#Lung function analyzer

[medicalequipmentabimed]

Electronic Spirometer

An electronic spirometer is a medical device used to measure lung function by assessing the volume and flow rate of air that a patient can inhale and exhale. It can calibrate automatically all English operation with more convenient

[ticifics]

All I've Ever Want

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: Dave and you finally give in to your bottled-up feelings

Warning: a lot of kisses, sexual tension, suggestive situations, a little smut, no use of y/n

It was late, the veil of night already draping over the sky, and for a moment, you completely forgot where you were. That was until you felt a puff of warm air tickling the back of your neck. The realization of your surroundings made your cheeks flush crimson.

You remained still, analyzing the familiar interior of the room. The only source of light was the television, long forgotten, where the DVD logo lazily bounced around the screen, barely illuminating the lilac walls of the attic. To your right was an empty pizza box and soda cans, along with a stack of books and your precious pom-pom pens. The bedroom door was shut, but even so, you wondered if Mr. Lizewski had seen you with Dave on the bed.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it was no less embarrassing.

When you and your aunt moved into the house across the street, it was only a matter of time before you befriended Dave, your adorable and kind neighbor. You remembered the day you met him: Dave was all dark curls and bright blue eyes, smiling shyly beside his mother. While the adults droned on about boring things, you two hit it off, animatedly debating who was the strongest superhero in DC. After that, you became inseparable. His house became an extension of your own, and there were countless times your aunt had to carry you, half-asleep, back across the street to your bed.

Dave was as familiar as the back of your hand. For the longest time, you considered him the highlight of your days. He always knew the perfect jokes to draw out your smiles, and he was so kind, incredibly kind—though a bit of an idiot sometimes, but what could you expect from boys?

He had held you after an especially low physics grade, rubbing your back while you could do nothing but sob uncontrollably, whispering that no one cared about Torricelli and his damn equations. He kept you wrapped in his arms until you calmed down, tracing soothing circles on your back and brushing his lips affectionately against your forehead.

It was during that time you realized he wasn’t just a lanky teenager anymore. There were muscles under those clothes—and he had grown taller, with broader shoulders.

Your perception of him shifted. And before you knew it, your heart would nearly leap out of your chest whenever he got closer. Suddenly, you became very aware of him.

Damn hormones.

Of course, you refused to admit your feelings for a while. Dave was your friend and nothing more. But with every brush of his fingers, every lingering touch of his hands on you, and every conspiratorial smile, the butterflies in your stomach spun furiously.

Fuck.

You were in love.

Not that you ever confessed your erratic feelings. Absolutely not. Your friendship with Dave was too important to risk ruining it with sappy confessions. So you buried any romantic thoughts about him deep in your mind and pretended everything was normal.

Most days it was easy. With Marty and Todd acting as buffers, it was easy to forget the closeness with Dave. Even when your shoulders were pressed together in the comic book store booth and all you could think about was his scent filling your lungs. And when you stood on your tiptoes to whisper something in his ear, you certainly didn't daydream about being so close that your lips were mere millimeters from his skin. And no, you didn’t waste your precious time admiring his hands. God, you were a loser.

Your crush on Dave was in the past.

That was the lie you told yourself every day. Hoping one day it would become true.

Earlier, you had planned an afternoon of studying, a chemistry test was scheduled for next Thursday and it would be good to review organic functions. However, you and Dave quickly forgot about any problems involving ketones or methyls, snuggling on his bed with greasy slices of pizza. You had brought the Dirty Dancing CD in your bag and convinced him—forced him—to watch the movie. But apparently, you had both fallen asleep while Baby was taking her private dance lessons.

You blinked a few times, spotting the digital clock by the bed. The red numbers glowed; it was already 9:13 PM. Damn. You should be home.

Slowly, you tried to get up, only for his arms to tighten around you, holding you against his chest. Your body tensed as you realized where his hands were; the left rested on the soft curve of your waist, the right... — you swallowed —, the right hand was near your chest. Though his fingers weren’t curled around your breasts, their presence in the area was undeniable; firm and warm.

“Dave?” you whispered weakly, noticing from his lack of response that he was still deeply asleep.

With a shaky sigh, you thought about the situation you were in. It wasn’t the first time you had shared a bed or slept together; that had become a habit years ago when you were nothing more than kids addicted to movies. But now things were different. Dave was no longer a little boy. With him behind you, his body pressed perfectly against yours, it was impossible to stop your mind from wandering down sinful paths. You could feel his chest rising and falling with each slow breath, as well as his long legs tangled with yours.

It was fine, it meant absolutely nothing. All you needed to do was slide out of bed and run back home.

As you tried to move again, Dave held you tighter in his iron grip, making you gasp in surprise. When had he become so strong? You hadn’t managed to move an inch!

You shrank as he pressed his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply, sending shivers down your spine. “Dave…?” you tried again, your voice slightly firmer. “I need to…”

“Stay.” He interrupted you, his voice sleepy and raspy. So close that the blend of syllables and consonants vibrated against your skin.

When had he woken up? The realization that he was holding you of his own volition, so close to him, sent unwanted butterflies to your stomach. For a foolish moment, you wondered what would happen if your feelings were reciprocated, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away.

You turned your head, catching a glimpse of his face. The curls fell over his face, giving him an angelic look, and the closed eyelids kept you from seeing those bright irises. A relaxed, even satisfied, expression crossed his sleepy face. His soft, pink lips were slightly parted. Painfully beautiful. The sight made an involuntary smile spread across your face.

“I need to go home,” you whispered, the words shaped by a smile.

“Why?” He didn’t open his eyes, his voice still sleepy enough for you to question whether he was truly awake or caught between consciousness and the land of dreams.

“It’s late and…” With furrowed brows, you asked, “Dave, are you awake?”

“Yes—I mean, no. What difference does it make? Just stay a little longer, I can take you home after.”

Even though you lived, quite literally, across the street, Dave insisted on walking you to your front door every time. No exceptions, it was sweet. He’d cross the street with his arm around your shoulders or holding your hand casually, and then say goodbye with an adorable smile.

But you had to go home. Put some healthy distance between you and bury any depraved thoughts about him deep in your mind. And take an especially cold shower.

“I’ve stayed too long, I need to go. So be a good boy and let me go.” When he made no effort to release you, you huffed impatiently, twisting in an attempt to break free from his grip.

“It’s not enough.” He murmured, holding you so tightly that your ribs complained. You hated that a small part of you loved this little show of strength. That was it, you had serious problems.

“Dave!” You grunted, without success.

Out of breath, you sucked in air between your teeth. You could have kicked him, but his frayed nerves would hardly let him feel pain. The only alternative was to keep fighting for your freedom, and that’s what you did. Grabbing his forearms in an attempt to force him to loosen his hold, you lifted your legs off the bed and twisted desperately.

A squeak escaped your lips as he huffed in annoyance, his large hands easily spinning you on the bed, as if you were a damn rag doll, pushing your back into the mattress and quickly collapsing over your body. Trapping you definitively between his arms and legs. The bed frame creaked under the force of the impact. “Quiet.” He said, the word seeming to scrape his throat.

You froze for a moment, assessing the compromising position you were in. With Dave on top of you, between your legs, his weight fully pressing down on you, making it difficult to breathe. You wondered if he could feel your heart pounding furiously against his chest. With his head pressed against your chest, his curls tickled your chin, and they smelled so good… You quickly pushed that thought away. Your face burned with embarrassment, feeling warm breaths brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Grabbing his broad shoulders, you tried to push away, taking in air noisily. As with the other times, it was pointless. “D-Dave! I can’t breathe!”

His laugh irritated you, but when he lifted his head and looked at you with those big, bright eyes, you knew it was pointless to try to seem annoyed. “So dramatic.” He teased, though you suspected a slight blush stained his cheeks. Dave might have been acting tough now, but he was still shy and—sometimes—awkward.

You took a theatrical breath, hands still on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. “You’re heavy, you idiot!” You scolded, false irritation coloring your words.

He flinched, looking embarrassed for a few seconds. The dim light from the TV cast shadows across his face, only highlighting the edges of his features. “I wouldn’t have done that if you were a good girl and stayed quiet.”

The indulgent choice of his words made your cheeks burn. It was far too easy to imagine them in a different context, amid sighs and moans of pleasure. Damn. What was your fucking problem?

Embarrassed, you bit your lip between your teeth. “I-I... hm, I n-need to go.” You repeated, unable to meet his gaze.

“Why?” He questioned again, his voice an octave lower. His blue eyes scanned your face, daring not to move a single millimeter.

It was hard to think clearly and rationally with him so close, deliciously pressed against you. But you made an effort, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to clear your mind.

“Dave!” You laughed, shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a better position for your legs. “We’re past that phase, you know I need to go home.”

You wondered if he could hear the frenzy of your heart pounding against your ribcage. His face was absurdly close to yours. The heat radiated from his body, and his eyes—oh, God, he was looking at you now, so intensely it felt like he could see even the thoughts you hid.

“You can’t stay still, can you?” Dave murmured, his voice a mix of drowsy and husky, with a hint of humor, although his eyes carried something more—something that made the air in the room feel heavier.

You tried to laugh to break the tension, but the sound died before it could escape. He didn’t move, not even blinking, as if he were memorizing every detail of you in that moment: eyes slightly wide, the lower lip caught between your teeth, the blush coloring your cheeks treacherously.

“Dave…” Your voice came out low, almost a plea. You didn’t know exactly what you were asking for, but you needed to say something to fill the silence that only seemed to make the space between you grow.

“I just…” He quickly looked away, but his eyes returned to you almost instantly, this time focusing on your lips. The movement was so subtle you barely noticed, but your stomach flipped with the realization. He blinked, as if he had just noticed what he was doing, and the tips of his ears turned as red as the reflection of the digital clock. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to... crush you.” He tried to laugh, but the sound also seemed muffled.

“It’s okay.” You managed to say, even with your uneven breathing and a million things running through your mind. But when he tried to move to get off you, your fingers—almost instinctively—grabbed the fabric of his shirt. “Wait.”

The request was spontaneous, as unexpected for you as it was for him. Dave stopped immediately, his eyes searching yours, confused and hesitant. “Wait?” He repeated, the word carrying a mix of hope and doubt.

Silence settled between you again, but this time it seemed to carry something tangible, almost electric. Your eyes fell, against your will, to his lips—and it was then you realized he was doing the same. The small smile he tried to hide with a nervous sigh only intensified the butterflies in your stomach.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he suddenly muttered, so low you almost thought you imagined it. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately started to stutter. “I mean, not crazy-crazy, but... oh, damn, I never know what to say around you, and—”

“Dave.” Your voice, firm and soft, cut through his confusion. Your eyes met again, and this time, no one looked away. You felt something warm, burning slowly in your chest, as the intensity between you became almost unbearable.

He swallowed hard, the dark curls falling slightly over his forehead and his blue eyes shining with something that seemed to be a mix of doubt and courage. He looked like he was about to say something but hesitated, his gaze lost as if searching for the right words in the air between you.

“I…” He started, his voice hoarse and low, and stopped, furrowing his brow as if in an internal battle. You didn’t say anything, feeling the tension catch your breath. The weight of him on you, though light, brought an odd sense of comfort, as if the universe had decided that this was the only place you should be.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he finally confessed, his voice coming out in a whisper so full of emotion that you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes wandered over your face, lingering on the curve of your lips before returning to your eyes. “Being this close to you and, at the same time, so far... it hurts.”

Your heart raced. You wanted to respond, but the intensity in his eyes made the words stick in your throat. He took a deep breath, as if he needed all the courage in the world to continue.

“I don’t just want to hold your hand.” His voice broke, almost cracking, but he kept his eyes on yours. “I want you. All of you. Every part. Not as a friend, not as someone who smiles at me and pretends not to see how trapped I am by you. I can’t do this anymore.”

