, a long-fingered hand curled over the lip of the opening, its malformed knuckles glinting like slivers of moonlight. A scrape, a drag, and, soon, two glowing photoreceptors peered over the edge, staring into the derelict shaft. 

Salvager cringed. A Starving Silver model. Great.

Venom, meanwhile, wasted no time. In a flash, he conjured his player board, sank his arm up to the elbow in his inventory, and snapped out two magnetic grenades, flinging them high. Once near enough, they reacted to the android’s metal skin and promptly zipped towards it, attacking like mosquitoes, cracking into the thing’s head, puncturing its skull with their security prongs.

The subsequent explosions filled the elevator shaft with an obscuring white light.

The sharp beam of Salvager’s laser grapnel cut through it, the man himself soon following. He whipped past Venom in a blur, careening in a tight arc over the door bank’s extended lip, and--teeth bared, neck straining--smashed his heels like battering rams into what was left of the android’s skull. It popped off its spinal cord like a lollipop head from its stick, the Starving Silver it had carried leaping across Salvager’s boots.

Perfectly calm, the man allowed himself to fall backward, hunching over midair and hastily undoing his laces. There. The shoes slipped free of his feet, taking all the parasitic metal with them. Now, to fix the falling.

Salvager flung out a hand.

And Venom, lunging sideways and nearly losing his grip on the elevator cable, caught it. A savage grunt erupted from between his teeth as the older man’s weight jerked him downward. Two of his steel pins snapped, bursting from his cybernetic forearm and spinning into the dark like pennies flipped into a fountain. “Ghk!” he choked, stuffing down a fierce complaint as he heaved Salvager back onto the wire. 

“Nice catch,” the man gasped, tucking a leg around the line and regaining purchase. “Arm okay?”

“Forget about it,” Venom groaned, raising his gaze back to the Floor 192 doors. A swarm of eyes were filling it, flinty and curious, piercing the darkness like stars crowding out a night sky. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

Salvager grit his teeth, a crease slicing down his brow. What was that…? Fifty more androids? “No stopping,” he decided. “Climb. I’ve got your back.”

“No stopping?”

“We’re not making it to 192 with that kind of welcoming party. Just skip it.”

There was nothing for it.

They’d have to go straight for Floor 193. 

The top was in reach.

[bleeding-star-heart]

Alternate Ending to DA II where female! mage! Hawke just SNAPS

Up until this moment, Hawke has been a meek, obedient little mage. Borderline spineless, categorically unable to stand up for herself.

Can't bring herself to disagree with her friends or ask her family (*cough cough* CARVER) to treat her with respect. Never mind actual authority figures.

The introduction of Isabela and Anders into her life makes this SLIGHTLY better, but not much. The most she accomplishes is talking about mage rights in front of those two specifically. In front people like Fenris not so much.

Always doing WHATEVER her friends/the authorities/the randos of Kirkwall ask of her. Runs herself ragged doing so.

But then Act 3 rolls around. Leandra is dead, Carver is dead/a Grey Warden (because no spinal cord, she can't say no to Carver). Hawke has virtually no family left. No shits to give.

At the same time however, she is also immensely wealthy and beloved by all of Kirkwall at the exact same time Meredith really goes off the deep end.

Potentially everything to gain, almost nothing left to lose.

So, Hawke throws a grand ball at the Amell estate, to which every important person in Kirkwall is invited. The nobles, the templar high command, the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, you name it. Even First Enchanter Orsino, Meredith, and Elthina are present.

Those last two names are very important, because guess what? Suddenly Meredith Stannard ends up choking to death in front of everyone present.

Elthina shrieks, points at Hawke, and screams "Murderer!"

But, instead of being horrified, Hawke just slow claps and says: "What a splendid actress you are, Grand Cleric. You would have made a killing on the stage."

Almost everyone is shocked-especially Anders, Merrill, and Fenris. This is completely out of character for her.

Hawke then reveals that it was, in fact, Elthina who killed Meredith-all Hawke did was provide a window of opportunity. "Isn't that right, Sebastian?"

Sebastian, horrified, cries "I thought you were going to stop her! I never would have told you if I knew you were to just...let the Knight-Commander die!"

That's right-Sebastian found out about Elthina's plot, and, in a panic, told Hawke. But Hawke happened to agree with the Grand Cleric-Meredith needed to go.

The doors then burst open, and in walks Leliana, accompanied by Aveline, and several city guards and Seekers. "Grand Cleric Elthina, you are under arrest."