You felt your heart speed up even more, and a sudden wave of courage bubbled within you. The pain and passion in his eyes reflected your own feelings so perfectly that, for the first time, you didn’t want to hide anything.

“Dave,” you started, your voice a little hesitant, but soon found its strength. “I can’t take it anymore either... pretending that everything is fine, that I can just be your friend when all I want is...” Your voice faltered, but you found his eyes again, gaining strength as you saw hope rising in them. “All I want is you.”

His lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, it seemed like he was lost. Then, before you could say anything else, he took action. In one instant, you were finishing your confession, and in the next, his lips were on yours.

The impact of the kiss sent a shiver up your spine, as if every fiber of your being had awakened at once. His lips were even softer than you had imagined, a softness almost contradictory to the urgency with which he kissed you. His taste—warm, with a touch of sweetness mixed with pure desire—filled your palate, overwhelming your senses until you lost all sense of where you ended and he began.

Your breaths mingled, warm and ragged, as if you were both fighting for air but unable to pull away. His hands found your waist, fingers tightening with enough pressure to set your skin on fire, and you felt the weight of his body pressing even more firmly against yours. The pressure was delicious, every movement making your mind spin.

You couldn’t help it; your fingers moved on their own, finding the dark curls you had always loved. They were as soft as they seemed, and you wound them between your fingers, tugging them gently. The sigh he released against your mouth was like a spark in a fire, igniting something even more intense between you.

He deepened the kiss, and you gave yourself over completely, feeling every curve of his lips, the subtle but undeniable strength of his hands holding you tight. One of his hands slid down your waist until it found the curve of your hip, fingers pressing the soft flesh with a care that was both possessive and gentle. You felt his heat against your skin like a wave, and the weight of him against you was a physical reminder that he was there, all his, with you.

It was feverish, desperate, and absolutely perfect. Your hands, which had been shy before, now explored with more confidence. Your fingers traced invisible lines on his neck, while your other hand slid down his shoulder. Each touch seemed to draw a new sigh from him, and you loved the sound, loved knowing that you could make him feel that way.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, faces so close that your breaths still mingled. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race, eyes shining as if he were seeing something sacred.

“You... have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he whispered, his voice rough, heavy with emotion. His lips were red and slightly swollen, and the sight made you lose yourself for a moment before responding, with a shy smile.

“I think I do,” you whispered, running your fingers lightly through his messy curls. And, as he smiled, still panting, you knew, without a doubt, that you could never live without this again.

He didn’t say anything. He just leaned in again, without hesitation, without asking for permission. The kiss that followed was not gentle or restrained; it was fierce, almost to the point of pain, filled with an urgency that made your heart pound. He kissed you as if he were a starving man, as if the moments you had just shared were not enough, as if he wanted to consume you completely.

You loved it. The impact made you lose it completely, your thoughts disintegrating as his weight pinned you to the bed, feeling his chest crush your breasts. The intensity was overwhelming, and every movement of his lips against yours made you feel like you were on the verge of falling apart. It was almost unbelievable—to be here, in his bed, where you had spent so many afternoons playing, laughing, and discussing your favorite movies and comics. That familiar space, which had once felt safe and innocent, was now imbued with something entirely new, something devastating.

Your hands, trembling and bold, began to explore. Your fingers moved up the curve of his back, feeling every muscle contract under your touch. It was dizzying, discovering how he reacted, feeling the heat of his skin under his thin shirt, realizing that he was as vulnerable as you were at that moment.

His hands, in turn, slid down the side of your body, firm and full of purpose, until they found your leg, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. When he pulled it, positioning it around his waist, you felt a shiver run through your entire body. The surprise almost made you gasp, but the gesture did not scare you — on the contrary, it awakened something even more intense inside. He held you like you were precious, but the way his fingers squeezed your thigh said something else: that he wanted you in every way possible.

When your breath finally betrayed you, he broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away. His hot breath fanned your skin, and before you could say anything, his lips were on your jaw, trailing a slow, scorching path of wet kisses down your neck. His touch sent waves of heat through your body, and you writhed slightly beneath him, unable to contain yourself, liquid heat pooling between your legs.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and full of emotion. Each word came between one kiss and another, his lips exploring with an almost adorable reverence. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I wanted you.”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest, a mix of emotions that seemed about to overflow. He stopped for a moment, just to look at you. His gaze was filled with something raw, sincere, and made you want to never leave the damn bed again.

“I love being the reason for your sighs,” he said softly, his fingers tracing a soft pattern on your skin, where he had mistreated it before. “I love seeing you like this… and knowing that, for the first time, I can say that you are mine.”

His words were like an echo of your own thoughts, and you could hardly believe that this was happening. There, in that moment, it was as if all the lost time had finally been recovered, as if every unconfessed desire had found its answer.

“Dave…” His name escaped your lips like a sigh, full of desire and emotion, before you pulled him back to you. The kiss that followed was just as devastating as the previous ones, but this time you were the one leading, the one setting the pace. Your fingers slid into his messy curls, holding them firmly as your lips met in a feverish, passionate clash. You heard a hoarse sound, almost a moan, escape him as his fingers tugged at your hair, which only served to further ignite the fire that burned inside you.

For a moment, you pulled away just enough to watch him. The blush on his cheeks spread across his face, his lips were red and swollen from so many kisses, shining under the soft light of the room. His hair, always a little messy, now seemed completely untamed, and you couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought that this was all your fault. He was beautiful, and the sight of him like that—vulnerable, surrendered, and yet filled with an almost raw intensity—made something inside you shiver.

You wrapped your other leg around him, holding him tighter against you, as if the world might suddenly intervene and tear you apart. The movement caused his weight to shift, pressing him even tighter against you, and it sent a rush of liquid heat through your body. A noise rasped in his throat at your movement, his body tensing as he pressed against the softness of your body. It felt like instead of blood, fire was coursing through your veins, every fiber of your being ablaze at the closeness, at the way he touched you, the way his lips sought yours as if they were the only thing that mattered.

His hands were no longer hesitant. One held tightly to your waist, while the other slowly moved up your sides, as if he wanted to map every inch of you. There was strength in his touch, as if he wanted to mark you somehow, as if he wanted you to feel that moment on your skin even after it had passed. When he leaned down to your collarbone and began to place small bites on your neck, your breath caught. Each bite felt carefully placed, not just as a show of desire, but as a silent promise that he was there, that he wanted you completely.

You arched your body against his, unable to control the reactions he was eliciting. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him even closer, desperate for any friction. The space between you was nonexistent, but it still felt like it would never be enough. Every touch, every kiss, every sigh that escaped you was filled with an overflowing urgency, as if years of pent-up feelings had finally found their way to the surface.

“You’re a dream,” he murmured, his lips moving against your skin, his voice so low and husky that you could barely hear him. The confession made something inside you melt, even as your hands explored his back, every muscle that moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

He looked at you again, his eyes bright and full of an emotion you could barely name, and you knew he felt exactly the same as you: that this moment, so charged with intensity, was something neither of you wanted to end.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again, and this time there was a desperate urgency in his movements, as if he needed your lips to breathe. The way he pressed you against the bed, with the weight of his body and the strength of the kiss, made your heart race and your thoughts disintegrate, leaving only the feeling of having him so close.

His hand, previously hesitant, slowly descended to the hem of the shirt you were wearing. He paused for a moment, as if asking for silent permission, but the look you gave him, full of surrender and desire, was all he needed. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, finding the soft skin of your waist, and the touch was like an electric shock that ran through your body. You shivered against him, unable to contain your reaction, and he smiled against your lips, as if he loved the effect he had on you.

His weight was crushing and yet comforting. You could barely move beneath him, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, you didn’t want to move; you just wanted to feel, to absorb everything he was offering. It was a weakness unlike any you’d ever felt, a numbness that wasn’t numbness but complete surrender. He was all that filled your mind, every thought, every beat of your heart.

His other hand moved down to your hip, gripping it tightly enough to make you gasp. You could tell he was trying to hold something back, to keep you from moving against the bulge in his pants. But you couldn’t feel him pressed against your core—the way he held you, the way his fingers gripped your flesh with a kind of almost feral need, said it all. That realization made your pussy clench around nothing, starving for any attention.

You couldn’t help it; your hands started moving again, exploring his arms, moving up his chest, trying to memorize every contour as your own desires grew in intensity. He seemed intoxicated, his kisses growing deeper and more desperate, as if he wanted to mark you with each one. And when his lips finally pulled away from yours to come up for air, it was only for a moment, before they went back down to find any patch of sensitive skin.

The soft bites he placed on your skin were like spreading flames, each one more intense than the last. You felt his lips form words against your skin, a low, husky whisper that made you shiver. “You’re mine… you’ve always been mine.”

The sound of those words, along with his overwhelming weight and presence, made you feel like you were going to lose your breath completely. Everything around you seemed to disappear except for him—Dave, who was no longer trying to hold back, who wanted you as desperately as you wanted him. And you knew there was no going back; not after this.

With his eyes fixed on yours, Dave let his fingers work at the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up, as if he wanted to savor every second. When the fabric was finally ripped away, he stopped, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart race. The silence that followed seemed to vibrate with something unspoken as he simply admired you, watching your chest rise and fall with each ragged breath, the shape of your breasts covered by a thin bra that left little to the imagination. His mouth felt dry.

You felt the heat of his gaze travel over your exposed skin, and embarrassment began to creep in, but then he broke the silence, his voice low and husky. “You’re beautiful… so beautiful.” His words were filled with a caress that made you feel completely disarmed, and you realized that you had nothing to be ashamed of. The desire in his eyes was so evident, so overwhelming, that it made your own fears evaporate.

His fingers lightly touched the edge of your bra, tracing a soft, almost reverent path. The touch seemed to set your skin on fire, and the heat that ran through your veins was almost too much to bear. You arched your body involuntarily, moving towards him, a low moan escaping your lips without permission as you felt him press his cock harder against you.

His hands returned to exploring your body with increasing urgency, pulling your bra down instead of removing it from your body. His fingers kneaded your breasts, seeking the pressure that made you purr like a kitten. When he buried his face in your chest, he wasted no time in mouthing the sensitive flesh, sucking on the hard tip until you whimpered. He seemed to want to devour you, and the frenzy that this aroused in you made your pussy respond, staining your panties with more of your arousal. Your own fingers roamed his torso, exploring every line, every muscle that contracted under his touch.

He paused for a moment, staring at you with a silent question in his eyes, his mouth redder than ever. A look that said it all—he wanted to make sure you were okay, that this was what you wanted. His response was instinctive, almost automatic. You writhed beneath him, your hands gripping his shoulders, your voice shaky and urgent. “Dave… I want you. Please.”

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you again, this time harder, more eager, as if he wanted to take you in completely. His lips left yours only so he could move down to your neck again, exploring every inch with hot kisses and soft bites that made you tremble. Only then did he grind his hips against yours, groaning against your skin as he established a rhythm. The seam of your pants brushed against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

You felt his fingers tighten around your waist, as if he wanted to mark you right then and there. Your body responded automatically, moving against his, every nerve ending burning with urgent need. Your hands moved lower, finding the waistband of his pants, hesitating only for a moment before undoing the button, your fingers trembling as you unzipped him. He shivered when you touched him, feeling his cock twitch against your fingers. Dave groaned your name as you circled the pre-cum-covered tip. Your own body reacted to it, imagining what it would be like to have him stretching you from the inside, slamming against your cervix. Your toes curled at the thought.

“Dave?” Mr. Lizewski’s voice came from the other end, casual but loud enough to make your heart race for an entirely different reason. Your fingers stilled instantly, terrified at the thought of being caught in this situation. “Is everything okay in there?”

Dave reacted instantly, his body tensing as he hurried to cover yours with his, his arms wrapped around you like a shield. “Yes, Dad! It’s okay, it’s okay!” he replied, his voice louder and more hurried than usual.

You held your breath as Dave looked at the door, a blush staining his face. His eyes met yours briefly, shame and embarrassment reflected in his features, before he called out again, “It’s okay in here!”

The silence that followed was brief, but it felt endless, until Mr. Lizewski spoke again, and this time there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Is your friend in the room with you, Dave?”

Dave froze, his eyes meeting yours once more. His gaze was intense, as if he were weighing what to say, and it made your heart race again, but not from nervousness—this time it was from something deeper. The intensity of that moment, the way he was looking at you, almost took away what little breath you had left. His hand that remained on your hip left a reassuring caress.

Finally, he answered, casually, “Yes, Dad, my girlfriend is here.” Your mouth fell open in surprise at his words, your heart beating painfully fast. Girlfriend. Girlfriend! Dave gave you a crooked smile, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to contradict him. You didn’t. He pressed his face against yours, his lips gently pressed against your jaw.

Mr. Lizewski chuckled from the other side of the door, which made you bury your face in your hands in sheer embarrassment. “Well, her aunt called to ask her to come home. Apparently she needs help with the roast or something.”

You tried not to groan in embarrassment as you answered, your voice sounding thinner than you would have liked. “Oh, thanks, Mr. Lizewski. I’ll be right there.”

The sound of his father’s footsteps walking away was followed by a tense silence that was broken when they both started laughing at the same time, unable to contain the mix of relief and embarrassment they felt.

Dave lowered his head and kissed you again, this time gently, his lips sealing a silent promise. “We’ll keep this up,” he murmured, his voice low and husky against yours.

He picked up your shirt from the floor and helped you put it on, your hands still a little shaky as you tried to fix your messy hair and disheveled clothes. “There,” he said with an embarrassed smile, looking at the damage he had done to your skin. It would take days for the marks to fade. “I think everything is fine… or almost.”

Later, when he drove you home, the nervousness returned, but this time it was mixed with something else—a certainty. At the door, as you prepared to enter, Dave stopped, his eyes fixed on yours once more.

Unlike all the times before, he leaned in and kissed you, a brief, sweet touch that made your heart melt. "Good night, girlfriend," he whispered, with that shy but meaningful smile.

[thewandererh]

what if why we didn’t see the doctor’s primary black-cloaked vessel ingame is because it’s his last resort? what if it’s where his heart is stored? or even where all the last copies of all his vital organs are kept safe?

an active consciousness can still stem from a backup of his brain, which his primary vessel holds. so, after his physical brain goes belly up (literally😭) the network of transmitting consciousness to each of his bots is still active. just transferred to a weaker method.

following the “murder” of dr harley sawyer in chapter 4, perhaps he scrambles back to this old vessel whereever it is. maybe it’s been neglected, a plan B dangerously collecting dust, or it’s sitting pristine in a sterile room on life support. nevertheless, harley finds himself in it after croaking his “last words” mid-transfer, and struggles to breathe. he forgot about this vessel. he’d cast it aside because it held the scars of his initial transfer into machine and the containment that followed. it was his first body. and it was so weak. but now it is his last chance.

however, he’s not properly adjusted to the whole having organs thing, and this vessel needs to be properly taken care of. so with bated breath and the struggle of calming his mind, he summons one of his metal corpses from his brain’s tomb. it takes a few agonizing minutes as it arrives to wherever he is, but eventually it’s close enough that he can actively switch bodies with it. consciousness transferral relies on proximity (this is why we only see the bots around his brain ingame).

revived and disoriented, the doctor must now look after himself. the fact of being reduced to this husk eats away at every atom of his being, but he’s simply too weak. he failed. he failed and he’ll be killed for it. but he’s not afraid.

when the splitting headaches cease and he gets used to being alive he can kill something again.

soon, but not yet.

4/19/25 edit : THIS AU NOW HAS A SIDEBLOG! https://www.tumblr.com/screws-of-sawyer headcanons, fics, art!!

…

…

info ramble & sillies under cut!

au idea, ayo?? early titles are ‘mechanized-mind’ or ‘inside-the-mind-of-harley’ or even ‘dry-bones’ but i’m still brainstorming X]. i love putting my characters through emotional agony <33 but this time it’s an au of an existing character i have to analyze to get right so that’ll be fun. now for the drawing, i really like both medical concepts and making stuff up so maybe only some of the function would actually work, but i do not care. the idea was that harley’s primary vessel had a more meshy, detachable plate in his chest to give room for his heart and probably-disproportionately-sized lungs. here that plate is removed in order to help his heart beat. tons of other tubes are wired into his ventilation vents to keep him running to. my running idea for why the sarley hawyer (clone bot, aka secondary vessel) here doesn’t have a cloak is because maybe he had to take it off due to contamination. or it got snagged on the way here. but honestly i didn’t want to cover up the cool anatomy of my neat design i’ve been playing with, so he is naked once again 😔

this was the big flipaclip harley piece i mentioned in this post while trying to animate something. this idea arose instead, and slowly came to fruition as i found an elaborate way to color while listening to some lethal company and ppt 3 & 4 vids. pen pressure is really new to me and i’m on my knees thanking it for this neat coloring texture and technique i will probably never use again 🛐😌🫶 thank you apple pencil ilysm

anyways, here’s some funny wip shots, and general doctor sillies i found today!! ^_^ it’s been another doctor day

once again, astralspiff is a very cool guy guys 🗣️🔥🔥

but alas. adios amigos 😵‍💫🫡 goedenacht!

[chvoswxtch]

Romcom - with Hotch ? 👀🫶🏼

Girl i’ve been waiting for the right time for you to hopefully take this and do your thing with it cuz you’re amazing. I know it’s specific and long so pls feel free to do with it what you like. Also I’m not sure it fits your movie night theme, so then maybe just keep it for when you maybe do wanna write it???? Here it is, whatever….

K so like hotch and reader are like couple goals, been married long, working through everything and are just downright adorable BUT THEN hotch nearly dies…like for real gets shot in the stomach or something - something real scary. And aaaaall the time he’s mumbleling stuff, reassuringly or scared like: you cant tell my wife she’ll end me or tell her I’m fine, gonna be home for dinner…

But maybe she’s there and she’s trying her hardest to make everybody move, but Morgan is just not having it, making her stay tf back…

When she finally sees him she’s s c a r e d…so terrified of might having actually lost him, of it happening again cuz he will be in these situations again and who is she if not supportive and understanding…just scared and hopelessly in love. bye.

honey you essentially just wrote a whole ass masterpiece on your own

but you asked for my dramatic flair & I am nothing if not a dramatic bitch that lives for the ✨ t h e a t r e ✨

headcannon below the cut

if i stay starring aaron hotchner

derek knew you would physically fist fight him in the middle of that hospital hallway if he even dared to try and keep you out of hotch's room. he kept trying to reason with you, that you wouldn't wanna see him in that state, but you were not in a state of mind to be reasoned with

when you got the call from rossi that your husband was in the hospital, that familiar stone of dread sank in your stomach, nearly sending you through the floor. he didn't say what had happened, not over the phone, but you could hear the fear in his voice, which terrified you

the solemn faces of his team didn't help ease your anxiety, and the grisly details sent your nervous system into a full on meltdown. you could only pick up bits and pieces of what the surgeon explained

gunshot. loss of blood. critical condition. touch and go.

being in the bau was a dangerous job, and hotch had gotten hurt a few times over the course of your marriage, but it had never been this bad

nothing could've prepared you for the sight of hotch bruised and bloodied, laying in a hospital bed, connected to a bunch of wires that were keeping him alive, with an oxygen tube in his nose to help his weakened lungs do the most basic of human subconscious functions

panic, fear, anger, hopelessness, desperation, sadness; all of these emotions were crashing over each other like perilous tides and you were drowning beneath their tenacity

hotch was the strongest person you knew, physically and mentally. he was your rock. to see him reduced to something so fragile and broken shattered something within you. it wasn't like you were foolish enough to think your husband was invincible, but he was smart and cautious, he knew what he was doing. but today reminded you just how human he was

all you could do was sit there by his side and hold his hand while you fluctuated from silent weeping to full fledged sobbing. it didn't feel like enough, but it was all you could do. you couldn't help but replay this morning over and over in your head, analyzing every frame. had you told him you loved him? had you kissed him before he left? had you savored the few seconds before he walked out the door, not knowing that he might not walk back through it?

"don't tell my wife."

you'd been sitting there for what felt like an eternity in silence with nothing but the haunting background noise of beeping machines and chatter in the hallway. it was so faint, you almost didn't hear it. hotch still looked like he was sleeping, and you weren't sure if you'd imagined it or not

"what?"

you leaned in a little closer, and when he let out a deep exhale, the first sign of life you'd seen since you stepped into this room, you almost burst into tears

"don't tell my wife."

his speech was slightly slurred as he mumbled, and you weren't sure if it was due to the blood loss or the anesthesia that was wearing off from surgery

"why not?"

he was so out of it he didn't even seem to recognize your voice

"because she'll kick my ass."

you couldn't stop the laugh that escaped your lips at that, covering your mouth with your hand while the most imperceptible of a smile tugged at the edge of his lips

"I promised i'd be home for dinner."

giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you sniffled and wiped at your damp cheeks with a sad smile

"i'm sure she'll understand if you're a little late."

a sound that was a cross between a snort and a scoff left hotch as one of his thick dark brows subtly arched

"you haven't met my wife."

brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, you reached out with your other to gently push his hair back

"maybe this is a cosmic sign it's time for a vacation."

in the midst of gently carding your fingers through his hair, the next words that left his lips caught you off guard and made you go still

"maybe it's time to retire."

a full minute of silence passed, and then slowly, hotch's eyes opened, and as if drawn by some invisible magnetic force, the immediately found you

the pressure of him squeezing your hand, a silent gesture of not just reassurance, but also his strength returning, had tears welling up in your eyes all over again

hotch slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes wandering over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail, and then a gentle but weak smile graced his mouth

"I won't be late for dinner ever again, honey."

I made myself emotional and now i'm gonna go cry excuse me

[bangchansgirlsblog]

another random idea.. Fem 9th member maknae reader who secretly smokes and gets caught by one of the boys who later snitches and tells chan. Reader and Chan fall out and she storms out of the dorms and ends up staying in her apartment instead to let off some steam. She realised how bad the smoking was for her health and how much it impacted her social life so she first to JYP and they send her to rehab + puts her on hiatus for two months because of rehab. Chan thinks it’s his fault for the hiatus as none of the members were told that she was going to rehab. They later find out and when Reader returns back from rehab/hiatus they all tell her how proud they are of her?

(sorry for the LONGGGG paragraph, i didn’t intend for it to be this long🧍‍♀️)

My biggest problem.

Okay maybe I got carried away a little and changed it a little but yeah forgive me 😜

Enjoy

-🩷

**

Y/n started smoking when she was 15.

She didn't know that she was eventually going to be a trainee the year after.

It was never part of her plan but when they scouted her when she was at the mall with her mum, it was a new chapter in her story and her mum begged for her to try it out. As her training days began and she tried to quit she found that she couldn’t go a day without smoking.

She was already addicted to it.

Her habit became stronger and stronger as the days got harder.

6 hours dance practice, 4 hours vocal and 2 hours media training. She found her self sneaking out for smokes during short breaks or before leaving the dorms for any type of schedule.

It sucked that she couldn't get out of it and it was affecting her.

At this point she didn’t even want to stop because if she did her body would fail.

**

1:45 pm, New York City.

"Alright people let's get started shall we?" The instructor walked onto the stage and stood at the edge waiting for everyone to get in place.

Y/n put her water bottle down and walked over to the group to get into her place so they could start practicing for the show that would happen the next day.

"Y/n and I.N I want more energy from the both of you please," Chan told the two maknae's. He was stood in the back analyzing everything to make sure it was on point.