That's right-Hawke showed the evidence to Aveline, who in turn told Leliana and the Seekers, and both were lying in wait to arrest Elthina. "Although you conveniently failed to mention the part about Meredith actually dying," Aveline grumbles.

Elthina is taken away, and in one fell swoop, Hawke has eliminated both the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander. There is no one who can stand in her way. "Isabela? Did you get it?"

Isabela then shows up, holding none other than the Viscount's crown. "Yep," she says as she hands it to Hawke.

Hawke grins widely, turns to the crowd, and asks: "People of Kirkwall! Will you have me for Viscount?"

A chorus of "yes" erupts from the stunned crowd, all of whom then get down on their knees.

"The queen is dead," Hawke declares as she places the viscount's crown on her head. "Long live the queen."

[so-much-nonsense]

collection

following are some of the words ive read recently that seem to talk about how im feeling way better than im able to. i see myself in each and every single paragraph. so, during this writing block im experiencing, i thought id try out posting others writings.

If we have to reach for each other as humans through the machine, let’s find the best ways to do it. Let’s transform every text and every phone call into a reaching out rather than a symbolic keeping in touch. Let yourself be replaced by the mystery of the heart.

I will hear things and they will flow through me like water. I will do things with a disconnect between my mind and my body, like my spinal cord has snapped in half and my brain is the last organ to hear about it. I'm also old enough and grown enough to be able to conceal it with terrifying ease when I want to, to the point where nobody would know I’m all blue inside if I didn’t tell them. But the exhaustion sets in deep into my bones at night and I find myself staring at the ceiling and trying my hardest not to blink. I’m constantly fighting a tug of war in my mind, torn between wanting people to know that everything moves a quarter of a second slower for me like I’m underwater or faking it until I make it.

The world around me is quiet; too quiet; I know solitude and this is not it; it feels like the entire world is muffled, like I’ve accidentally plugged in my earphones and turned on noise cancellation and I suddenly can’t find the button to turn it back off; I hold books in my hand but they feel heavy; I lay awake at night with a cosmic boundlessness of worries irrationally connecting in my brain like a mutated constellation; I talk to friends but I feel so unsocial like I’m having an out of body experience; I feel like I am always broken into fragments throughout the month, trying to collect these pieces to tetris myself into one whole human again; there are definitely some moments when feelings of elation breaks through the fog, and I suddenly feel like my normal self, and I get a tiny taste of what it must like to feel like that again.

The floor becomes a comforting place. I find myself on it a lot, alone in my bedroom, the only sound the quiet whirring of my air purifier. I lay on my back, press myself flat against the hardwood floor, put two overlapping hands over my heart. The faint but slow and steady beat, a reminder that this too shall pass, is perhaps the most helpful thing in that moment. My mind begins to spiral manically, is this helpful? What is helpful? What will make this go away? It can’t just be time. Am I being dramatic? I need to find better ways to make myself feel better in January. How is it every January? I fall asleep on the floor and wake up with a dull pain in my lower back.

 I’ve tried drinking tea, meditating for hours, writing pages upon pages, mindlessly rewatching seasons upon seasons of a show, forcing myself to go out and socialize, listening to an entire album from start to finish, taking on more jobs than I can handle so I don’t have to think, so much baking, so much cooking, so much intellectualizing and rationalizing, taking photos of flowers, taking photos of the beach, taking photos of books, listening to inspirational talks that tell me to view the life as a glass half full and not half empty while I’m trying to figure out if there’s even a glass to fill even a drop of water to begin with.

I’ve tried staring blankly at a wall until I feel like pieces of my brain are falling out of my ears, willing myself to fit into a mold made of patience and grace that I am deeply unfamiliar with because I am not a patient person, and I have exhausted all the grace I have to give, to other people and never to myself. This feeling will begin to fade into oblivion in a few weeks, but before then, I’ll hold my breath and practice patience that I was not born with.

[zoreta]

Shrike pigs

Shrikes- also known as butcher birds- are rather unique in their feeding habits. They get their name from the way they handle their prey.

A hunt begins by pouncing on some hapless rodent, bug, lizard, or other bird and using its notched beak to puncture the neck, grab the spinal cord, and snap it before the animal even knows it's under attack. Shrikes are over-sized songbirds, they lack the strength to crush the way a hawk or eagle does- so they have to use more elegant methods.