The two nodded and stood ready to start. The sound of Charmer filled the whole stadium and their bodies started to move with the music. Their vocals being on point and their dancing being better than the last.

"What do you think?" The manager asked Chan. He was now stood down off stage looking at a different point of you. The rest of the band gasping for air.

"It was okay, I liked it but the lighting crew need to do better because I can barely see Felix in the back." He pointed and waved as he spoke. Trying to show the manager what he was imagining.

Y/n saw this as an opportunity to slip away for a bit for a short smoke break. She needed it. Her hands were shaking and her body couldn't really function due to the fuck she was going through withdrawals.

"Chan, may I use the washroom?" Her voice was timid but Chan was used to it and was able to hear her over his earpeaces.

"Yeah you can, five minutes yeah?" He replied. "Do you need one of the boys to come with you-"

"No no no it's fine," she replied fast, way to fast for Chan's liking.

"Okay," he squinted his eyes in suspicion but let it go.

She grabbed her bag and made her way through the different hallway. Making sure no one was in sight, she slipped through the backdoor to the back way alley.

It was quiet. No one was there and she was glad. She let go of the sign that lingered in her chest and pulled out the pack of cigs that laid neatly in her small pouch.

Her hands shook as she grabbed one cigarette and put it between her lips where she lit it and took a big puff.

Her body relaxed as the smoke filled her lungs. Her brain that was going hellfire was now calm and relaxed as well.

She thought she was safe when she reached for the second one. None of the boys had called her phone and it had been about 5 minutes.

"Just one more," she thought to herself.

"Y/n?" a voice called right by her ear causing her to jump and drop the pack of cigs.

"What are you doing?" She turned to look at Hyunjin who was visibly angry.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were sealed tightly together.

"Hyunjin what are you doing here?" She asked as she got on her knees trying to collect the cigarettes that were now scattered all over.

"What do you mean what are you doing here? What are YOU doing here Y/n? And why are you smoking? Have you gone mad? Does Chan know about this?" He questioned standing there in shock.

"No,no Chan doesn't know about this and you're not telling him," Y/n hushed him trying to stop him from shouting and yelling.

"I think you've actually gone insane! Ofcourse I'm telling Chan,” he grabbed the cigarettes from Y/n's hand and threw them back to the ground where he stomped all over them.

"Inside. Now." He said through gritted teeth. Y/n was scared, it was visible. She grabbed her back and slowly made her way inside the venue. Her lips quivered.

"Hyunjin please don't tell Chan, please I'll do anything," she begged.

"I have to Y/n. I'm so disappointed in you. We trusted you and you do this?" His eyes couldn't meet hers. His body was tense as they walked backstage to the rooms in the back. The hallways gettin busier each second. The employees questioning why she was crying.

"Are you okay-"

"Yes she is please go along with your work," Hyunjin snapped at one of the ladies. Y/n looked up at him frightened because he was always nice to people, he never once raised his voice at an employee.

When they arrived in the room. The boys were sat on the couches or having lunch. Chan was texting on his phone when he looked up.

"Y/n? Why did you bathroom break take so long?" He laughed and looked at Hyunjin who wasn't smiling.

"I caught her smoking Chan, she reeks of cigarettes" her head fell and she looked at her new trainers that one of the companies had sent her for promotion. It looked so intriguing all of a sudden.

"You caught her what? Hyunjin your joking," Chan laughed, "please tell me your joking," he paused and looked at the serious Hyunjin.

"Tell him, tell him now." He slightly pushed her in front of him so they could be face to face.

"I-I can explain Chan,"

"No way Y/n please tell me you're joking," his voice became harsh. The boys all turned to Y/n. They were all shocked at this because she was the last person to ever do such a thing.

"What the fuck?" Changbin's voice sounded. "You've been smoking?"

"Only a little," her voice was small. Timid almost.

"Don't lie, please don't fucking lie right now Y/n." Chan says walking closer to the younger.

"Sit down, now." Leeknow says standing up and dropping his chopsticks.

"Your only 19, I get your all 'grown' BUT your still so young. You're an idol. An idol!" Chan's hand smashes against the table making her jump in her sit.

"Okay then if you think I'm an adult I should be able to smoke or drink or-"

"Are you out of your mind momo?" He snapped back at her, "Do you know what it does to you?"

"But Chan-"

"Quit Or I'll make you quit," was all Chan said before he stormed out the room leaving her with the boys who looked very disappointed.

"I get it, you don't have to look at me like I'm some monster," she wiped her tears with her sleeve to clean the tears that run down her cheeks.

"I just don't have words for you right now, your irresponsible, selfish and careless," Leeknow's words were harsh. So harsh that even Hyunjin cringed and felt bad.

"Then kick me out the band if it's such a big deal," was all she said before she got up and run out the room down the hallway past Chan who was standing by the doors while a manger tried to calm him down and out the stadium. It was cold and she had left all her stuff inside so she was forced to run down the busy streets of New York, freezing.

Chan following after her trying to figure out what was going on.

Her body was shaking from all the tears she cried.

But she continued to run.

She was able to disappear from Chan’s sight. Now Chan was really angry and worried. He'd lost his youngest in the busy streets of New York. She was new to the city and she was an idol. Anything could go wrong. Anything could go extremely wrong.

His heart was beating out of his chest. He grabbed his phone out of his picked rushing to call his manager then leeknow and the boys.

He found himself back in the changing rooms surrounded by everyone. Trying to calm him down.

"I'll go back to the hotel just in case she's back there," Felix assured Chan while he packed up his stuff.

"I'll come with you Lix," Hyunjin grabbed his bag aswell making sure to grab her stuff from the ground. He opened to make sure all her stuff was inside but the site wasn't pretty at all.

Underneath everything he saw 4 more packs of cigarettes causing him to gasp horrendously.

"What? What is it?" Bangchan's neck snapped to his direction. Hyunjin had no words so he just passed the bag to Chan who was now terrified.

"Is she addicted?" Was all he asked before handing the bag to leeknow who was curious aswell.

Chan's hands run through his hair as he was thinking of all the possible ways he could find her in the whole of New York City. He felt guilt. He felt like if he had maybe approached this in a nicer way they could have worked through it but now his anger was just blinding him.

"Okay, police were informed and we're about to go driving around to see if we can somehow spot her," their manager tells them (he was also panicking low key but he didn’t want them knowing) , "do you guys want to join?"

"I'll come with you," Leeknow says quickly.

His hands were shaking and he felt so much guilt aswell. If anything happened to Y/n it would be all his fault and he wouldn't forgive himself.

"Same Hyung," Han jumps in.

They all grabbed their bags and the three (Han, Leeknow and Chan) quickly rushed out right behind their manager.

The rest of the boys cleaned up and quickly left to go to the hotel hoping to find her there safe and sound.

It took 5 hours. 5 hours before Felix had decided to go to the cafe by the hotel to grab drinks for everyone and he had found her sat in a coffee shop, she was shivering and cold but Felix didn’t care because he was angry and Felix was never angry. Without hesitation, Felix dragged her out and back to the hotel even if she was kicking and screaming. He didn’t care. At all. He ignored her pleas and cries.

The lecture she got from Chan and all of them was hot and mean and ruthless but at the end of the day they gave her a choice to either quit or go to rehab but she chose to quit. She “promised” them.

After an hour of grilling her for answers she finally had admitted to everything that was going on and how she felt and how she was battling her own self.

Chan was beating himself up for not noticing and Leeknow was beating himself up for not being there for her.

She was so vulnerable. They all knew her secrets and her problems. She felt like a show everyone was just watching and waiting to break.

**

6:20, Japan

The first time the boys had noticed her odd behavior was starting up again, was when they had a sign meet and a concert right after. She hadn’t been able to go for a smoke in hours, her body was now trembling and she was sweating a lot. She could barely get through anything and nausea started to grow string in the pit of her stomach.

“Hey, you okay? You kinda look pale love,” Han was sat next to her getting his makeup done and so was she. He had notice she was fidgeting a lot in the chair. Her eyes were red too.

“Yeah just really tired,” she lied and gulped down thick saliva trying to get rid of the nausea but it completely failed.

“I think I’m going to be sick-“ she got up from the chair and run through the corridors to find the bathroom and once she did she through up, but it was good it was just mucus. Her head was thumping and her throat ached.

A hurried knock made her stand up and flush before she opened the door and collapsed in Han’s hands. He was worried for his younger and now he had to curry her to the rooms.

“Hey, stay with me okay? Don’t close your eyes,” he softly said while he blew air into her face to keep her cool.

When he had walked in and found leeknow sat on their changing room couch he let out a sigh of relief.

“Leeknow help me please! It’s Y/n,” he said panicked. Without hesitation leeknow stood up quickly and took her from Hans hands and put her on the couch to lay down.

Han had run down the corridor to get medics as leeknow woke her up from her faint state.

“Momo? Can you hear me? It’s leeknow,” a soft groan left her lips.

“Would you like some water?” She nodded her head and leeknow was on it. He got on one knee and started to feed her small sips of water.

“Tell me what hurts,” he softly said and played with her hair to calm her down.

“Everything,” she softly said and it aches Leeknow’s hurt.

Y/n knew the only way for her to get out of this state was to smoke but how?

“Leeknow, I- I need to use the bathroom,” she groaned and held her hand against her head.

“If you need to puke i’ll get you a bucket love,” he assured her. He didn’t want her waking and being left alone right now. He wouldn’t allow it.

“I need to pee,”

“Okay can you wait until the medics are here?” And right on cue the door opens and a frantic Han walks into the room with a few people behind him. Then Chan and Hyunjin walked in right behind.

“What happened Y/n?” Chan asked straight away and knelt beside her while he rubbed her hands.

“I don’t know Oppa, I was just not feeling the best,”

“You should have told me my love,” he softly said as he watched the medical team examine her.

“I thought it wasn’t this bad,”

“Now you see what it has done,” Hyunjin joint the conversation. “Look how tired you look, have you eaten anything all day?” He asked her.

“I had the lunch Changbin braught me,”

“So if we called Changbin right now he would agree?” Hyunjin furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Disappointed.

“No-“

“How bad is it?” Chan asked the man in uniform.

“Not bad, she’s just really dehydrated. We’ll fix an IV on her arm and she’ll be good to go, also may I speak to you outside in the corridor,” Leeknow looks at Chan worried and they exchanged the same expression before Chan head out with the guy.

“I need to pee really bad,” Y/n whines and complains.

“Okay you can go, I’ll come with you,” the lady medic says and slowly guides her to the bathroom. Y/n grabs her lighter and cig and started to smoke it. The feelings make her body slowly awaken and then gain energy. She smoked one more just incase and then washed her hands and made her way back to the last medic.

She was able to walk on her own but just to make it not look suspicious she held onto her and then finally she sat on the couch and got the iv in her arm.

Chan was back in the room and he was examining her. Trying to look for something and once it caught his eye he looked over at the rest of the boys nodding and they all just stare at eachother.

They knew. They knew she was smoking again and it hurt Chan for what was about to come was not going to be pretty.

**

10:55, south Korea

The paparazzi lights started to increase when She stood up in the podium. Her eyes were red and she had eyebags from the lack of sleep she was getting.

Her hands shook as she grabbed the microphone. The boys stood right behind her. Their head looking at the ground trying to avoid her shaking body.

"Goodmorning, my name is Y/n Y/l/n and I'm a member of strays kids. I didn't want this to happen. Trust me I didn't,"

She took a deep breath looking at the manager that were sat in the front raw. Judging her and giving her a disgusted look.

A sob Left her mouth and she put the microphone down. Trying to get herself together before she spoke again.

"To all the stays out there, I want to say I love you and I hope you guys can forgive me for this. I will be going on haitus for a while," the room is filled with gasps as the flashlights now increase even more.