Once the prey has been killed or paralyzed, the Shrike will use its disproportionate strength to lift the carcass and impale it on a thorn like a side of beef on a hook. From there, shrikes can eat at their leisure- a limb or two at a time they so aren't weighed down by a full stomach.

(Look, I'm not going to toss out a picture of half a mouse impaled on a thorny bush, you can google that by choice).

Combine that with a pig's smarts, persistence, and their willingness to eat anything? These little Hannibal Lectors would be going 'wee wee wee' all the way home to their corpse-riddled tree houses of horror.

It annoys me unreasonably when you want to ask people "what bird and what mammal would make the worst gryphon" as a fun thought exercise, and people with no joy and no imagination always interpret it as "a gryphon that sucks, is physically impossible, and would hate being alive", and - being predictable and lacking in imagination - always, always answer with "a hummingbird and a blue whale lol".

Like come on. Why do you have to suck the fun out of everything. Why not use a fraction of imagination and delightful whimsy. Imagine the combination of a mouse and a sparrow. That creature would be merciless, burtal, absolutely determined to get into your trash and has the power of both wings and hands to do its will. Or a crow and a cat - that thing is smart enough to fuck with people and not afraid to do it. Imagine the ungodly shriek of the noble fox-seagull, also determined to get into your trash.

A gryphon that is a combination of a kangaroo and a cassowary. The only proof we have of a loving god is the fact that those things do not exist. If hell is real, it's full of them. That thing can't fly, but it will run you down, it will kill you, and you will look stupid the whole entire time you're dying.

Why would the first thing that pops into your mind at the words "the worst gryphon" automatically be "a gryphon that hates being alive". Can you not picture a gryphon that fucking loves being alive, and has both the power and the will to make it everyone else's problem.

[gayrob0t]

"#but the wrist has gotta do so much crazy mechanical bullshit in the hand that it cant just#risk snapping something by doing what the neck does"

sorry i feel like i must be misreading this: our wrists can't risk snapping but our necks can???

Lol i may have phrased it poorly because I cant edit tags, but essentially the reason your head can turn is because of two specific vertebrae that sit on top of eachother called the atlas and the axis, they're right at the base of your skull

I believe this is the only place in the human body where a joint actually rotates transversely and it's because the spine is basically a bunch of socket joints sitting gently within eachother with the spinal cord threaded through and a fucktonne of ligament systems to keep it in place. Theres a lot of limitations to this system as you picked up, the main one being if you turn too far you uh, break something and get internally decapitated, which is game over immediately in 70% of cases and not fun in the remaining 30%. They also can sometimes dislocate from eachother and the ligaments that hold them in place and some people even have to have the two bones fused together. The point being that this is the only example we have of what seems the 'obvious' way to make a rotating joint in the human body and it already has so many problems. This brings us to the wrist

Imagine you're evolution, and you've got to figure out how to give an animal rotation of the limb. So why not put this kind of joint in the arm? You could probably already imagine how it'd work with the hand sitting in some neat saddle sitting within the radius or something. Why not? Well because you'd break something! We just finished talking about how the neck joint isnt the most structurally stable or safest thing to have (dont panic it's been there your whole life it's probably fine) and you twist your wrist so often! Much more often than you turn your head Im willing to bet! And your wrist has to sit in that turned position for extended periods of time! You may have noticed in that diagram of the atlas the label for the vertebral artery. Thats because it's not just your nerves in your spine, but you got blood delivery there too! Rotation can pinch these arteries, which is why owls actually have a flexible balloon-like bloodvessel in their heads to store blood when they do their 270⁰ rotation of the neck. So you'd have to put one of those in the hand I guess. And where are we putting all the tendons and muscles for the hand? Do we squeeze them all through that saddle now? How are we sure they won't pinch each other when rotating? Are we going to use ligaments to restrict movement so the bones dont guillotine everything off if they turn too far? And what about that extra bone just in the arm, is it going the way of the tibia?

An important thing to keep in mind is that evolution is a lot like a teenager doing their project the night before it's due, it's using what it has and by god if it works it works, final grade be damned. So it doesnt bother with the labor and material intensive task that is fabricating a whole new joint and troubleshooting the problems that come with it. It just takes the two bones already there

And twist

[naturexzone]

K.A.L. F.V. Ch. XI: Chikara (Xeno Of Grace) vs Chiaki Part 2 (Final)

"If this is all you can offer..."

"Sis."

"What now!?"

"You didn't have to go Overboard!"

"It was necessary!"