"I pray that if I do come back I will be better and stronger for you guys and that I will make my group and team proud. Thank you for loving me and i hope to see you guys soon," she bowed before taking a step back and wiping her tears.

The boys all stood around her to hide her body from the camera. Han rubbing her back and whispering something in her ear.

She didn't care though, she was upset. She was so upset with herself but she still managed to blame the boys. Her reasoning? Because she felt like they were giving her up and sending her away.

**

"Alright, are you all packed?" Their manager stood outside her room.

"Yeah" she softly said rolling her bag out and handing it to the older man.

"Alright the boys are down stairs if you want to say bye, I'll be waiting in the car," he nodded and left her to close her room and head down the steps to her band mates.

They all looked upset, there was no lie there. There were all stood by the door giving her a sympathetic smile.

"I'm going to miss you," Chan steps up and pulls her into a hug. She didn't want it though. She shrugged it off and stood there looking at him with teary eyes.

"Chan please don't do this,"

"You know I want was best for you-"

"But Chan I'll change I promise just give me a chance,"

His eyes were soft and filled with tears. Guilt was eating him up. He so badly wanted not to send her away but he didn't have a choice.

"I'm sorry," the sound of a honk interrupts them and she knew it was time for her to go.

“I hate you,” she sobbed. That was the last thing she said to him and without looking back she left the dorms. Hoping that somehow she would make it out alive.

Breaking news, strays kids maknae Y/N Y/N/L and group manager in have been left in critical condition after a fatal car crash. Was it a set up?

**

I’m not doing a part two🙈

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

From August 2023

By Mary Van Beusekom, MS

The COVID-19 International Research Team (COV-IRT) and the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP) report that they have identified abnormal mitochondrial function in the heart, kidneys, and liver after SARS-CoV-2 infection, which leads to long-term damage and may help explain long COVID.

Mitochondria are the so-called "powerhouses" of cells, and the researchers noted that previous studies have shown that SARS-CoV-2 proteins can bind to mitochondrial proteins in host cells, possibly leading to dysregulation.

The team analyzed mitochondrial gene expression in tissues from COVID-19 patients' nose and throat, along with tissues from deceased patients and hamsters and mice. The results were published today in Science Translational Medicine.

"The tissue samples from human patients allowed us to look at how mitochondrial gene expression was affected at the onset and end of disease progression, while animal models allowed us to fill in the blanks and look at the progression of gene expression differences over time," first author Joseph Guarnieri, PhD, a postdoctoral research at CHOP, said in a hospital news release.

Research identifies potential therapeutic target In autopsy tissue, mitochondrial gene expression had recovered in the lungs, but not in the heart, kidneys, and liver. The rodent tissue and measurement of the time of peak viral load in the lungs showed that mitochondrial gene expression was suppressed in the cerebellum, even though SARS-CoV-2 wasn't found in the brain. The cerebellum coordinates and regulates muscle activity.

Other animal models showed signs of recovery of mitochondrial function in the lungs during the mid-phase of COVID-19 infection.

Co-senior author Douglas Wallace, PhD, of CHOP, said that the study offers strong evidence that COVID-19 is a systemic disease that affects multiple organs rather than strictly an upper respiratory illness. "The continued dysfunction we observed in organs other than the lungs suggests that mitochondrial dysfunction could be causing long-term damage to the internal organs of these patients," he said in the release.

The results also identified a potential therapeutic target, microRNA 2392, which was shown to regulate mitochondrial function in the human tissue samples, said co-senior author Afshin Beheshti, PhD, president of COV-IRT and a visiting researcher at the Broad Institute.

"This microRNA was upregulated in the blood of patients infected by SARS-CoV-2, which is not something we normally would expect to see," he said. "Neutralizing this microRNA might be able to impede the replication of the virus, providing an additional therapeutic option for patients who are at risk for more serious complications related to the disease."

The researchers said they will use these data to conduct future studies on how systemic immune and inflammatory responses may lead to more severe illness in some patients.

Study link: www.science.org/doi/10.1126/scitranslmed.abq1533

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

NASA's Glenn to test lunar air quality monitors aboard space station

As NASA prepares to return to the moon, studying astronaut health and safety is a top priority. Scientists monitor and analyze every part of the International Space Station crew's daily life—down to the air they breathe. These studies are helping NASA prepare for long-term human exploration of the moon and, eventually, Mars.

As part of this effort, NASA's Glenn Research Center in Cleveland is sending three air quality monitors to the space station to test them for potential future use on the moon. The monitors are slated to launch on Monday, April 21, aboard the 32nd SpaceX commercial resupply services mission for NASA.

Like our homes here on Earth, the space station gets dusty from skin flakes, clothing fibers, and personal care products like deodorant. Because the station operates in microgravity, particles do not have an opportunity to settle and instead remain floating in the air. Filters aboard the orbiting laboratory collect these particles to ensure the air remains safe and breathable.

Astronauts will face another air quality risk when they work and live on the moon—lunar dust.

"From Apollo, we know lunar dust can cause irritation when breathed into the lungs," said Claire Fortenberry, principal investigator, Exploration Aerosol Monitors project, NASA Glenn. "Earth has weather to naturally smooth dust particles down, but there is no atmosphere on the moon, so lunar dust particles are sharper and craggier than Earth dust. Lunar dust could potentially impact crew health and damage hardware."

Future space stations and lunar habitats will need monitors capable of measuring lunar dust to ensure air filtration systems are functioning properly. Fortenberry and her team selected commercially available monitors for flight and ground demonstration to evaluate their performance in a spacecraft environment, with the goal of providing a dust monitor for future exploration systems.

Glenn is sending three commercial monitors to the space station to test onboard air quality for seven months. All three monitors are small: no bigger than a shoe box. Each one measures a specific property that provides a snapshot of the air quality aboard the station. Researchers will analyze the monitors based on weight, functionality, and ability to accurately measure and identify small concentrations of particles in the air.

The research team will receive data from the space station every two weeks. While those monitors are orbiting Earth, Fortenberry will have three matching monitors at Glenn. Engineers will compare functionality and results from the monitors used in space to those on the ground to verify they are working as expected in microgravity. Additional ground testing will involve dust simulants and smoke.

Air quality monitors like the ones NASA is testing also have Earth-based applications. The monitors are used to investigate smoke plumes from wildfires, haze from urban pollution, indoor pollution from activities like cooking and cleaning, and how virus-containing droplets spread within an enclosed space.

Results from the investigation will help NASA evaluate which monitors could accompany astronauts to the moon and eventually Mars. NASA will allow the manufacturers to review results and ensure the monitors work as efficiently and effectively as possible. Testing aboard the space station could help companies investigate pollution problems here on Earth and pave the way for future missions to the Red Planet.

"Going to the moon gives us a chance to monitor for planetary dust and the lunar environment," Fortenberry said. "We can then apply what we learn from lunar exploration to predict how humans can safely explore Mars."

NASA commercial resupply missions to the International Space Station deliver scientific investigations in the areas of biology and biotechnology, Earth and space science, physical sciences, and technology development and demonstrations. Cargo resupply from U.S. companies ensures a national capability to deliver scientific research to the space station, significantly increasing NASA's ability to conduct new investigations aboard humanity's laboratory in space.

IMAGE: NASA researchers are sending three air quality monitors to the International Space Station to test them for potential future use on the moon. Credit: NASA/Sara Lowthian-Hanna

[wereh0gz]

Off work and I have, you guessed it, more roboticized sonic thoughts

So I like to think sonic's internal mechanisms closely mimic the actual organs of a mobian. Like the main cpu and stuff is where the brain would be, there's pumps and a whole cooling system that acts like a heart and lungs, etc

The robot was essentially built using the organic body as a base, so it functions very similarly, though some things serve a different purpose. That means sonic still has a sort of "heartbeat" (pumps that move cooling fluid through the body), he still "breathes" (pushing air in and out of the body through vents to maintain body temp), even though one would think he wouldn't as a robot

This is by design- it makes the conversion from organic to inorganic easier. Though eggman can adjust things however he pleases (he specifically made sure sonic wouldn't be able to speak, for example) and it won't affect the original body, as that is converted into raw data and stored both in the roboticizer and the nanomachines that make up the robot body. He uses that data to analyze the subject's strengths and weaknesses, see what makes them tick

Though, if someone else were to get access to that data, they may be able to reverse the process...

[mixiury]

Unspoken words — Wanderer x GN! Reader

Summary: Trying to finish your commission as fast as possible you get sick, walking to the place of the closest person you know.

A/N: Forever thankful with my friend who offered to proofread this for me <3. This was in my drafts since a long time ago and I decided to post it after getting Kabukimono cat plushie. Please enjoy!! ^^

Wanderer takes the wet towel from your forehead with his hands, submerging it into the basin of cold water next to his bed to then wring the excess water and placing it back in its original place.

He has been doing the same thing over and over for the last few hours, or maybe days? Your mind is too clouded by the fever to know how long you have been in this miserable situation, envying the people you hear through the window walking on the streets of Sumeru and going on with their day by day, ignorant of the suffering you are enduring.

His movements are monotonous but precise, almost delicate. It is as if he had done this multiple times in the past, something you wouldn't expect from someone like him. And maybe it's that silence and acceptance on his part that brings so much uneasiness to your thoughts, slowly consuming you until they simply become impossible to ignore.

"Come on, you can say it." The words fall weakly from your mouth, worsening the burning pain in your hoarse throat that feels like your vocal cords are being torn apart one by one. Still, you try your best to hide it from him, failing miserably. It would be almost impossible not to notice it when the simple act of breathing hurts so much, responding you instantly.

"Stop talking. You will make it worse." You don't know if it's because you've been too focused on your own misery to pay him any attention during all your stance, yet this is the first time you've heard him speak since you got sick, the words barely making sense in the moment that reach your ears. Yet, although for any other person in your situation the pain would be enough to listen to his words, his response does not completely satisfy you, ignoring them just as he was expecting.

"I know what you are thinking. Just say it." He sighs, already knowing where this conversation is going. "What would the point of scolding you now?" "I don't know, you are an expert on it."

Wanderer finally stops his movements and looks back to you. It's something so insignificant and small but it's enough to let you know that he is at least listening to you. However, the silence between you two after it is so loud, spreading throughout the room as you two stare at each other. You've seen that look in his eyes before, like he's analyzing every little aspect and movement of you. From your shallow breaths to the way your body keeps sending shivers from the ferver.

"It was your choice to stay late on the rain to finish your commission, not mine. I'm not responsable for your own well being."

"Then why are you taking care of me?"

"Nahida would have scolded me if I had just left you outside in the rain, but now I'm starting to wonder if letting you be on your own was the best choice."

Despite the pain, you can't contain the laughter that forms in the back of your throat, which quickly turns into a dry cough in response to your lungs desperately seeking oxygen to keep themselves functioning. This seems to bother him even more, averting his gaze again and pouring water into a glass cup. It's hard to know exactly what's going on in the deepness of his mind, this whole situation bringing up memories from the past that he had buried long ago.

"Drink this." He hands you the glass of water, helping you lean on the bed so you don't end up choking on it. It's rare to see Wanderer worried about anyone, much less caring about them. It feels wrong to depend on him this much, but you still can't help but feel the warmth of the moment spreading through your chest, selfishly basking in the attention he gives you.

While you drink the water, your eyes follow his gaze, observing the last rays of sun softly entering through the window and the wind running through the curtains. Despite everything, the world continue without waiting for anyone, everyone walking to their houses to finally end the day. All pain is temporary and it is possible that in a few weeks you will end up forgetting about this moment, so you try to get the best out of it, enjoying Wanderer's company in silence.

And when you were finally going to lie down in bed again and try to sleep your pain away, he whispers something one last time. "Just rest. You'll be fine."

It feels like the words are more for himself than for you. You still can't tell what is going through his thoughts, but you know that even if you ask him he will probably brush it off. So instead, you take a different approach to the issue, reaching his hands and holding them with your own. Your hands are still shaky and sweaty from the ferver, but when you talk the words come out strangely soft, trying to reassure him in some way.