"She's as good as dead-"

(Chiaki was in complete shock seeing her own older sister rise from the rubble debris despite blood dripping from her body.)

(Chikara stood on top of the debris looking fearless.)

"Damn you sister!"

"I will destroy you!"

"Give up Chiaki."

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"You can walk away from this."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"I will kill you and Ayumu Hiraoka is the next to die!"

"Oh no..."

"What did you say...?"

"Did I touch a nerve?"

"I will tear him to shreds and watch him die a slow and painful death."

"Chiaki that's enough!"

"She needed to hear it!"

"Chiaki!!!"

"What!?"

(Chikara felt triggered when Chiaki say a threat more than an empty threat, it was a death threat.)

(Chikara snapped by revealing her true form, Xeno of Grace, she opened her eyes, left eye is jade green, her right eye is seafoam green, her shiny emerald green xeno armor, her sage/jungle green hair, lastly her Forest/Neon Green Aura.)

(Chikara's demon blade upgraded to the Silent Griffin.)

[Few Hours Passed]

(Chikara and Chiaki fighting each other at their full power against each other.)

(However, Chikara went all out not holding back an inch of her Xeno Magic on her younger sister.)

(Chiaki was getting wrecked badly by Chikara to the point, Aiya the oldest sister of the Rosalia Family had to interfere their fight.)

"Move Aiya..."

"Get out of my way!"

"She is literally out of control Chiaki!"

"You need to stop!"

"Why!?"

"You're going to cause a bloodbath except you will be caught in it!"

"I know what I'm doing-"

(Chikara cuts off their chit-chat by blowing Aiya far away from their fight, kicked Chiaki in the sky.)

(Chikara opened her brand new wings, the wings of a griffin as she fly after Chiaki.)

(Chiaki noticed how fast and powerful Chikara have become.)

(In comparison, Chikara is above Chiaki, Chiaki is second to Chikara.)

(Aiya knew from the start of her younger sisters fight that her youngest sister never stood a chance against Chikara, a 0% chance rate.)

(Chikara is the Xeno of Grace, she has the power to one shot a Deity in an instant with pure judgment and bless those who have no sin with Grace.)

(Chiaki attacked Chikara without thinking, her attacks were completely reckless.)

(Chikara took the remaining blows in the abdomen, ribs, spine, and through her spinal cord.)

(Chiaki was laughing maniacally celebrating too early.)

"You were acting high and mighty!"

"You had me before..."

"But..."

"You couldn't withstand my attacks!"

"Foolish Older Sister Of Mine!"

"HAHAHA!!!"

(As Chiaki was gloating that she defeated her older sister, or so we thought, Chikara ascended from the rubble debris but from underground, flash stepped behind Chiaki, kicked her younger sister in the back really hard crushing her backbones, sending her into the fountain of dreams.)

[Few Moments Later]

"This is what you wanted Chiaki!"

"You wanted this fight!"

"You wanted War!"

"Now look at you..."

"Helpless, and a hopeless failure of a sister!"

"I will kill you!!!"

"You'll die trying!!!"

(Chikara and Chiaki running towards each other to finish the battle they have started with one of the Rosalia sisters alive, and the other dead in the pool of her own blood.)

(However, the battle ended with Aiya canceling her younger and youngest sister's deadly attacks on time)

"Get out of the way, Aiya!"

"And letting both of you die!?"

"This is our fight, stay out of it!!!"

"I won't let her kill Ayumu Kun!!!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!!!"

"You two have been at each other's throats for the longest!"

"Chikara."

(Aiya removed her and Chiaki's blindfold showing their true eyes.)

(Chikara was shocked and remembered that the two Deities she fought was her own sisters.)

"Aiya..."

"Chiaki..."

"This is what Astaroth wants!"

"He wants us to kill each other!"

"I refuse to commit mass Destruction!"

"Chikara you don't have to fight us."

"You win."

"Are you kidding me!?"

"Are you seriously going to give up!?"

"It's pointless to fight her from the start, especially that idiotic tactic you just pulled."

"Me, what did I do?!"

"You threatened to kill him!"

"I knew what I was doing-"

"No you didn't."

"You were getting your ass handed by me when you threatened to kill Ayumu."

"Why you-"

"Enough!!!"

"Chikara, do it."

(Chikara absorbed the Curse Energy from her younger sister and older sister's bodies.)

(In The End Of The Night, all Deities were freed from Astaroth's curse.)

(End Of Chapter XI)