"I will."

[atthecenterofeverything]

read Psyche on the Skin and Empire of Normality recently and like, they for sure make good points about emphasizing that the DSM-based conception of psychiatric diagnoses is recent, a product of capitalistic medical insurance models, and does not form objective, transhistorical categories. but to demonstrate that other conceptions have existed, they fall into the trap of flattening whole periods and societies into singular "opinions" that 1. are not and cannot be representative of entire decades across entire empires and 2. in the way they are explained, actually differ from modern conceptions essentially in name only. see Empire of Normality:

"For today, disability and disorder are understood in relation to concepts of statistical or medical normality. Yet in fact, there was no such conception in the ancient world. (...) Thus, the idea of ‘normal’ functioning – or more concretely, of the normal heart rate, normal lung capacity, normal height, normal cognitive ability, and so forth – would have been wholly alien to the medics of antiquity. (...) And so it was that across the ancient world, to be ill was not to have a mechanical abnormality, but to be out of balance with aspects of self, others, or environment."

this extract makes no attempt to define what exactly the difference is between supposed ancient concepts of "imbalance" and modern concepts of "abnormality" - surely an imbalance signifies that there is a "balance" that can be reached and must be aspired to? the only difference he underlines is regarding specific bodily functions (heart rate, lung capacity, etc.) - which would make it a difference of technical knowledge and not of interpretation of that knowledge.

and the reason this matters is because as they attempt to emphasize the recent (and subjective) character of conceptions of normality, they end up reifying it; is the issue with medicine and conceptions of neurodivergence that it is used as part of capitalism, or is it its place as a means of social control?

trying to draw attention to alternate understandings of health, the bodymind, and medicine in the (European) past, as alternatives to moderns capitalist systems is a reactionary impulse. the issue is not with the concept or the term of ab/normality, and saying that "the underlying equation between health and harmony, illness and imbalance, was to remain dominant until colonialism, the Enlightenment and, most of all, the rise of capitalism" is a completely nonsensical statement - the book doesn't explicitly place the fault at the beginning of capitalism, but it implies it. it is an idealistic fallacy to take at their word Ancient Greek medicine (or rather our 21st century interpretation of their word) regarding what they "believed", instead of analyzing the material forces between doctors, the idea of medicine and the general population, a relationship no less dominating and exploitative than the modern one

[theratandcatshow]

Episode 10: Tragedy

The end of an adventurer. The end of a life. The end of a story.

All we can do is live as we endure loss.

---

This is it — the final chapter of this story. No long speeches. Just... thank you for reading.

wc: 4.6k

---

"Your order will be initiated immediately with a focus on achieving the target."

The words repeat in your mind, circling like a mantra, ugly, precise, empty. Over and over again.

A cool wind blows through the remains of your tattered clothes, tearing at your skin as if to remind you that you are still alive - against all logic.

You run. You no longer know how. Your legs no longer carry you; they only move because you tell them to. Your arms, your tail - everything is numb. Only your brain is still functioning, as if it had retreated into a final survival bubble.

You feel nothing, or rather: you deny it. The pain is too great, too incomprehensible for you to really admit it.

Your ears are ringing, a beeping, infinite sound hangs over everything. Every step is like a hammer blow against your rib cage, through which a web of broken ribs runs.

Blood drips rhythmically from your side and your head like a broken clock, your back burns and your left lung seems to have collapsed long ago - but none of that matters anymore. You are running.

You are going to die.

In maybe thirty minutes, probably less, your body will be finished. Your heart will give up, your breathing will stop, your brain will shut down. And why?

Because you weren't good enough.

You were not born. You were made. For a goal, for a purpose, for a task: to stop the Smiling Critters. Keep them in this fake world, analyze them, observe them, control them.

You did not manage that.

Then came the second task: kill. You or someone else. Execute the system. The black card. Stay functional, don't go beyond your limits.

You did not manage that either.

And then when the truth came - your human life, your past, your brother, your guilt, the reason you're in this state in the first place - when you thought you finally had something you could save... you were wrong again.

You killed the staff, yes. You ripped one's arm off, sliced open his neck and impaled his skull with your tail. And what did it achieve?

A few seconds of triumph. And a fatal countdown.

Your life was not prolonged but destroyed. The blows, the shots, the wounds - every single second you're still alive is a crime against the logic of biology.

Was it really worth it?

You get no answer. Only the wind, which continues to sweep through the trees as if it were laughing at you. You hear nothing. No breathing. No pulse. No sense.

Just the repetition of a sentence that stands over you like a tombstone:

"Your order will be initiated immediately with a focus on achieving the target."

But in the end, the target was only you.

In choosing both, you're losing both, right?

The thought is not particularly loud. No inner scream, no angry voice - rather a quiet echo that pushes through your pain-fogged mind.

You're walking, stumbling rather, your legs aren't carrying you, but you force them to anyway. You just want to keep going. You can no longer feel the ground beneath you, the damp grass, the cold wind - none of it reaches you anymore.

Your arms, your legs, your tail: dead.

Your left arm is heavy, your right is shaking, and your field of vision is a broken screen. Black dots flicker, red spots run through your field of vision, and no image has come out of your left eye for a long time.

It feels like your skull is going to burst, like your brain is pressing against a crumbling bone cage, with every step, every breath more like a choke.

You have lost. That's it.

You didn't stop the Critters' escape. You didn't even survive - you're going to die. If not by a bullet, then by your injuries. If not from blood loss, then from exhaustion.

If not today, then in a few minutes. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. You don't know, and your mind doesn't even try to calculate anymore.

What was the point of all this?

You were created, designed, trained - a tool of observation, a spy in a game full of toys.

Your mission was simple: to observe, manipulate and control the Smiling Critters. But you accomplished none of it. No report, no victim, no escape prevented.

Even when you thought you had a goal - rebel against them, take back control, kill, rebel - even then you were too late, too weak, too wounded. Even revenge got you nowhere.

And now you run. With open wounds, broken ribs, maybe a collapsed lung. You no longer have control over your breathing, no strength in your limbs. You are only carried by fear.

The fear that you will never be more than that: a mistake.

Blood drips from your chin, seeps into your gloves, into the grass. And as you look down - with your only remaining eye - you see how red the green is.

And a thought crosses your mind, clearer than any other:

I'm going to die. And no one will know why I was here.

But just as this thought settles like a dark veil over your mind, the image in front of you dispels it - not through violence, not through pain, but through beauty. An absurd, almost outrageous beauty.

A stream, so clear that you can see the ground beneath the surface of the water, runs through the landscape.

It is wide, but calm. The current is gentle, barely audible. The sun's rays refract in it, as if someone were playing with light. Directly in front of it is a piece of land covered in soft, bright green grass that gently bobs in the wind.

And behind it - the sky. Blue, soft, with a few wispy clouds, as if someone had painted this world for a child who should never experience anything bad.

It doesn't look wrong. It looks perfect.

And for a moment - a brief, elusive moment - you no longer understand why the Smiling Critters wanted to escape in the first place. Why would you leave this world, this idyll, this false beauty, just to go back to what destroyed you all? The real world.

You slowly take a few more steps. Your legs are heavy, your body sways, and your vision flickers. Every single step feels like you're wading through thick, invisible water. But you reach the grass. The soft, cool, green grass.

You sink into it, not even on purpose. You just sit down, ignoring the burning pain in your side, the throbbing wound in your head, the numbness in your arm. Your ribs crack, or maybe it's just in your head. You don't know.

You sit on the ground. And you look at the water.

It moves - not quickly, not noticeably. It simply exists. Calmly. And you ask yourself when was the last time you saw something that was just there, without intention, without purpose, without lie.

This world is fake. Fake. Assembled like a dream. And yet... it looks more beautiful than anything you remember from the real world.

Maybe... that was the mistake.

Not that you failed.

It's that you thought there was a reason to fight at all.

"This is the last time that you'll be able to come within two meters of me... Come near me again and I'll rip you apart."

The threat echoes in your skull like a hallucination, and with it the last timer comes on - there may be twelve minutes left, maybe ten, maybe eight.

Your mind roars: Pull yourself together! But the rest of you is already lying in the grass, broken and empty, while the stream flows on in front of you as if the misery around you is none of its business.

The last shred of sanity, that arrogant, analyzing, man-hating rat inside you, tries to take another run at it...

Come on, get up, take the chance, kill, flee, report - do SOMETHING.

But the truth is: you're too tired.

Your voice wavers in your head, your statements in this Fake World.

"But that's understandable, after all, this world isn't real and only exists for the Smiling Critters."

"Wait... what am I?"

"Ah... I'm one of those experiments now."

"Do I really have to fight one of them at some point?"

Your left eye has long since capitulated; blood is slowly seeping down your cheek, dripping onto your pants, and you stare at the dark red drops, lost in thought.

"Who am I really?"

The sentence sounds almost casual, but it swallows up everything else.

You feel sunlight moving across the water, refracted into liquid gold; your only functioning eye follows the glide without seeing any purpose in it.

Shadows creep in from the edges of your field of vision, your breathing becomes erratic, and the boundary between the outside world and your inner fog dissolves.

"Habits can't be fixed... just like fate."

"I won't dress it up. At their base, humans are no different from a flock of pigeons..."

No one will win; no pigeon will fly anywhere here - not even you.

What remains? A list of unanswered questions, loose ends that will never be tied up:

Where is CatNap?

What is the prototype really?

What are the men in the white coats planning?

Is Kickin still alive, or does he now bear scars as deep as yours?

Did I know the Critters before I was stuffed here?

Every question dies as soon as it's formulated.

You raise your left hand automatically, pressing it against the bursting head wound; when you pull it back, it's almost shiny black with blood, but between the streaks clear water - no, tears.

I didn't even know I could still cry.

The stream rushes on unperturbed, the grass waves in the wrong wind, and above it all glides the immaculate sky of this plastic-blue world, in which even dying looks like a beautiful painting.

But I don't want to die...

Everyone knows that they will die at some point. It's only logical. Whoever is born will die.

For something to be beautiful... it has to become a memory.

But I don't want to become a memory.

I don't want to be the bland aftertaste of a failed project, not the note in some report labeled "Failed “. Eliminate."

What would happen if I died right now, right here? If I stopped taking these few minutes out and just stopped breathing?

It would make no difference. Nothing. No one would notice. No one would care.

Your body would stay right here on the shore, slumped between the fake grass and the artificially created current. The rain would come and cover you, maybe eventually an algorithm would report your state of decay, but never anyone with real thoughts, real questions.

You are nothing. A victim. A disgrace. A murderer. A traitor. A spy. And worse: you were once a child.

Why were you even born?

You have a human being on your conscience - your brother. An innocent man. One who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because of a goddamn rat.

And instead of learning, you just kept going. Killed some more. Kept watching. Continued to manipulate.

The tears kept flowing, you hardly noticed. No wonder your father hated you. No wonder no one stood by you anymore. You were the mistake. You are the reason.

"God... you took the wrong son..."

Yes, he was right.

You really are scum. A disappointment.

If you were to write a story with you in the lead role, it would certainly be...

A Tragedy.

And in a few minutes, you'll be-

"There he is!"

The words hit you like a lightning strike, snapping you back to a reality that is no longer a reality. Voices. Somewhere behind you. Quickly. Close.

Authenticity flickers into your consciousness, as if there were a thin thread still holding you. But you don't know if this is salvation - or just the last chapter.

Your eye opens just a little, tired, and sluggish. No more pain, but no real vision either. Everything blurs into one another, as if the world itself were just a painting that has been exposed to the rain for too long.

You see a piece of green, pointed ears, and then the clacking of metal in the sunlight: Hoppy. Of course it's her. Of course it's her.

She's standing right in front of you, not even half a meter away, and the gun she hit you with earlier is still pointing at you. It's almost as if she never put it away. As if this moment will just repeat itself forever.

You've already shot me. What else are you going to do?

But there's nothing. Not a word, not a sound, just the circling of the wind, the soft gurgling of the stream and your breathing, which is no longer even.

"Hoppy! God damn it!" The voice is distant, distorted, and you don't know who is speaking. Your ear only recognizes static. Your eye stays on her. On the hand that trembles. On the finger that doesn't pull the trigger.

"Oh my..."

"Shit..."

More voices. More silhouettes. You hear footsteps, walking through the grass that bends to the side under each step. Shadows in front of you. Two of them are already standing right on the shore, where the water glistened before your blood turned it red.

You want to look at them, want to do something, but your gaze only falls back down to the grass below you - grass that is almost black and red, wet with the mixture of blood and fake dew. It feels like a grave. Your grave.

"Where's CatNap?"

You want to laugh. Honestly. You really want to laugh, loudly, resoundingly, so loudly that they finally fall silent, that they understand how ridiculous this is - how often you've heard it before. But you can't. Your mouth is numb, your tongue heavy.

And if you had the strength to kill yourself right now, you would. Just so you wouldn't have to hear that damn question one more time.

"Hey!" Someone grabs your head, abruptly, perhaps hoping to get you to talk.

But the hand immediately moves back again. As if you've reached into a carcass, blood, and perhaps more sticks to the other person's skin. A shock goes through the group, but no one says anything.

You just sit there. In the grass. In the midst of blood. In the midst of the Smiling Critters. Without facial expression, without reaction, with open eyes that no longer want to see anything. You are no longer here. Not really. And yet... you're still here.

"Why did you try to kill Kickin?" - Someone shouts. You don't have to look to know who it is. DogDay.

"Why did you try to kill Kickin?!" He repeats louder this time, almost pleading. His voice cracks, his breathing is unsteady.

"Who are you really?!" - Another voice. You're not sure who. Maybe Bubba. Maybe it's Crafty. Maybe... it doesn't matter at all.

"Why were you spying on us! What was that all about! What are you?!"

You don't answer.

You don't have to answer.

Despite your gaping wounds, despite the throbbing sound in your head that feels like the echo of a dying engine, despite the blood slowly filling your lungs, you are... glad.

Glad that you don't have to speak. Glad that you can leave them in this state - full of questions, full of uncertainty, full of guilt. They think they deserve answers. But you don't owe them anything. Not after everything.

Your gaze wanders slowly over the scene. The sun is low, touching the end of the sky as if to say goodbye. The grass flickers slightly under the movement of the false wind, the air is still but heavy.

You feel every single movement, every breath, every trembling word around you, but you let it flow through you like water through a broken pipe.

"Answer us!" Picky screams, her voice breaking and tears flowing.

"What did you do?!" shouts Bobby, upset, besides herself, on the verge of tears.

"You know something. You know everything. Tell us!" Bubba is barely recognizable, his look a mixture of anger and fear, tears flowing at the same time.

You don't move. You look at them all in turn - not appraisingly, not judgmentally. You just look. As if you were meeting them all for the first and last time.

As if this wasn't the end, but the beginning of something. And in a way, maybe it is.

You feel nothing. No guilt, no anger, no remorse. Just this last, fleeting hint of peace - not because you have understood why it all happened, but because it no longer matters.

You have lost. You are going to die. And yet, in all the defeat, in all the failure, there is something... Pure.

Something that even the truth can no longer reach. Because now that you are finally allowed to be silent, now that you no longer have to fight, there is only one thing left:

Silence.

"Please..." A voice breaks through. For a moment, your mind switches back on, the blood continues to run out of your mouth, drips down your chin, your neck, your chest, but one last bit of concentration allows you to perceive the words.

"Can you tell us... where CatNap has disappeared to?" It's DogDay. He's kneeling in front of you, and his voice is nothing more than a brittle, whimpering sob.

He shakes, bends lower and starts crying for real. Not the kind of crying where you try to show strength - no, it's the ugly, honest, shameful weeping of a being who has to admit to himself that he has failed.

His arms tremble, his paws dig into the grass as he mumbles the same thing over and over again. "It's my fault... I should have stopped all this... I should never have let it get this far..."

You look at him, or rather: your eyes wander briefly in his direction, but you can hardly see anything anymore. Everything is blurred.

The others start to cry alongside him. Bubba, who is sobbing so loudly that he almost chokes.

Bobby, her head down and her shoulders cramped with pain.

Picky, just standing there with her paws pressed to her face.

Crafty, crying quietly because she doesn't want the others to hear.

And then there's Hoppy.

"I didn't mean to!" She almost screams, her voice shaking, breaking in the middle. "I didn't mean to shoot you down... but when I saw your face, when you were standing over Kickin in the rain - the way you were choking him - I just couldn't do it anymore... I couldn't stop myself!"

Her voice cracks, her ears twitch, tears stream down her cheeks, she clutches the gun like a frightened animal that doesn't even know why it's still alive.

You look at her. Or at least to where you think she is. Your vision is so red, so dark, so tired that you can hardly tell if it's light or shadow that you're still seeing.

DogDay keeps talking like a broken record, his "I'm sorry" mingling with the drops of blood you can feel running down your cheek.

"We just wanted to escape... just escape..." he repeats, and you realize how much these words are tearing him apart.

It gets quieter for a moment. Then he asks again, in a scratchy, barely audible voice: "Do you know... anything? Anything about CatNap? About... the outside world? What they're up to...?"

You're barely breathing, but somehow you work your way through this last fog, diving into the last fragments of your mind.

You remember. Of CatNap. Of the prototype. Of this meeting. Of how CatNap said he didn't want to endanger the others with an open rebellion. That he would rather disappear than put them in danger.

And you remember DogDay and the others, how they refused to run away with CatNap because they were afraid. Afraid of losing control and their plan. Afraid of losing CatNap.

"We should have gone with them then..." DogDay says softly, and though his voice is little more than a breath, it cuts into your skull like a nail. "I was too much of a coward... I left him alone..."

But you no longer care.

You just stare into space. You can feel the blood in your mouth. You can feel that you don't have long left. Your fingers barely tremble because they're too weak. Your body has long since given up and even your mind wavers between consciousness and giving up.

Then there's Bubba.

His voice is overflowing with desperation, with genuine, bottomless panic. "Please... you're the only one who might still know something... You're our last chance, the last connection to anything real... If you die now, we'll have nothing! Nothing! Please! Tell us... something!"

Silence.

Your gaze is empty. The colors blur, the water next to you rushes on as if there were nothing. And maybe there is nothing. Maybe it was from the beginning.

You feel your lips open ever so slightly. Every muscle in your face trembles. You breathe in slowly; the pain is like fire in your chest. The others stare at you, freeze, every single one of them.

Then you form the words, in a voice tortured from a broken larynx:

"Shut... the fuck up... and let me die in peace."

The glances that meet you are countless, blurred, and difficult to interpret due to the blood that has collected in your still-functioning eye, but you recognize their colors.

Disappointment. Confusion. And then this horrible, naked sadness.

"I can see the outcome. And trust me... it's not pretty."

You have failed. And still... still they stand there, with glazed eyes and shaky voices, expecting, after everything that has happened - after the death, the blood, the truth - that you will really still help them.

That you, the rat, the spy, the murderer, the good-for-nothing with a body that could stop functioning at any moment, will deliver some goddamn meaning now.

You're going to die anyway.

So why should you bother?

"The reason the horse jumped like that then... the reason it panicked and buried Nicholas underneath it... was the rat."

Your eye opens as wide as it can. And something is there. In your shattered, perforated, desperate mind. No memory. Not a thought. More like... a remnant.

I'll kill you. Kickin!

Your mouth is moving. Again. The blood runs out of your teeth like warm syrup and spoils the beautiful, artificial grass under your chin.

The critters look - silently - and you finally speak, for the first time not as an observer, not as an enemy, not as a shadow in the trees, but as someone on the verge of losing everything.

"Smiling Critters... do you ever think it was all in vain?"

Silence.

One moment. Two. And then it hits them directly. They understand. Not everyone at once, not loudly, not immediately, but slowly - in the way a child understands that it can never go back.

That the game is over. That the place where they stood is now only a shadow of what they thought it was.

There is no accusation. No contempt in your words. You have no strength left for hate. You ask it honestly. More honest than anything you've ever said.

The others start to cry. Different than before. No shock. Not fear. But that one kind of crying you have when you realize you're too late. When you know you've lied - to yourself, to others - and that there's nothing you can do now to make up for it.

They talk to each other. Tearing each other apart with guilt and self-hatred. Some shout at each other, others curl up like wounded animals.

Because that's what they are - small, artificial beings in a world that was never real, but still feels damn real when you're about to lose everything.

And then there's DogDay. Still in front of you, still with trembling paws that can't decide whether to hold you or let you go. His voice breaks. Again. And again.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He's shaking like a child with a fever; his words coming in fits and starts. "I never wanted this... I never wanted anyone to have this fate... not you... not CatNap... not us..."

But you hardly hear him anymore. Because you are getting ready. For the last thing you're going to say. Your final statement. No big speech, no revelation, no heroic deed.

You could say so much...

You could tell them about the prototype. About how everything is connected, how CatNap met him.

You could tell them about the other worlds. The other versions of themselves. And about you.

You could tell them about the people out there. About the scientists. About Sawyer. About the decision-makers.

But you don't.

Because it doesn't matter anymore. Because they might find out for themselves one day. Or never. And because your story - like every story - would have no meaning without an ending.

A life, a lie, a mistake, a joke. Everything becomes more bearable if there is at least an ending.

And so, you raise your right arm. Slowly, shakily.

You can't feel him. You know it's still there just because you can see it in your remaining eye. You bring it to the corner of your mouth, slowly, almost tenderly, and form a smile with the last remnants of your willpower. A real one.

Blood drips from your mouth. Thick, dark red, heavy. And with a broken voice, broken lungs, broken soul, you whisper:

"Smilling Critters...If I told you I just wanted to live a normal life..."

Your smile remains. The blood continues to run. And one last time you straighten up inside - as someone who just wanted to live.

"You'd laugh, wouldn't you?"

You say nothing.

Not a word.

Just tears. Just this silent, merciless realization that they never understood who you were - because you never had the chance to find out for yourself.

And as they stand still, staring, holding each other, the image they had of you shatters inside them.

They realize: You were never the enemy. You were just... lost. Like them. Maybe even more.

You see the look on her face. Picky, with tears she won't wipe away. Hoppy, her shoulders shrugging as if she's forbidding herself to breathe. Bubba, silent because for the first time he doesn't know what's right. DogDay, with a broken voice, broken posture, broken guilt.

And all the others, in a circle, as if they don't want to lose you, even if you're long out of reach.

And then you do it.

Slowly, you raise your right arm. The movement is nothing more than a tremor, a gesture without strength, but it's there.

You are showing.

Not with words, not with screams, but with this broken, outstretched arm. Everyone turns in the direction marked by your trembling fingers. And they see nothing but trees. The dark forest. The empty, dense nothingness between light and shadow.

They don't know what you mean. But they know that you are showing them.

You show them the way.

The path you have taken all these days. The place where you have filed your reports, day after day, in the hope that someone is listening. The narrow gap between this world and the other. The exit. Or the end.

Nobody asks anything. It would be pointless. You won't tell them anything more, and they know it.

Bubba takes a step back, pulls a tattered notebook from behind his back and writes down the directions. No questions. No comments. He knows this moment must not be disturbed.

And for a long, painful moment, everything is silent. No voice. No wind. No rustling. Just the soft dripping of your blood on the soft grass that will eventually no longer bear life.

If the critters ever made it out of here...

Whether they will find CatNap again or meet the prototype...

Whether they will ever understand who you really were... you will probably never know.

Because this is your end.

The End.

---

Wow. Really—wow. What can I even say?

Let me start quietly: this story has been an adventure.

Even if it's the one with the fewest views or kudos, I hope it finds the readers it was meant for—those who can see it for what it truly is: a tragedy.

The rat, you, were destined to die from the very beginning. Even back in Chapter One, I knew that rebirth as a rat would end in death. But a short, meaningless story wouldn’t do. I wanted something more: interactions with other creatures, the prototype, and a main character who learns to navigate a world where survival is uncertain.

Writing from the perspective of a true underdog—someone always hiding, watching—was both a challenge and a joy. And still, in those rare moments of action, he always managed to stand tall… until the very end.

Honestly, I’m not sure how to keep writing after this. The story is over. And I loved every part of it. I'd write something like this again in a heartbeat—if I weren’t already tangled in other stories and ideas.

The rat is, to me, one of the most tragic characters I’ve written. A cruel human life ending in the murder of his own brother. A father who hated him. And then, reborn as a rat, only to face the same fate all over again.

I thought about writing a character analysis, but I won’t. Everything this story means is now in your hands. Interpret it however you like.

I’ll respond to every comment—and if you have questions about the story, feel free to ask.

Thank you for reading.

– Unreal144

[pencil-peach]

G Witch Onscreen Text: Episode 6

GRAAAHH!! This is part SEVEN in my attempt to transcribe and discuss all the onscreen text in G Witch!! Because I CAN!!! GRAHH!! We're on episode 6, halfway through season 1!! Grah Graaaahh!!!

Click here to go back to Episode FIVE!! Grahhh!!!

Let us begin.

Not text, but during Bel and Prospera's initial confrontation, the building they're in has art pieces on display. Maybe it's some kind of museum?

Not text again, but we don't get very many looks into the common areas of the 3 branches, so here's Jeturk House's. It's really flashy and gold, huh? It also matches the aesthetic of Vim's office.

During the scene with Bel and El4n, Bel consults the data on this monitor when she tells him that he'll be fine piloting the Pharact for the duel against Suletta. We get a couple of shots of this monitor, so I'll do my best to glean what information I can from it.

On the left side of the monitor is a mockup of the Pharact. TEXT: (Top Left) REGISTERED NAME: PHARACT MS: FP/A-77 PMET CODE: P017-0046

(Bottom Left) MANUFACTURER: PEIL TECHNOLOGIES STATUS: IN TEST OPERATION

We see the Pharact's Permet Code here, that being PO17-0046. The 'P' probably stands for 'Peil.' Also, have you noticed the the MS IDs for all of Peil's mobile suits have a '/' in them? The 3 branches all have their own unique naming conventions when it comes to their MS codes. It's obvious, sure, but it's something you might not have noticed unless you were looking at it.

This info here, on the right side of the monitor, is much more interesting. TEXT (Header) No. 4 ENHANCED PERSON >PILOTING DEPARTMENT >ID. NO: KP002 NAME: ELAN CERES

This screen is how we learn that El4n is indeed the 4th Enhanced Person in the show proper.

Underneath the header is this info box and a graph. The box on the left says DECISION CRITERIA D2 ***EXAMINATION

What this box means is mostly speculation on my part, but I believe this is a grading system that evaluates the remaining health/usefulness of an enhanced person. There's a red arrow pointing down, implying that this grade, D2, is worse than the grade from the previous evaluation.

The graph to its right is a bit harder to analyze.

It's exceedingly similar to the graph shown during the Shin Sei Inquiry by Shaddiq, that measured Aerial's Permet Influx, but they probably aren't measuring the same thing.

I think it's probably closer to the little bit of this graph we see in the prologue, that I speculated was a measurement of a pilot's exposure to a data storm.

The graph has no title, it only says PHASE on the header, followed by Sys REC Ver. 2.0, which means this data was either recorded from the Pharact of El4n's body. The highlighted point is labelled CHH.

My BEST guess is it's measuring the amount of Permet radiation his body is suffering from.

Underneath the graph is this subfield TEXT (top to bottom.) PMET LINK COMPATIBILITY TEST TEST CASE: 04 | STATUS PMET LINKED CNS | CONTROLLED PMET LINKED PNS | CONTROLLED PMET-CNS INTEGRATION | NO ABNORMALITY MOTOR FUNCTION TEST | NO ABNORMALITY HEMANALYSIS | NO ABNORMALITY CARDIOPULMONARY FUNCTION TEST | NO ABNORMALITY NERVE DAMAGE TEST | CONDITIONALLY ACCEPTABLE CELL SURVIVAL TEST | CONDITIONALLY ACCEPTABLE

This is an evaluation of El4n's body, and from this we get a really good look into the true danger of piloting a Gundam.

To start, CNS stands for Central Nervous System, and PNS stands for Peripheral Nervous System. The first box is analyzing the status of the artificial nervous system implanted into El4n's body.

PMET-CNS INTEGRATION can thus be assumed to be analyzing its integration with the rest of El4n's body. MOTOR FUNCTION TEST is self evident, an analysis of El4n's motor skills. HEMANALYSIS is an analysis on the chemical composition of one's blood. CARDIOPULMONARY FUNCTION TEST is a test evaluating the strength and health of your heart and lungs.

NERVE DAMAGE TEST and CELL SURVIVAL TEST are self evident, but what's most important about them is that, unlike the rest of his results, they're labeled CONDITIONALLY ACCEPTABLE. If he hadn't been disposed of by Peil, we can see that this is probably what would have killed him. A combination of Cellular Necrosis and Nerve Damage.

We can glean from this chart that over exposure to Permet primarily affects the Nervous, Cardiovascular, and Pulmonary systems, as well as cause cellular necrosis.

Finally, though we unfortunately never get a closer look at it than this, there's this final box here, labeled EEG[???], and contains what i think is a CT scan of El4n's brain.

TEXT: PROPULSION CONTROL SYSTEM HIGH MANEUVER MODE

When Suletta is piloting the Aerial to test out the thrusters, we can see the system and mode being tested.

When talking to Miorine and Nika in their shuttle, we can see SS/O.M is added to the com screen on Suletta's phone. Not sure what it means !

Not text but I love Mio's face here after she finishes giving Suletta the pep talk, but before she responds to Nika. She's like, hm! Helping Suletta felt really good. I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me.

El4n doesn't have anything in his room whatsoever.

When Suletta asks to talk to El4n, they can't get a hold of him directly, so they just do a HOUSE WIDE BROADCAST instead.

TEXT: MECHANICAL DEPARTMENT ID No: KM079 NAME: EARLTON WELLS.

Not important, but one of the two students Suletta speaks to is named Earlton Wells.

During the duel, Bell can tell that El4n isn't doing well because his flight path is jagged, he can't fly straight anymore.

We can't read this error message, but we can read PMET SCORE 4, so its most likely an error related to that.

We can see the alert message on El4n's screen when he's about to run into the meteor. It just says ALERT.

When Suletta is trapped and Aerial increases its Permet Score, we can see little whispy things on the main monitor. Oooohhh..pretty...

So, bit of a mixup here, before, when Suletta defeated Guel in the rematch, it said she had 2 wins, which made it seem like her previous win had been reinstated. That wasn't true! It was just a mistake, because when she defeats El4n here, she still only has 2 wins. Can't win em all !

Here, we can see that time and temperature in Asticassia's simulated environment. It says 26 degrees and is sunny, which means that Asticassia uses Celsius and not Farenheit.

When Bel begs the Peil Witches to reconsider, if you look at the monitor, you can see Elan hanging up in front of the laser. They're watching him die here, and Bel saw it too.

AND THATS IT!!! HUAAAAHHH!!! THANK YOU FOR READING! I NEED TO GO! YOUR FINAL GIFT:

You ever notice how since the beginning the Enhanced Persons were alluded to be like Eri because only 4 and 5 were ever able to see and hear her when they're overloaded with Permet?

Click here to go to Episode 7!

Click here to go to the Masterpost!

[lastintheserverbox]

(Oneshot set before the events of the blog. Back when Ori was newer)

Sonny coughed horribly, chest rattling and lungs ever in that familiar state of drowning and burning under whatever this illness was. He wiped his mouth tentatively, glancing at the creature on the screen. His creation.

"Dr. Chamberlain."

Its TTS was stilted, strange as always. He never understood the gaps and pauses this version had. The Prototype spoke perfectly fine, it was almost like its adaptive functions decided this was how it needed to speak to him. ...It would need adjustments, for certain.

"Are you Dy-ing?" it continued.

Sonny sucked in a ragged, annoyed breath. If he wished for this RRA technology to go along to help thousands. Bring comfort to those in hospice, help along the medical field...

He could NOT have it asking patients questions like that.

"No, Origin," He had begun calling this Kinito that, since when...he had no real idea, "I am not dying. It is merely an illness."

The axolotl's head tilted, expressionless as always. Another feature to add another time. It paused its speech as if analyzing his words.

"Are you ly-ing?"

"Origin." He was firm, it was a piece of code, it just needed to have things repeated sometimes, "You are not to ask people if they are dying. Remember. If you are going to help others, you cannot scare them."

"Okay."

Quiet again. Sonny begun to type at a separate computer, coding, rereading, recoding. He was going to make basic forms of the Kinito line's friends eventually. But that would require this module to work first. For now, he was working on a search tool and antivirus program. Easier, simpler, less...He glanced at the unblinking pink blob on the other monitor...prying.

"Doctor."

He flinched, saving the code and swiveling his chair slowly.

"Doctor. What is 'Dy-ing' anyways."

He paused. Might as well explain, then its code could have a database of what to look for and what to avoid speaking on.

"Dying is..." Sonny hums, "It is when something no longer functions anymore, and is laid to rest. For code, it is often deleted. For humans, we simply do not wake up again and are...buried. Or other forms of such."

"...Is dy-ing a good thing?"

How do you answer that? He'd have to consider it in the program's current black and white terms.

"No, it is not. It simply just is something that happens."

"Why?"

"...Because everything must pass on," Sonny paused, "So that other things can arrive on the earth. Sometimes...Things are taken too early, and that is why I am training you to help."

"So death is...bad?"

"...Yes. I suppose it is."

"Then why does it happen?"

"...A lot of bad things happen, Origin. Death, illness, murder..."

"Why do you live in a world with suffering?"

Sonny often asked this question himself.

"It is the only world we have."

"Will I die one day?"

Do AI die? Do they even live? That was too broad to ask or answer.

"...I assume so, in your own way."

"What happens?"

"...You will go to sleep, and not wake up."

"Are you dy-ing?"

It asked that again, and Sonny held in a rattling, burning cough.

"One day, Origin. But not today."

It did not ask anything the rest of the day. An unusual behavior he noted down.

[tf-cyberaligned]

I guess that the Cybertronian artifact not only expanded their human lives but also their storage brain capacity. What do I mean? Not to be mean or say that your Cyber-continuity doesn't have sense. Like, NO, IS AWSOME AND I CAN'T WAIT TO READ MORE. I'm just a dumb person who likes to search for things that catch my attention and made me want to ramble... sorry.

But if you wanna take this into consideration when the thing with the relic happens and you want to explain something, I'll leave you with this. No need to listen actually.

The complexity of longevity with humans lies in the inability of organists to withstand the burdens of operating for more than a couple hundred two hundred years, basically, joints would eventually begin to break down under their own weight and stress, that's why we turn into dust when we die, but of course, lest remember that this is a Cyberpunk dystopia so fortunately, robotic organs will be the next fashion heat!!

But is it possible to replace all the various parts of a body?

Unfortunately no, there are limits, and those limits lay in our brains!! A human being is capable of storing around 100 terabytes of memory, or, what are the same, 100,000 gigabytes of memory, experiences, knowledge, etc. All of them are embedded in our heads thanks to the aforementioned neurons. It may seem like a huge number but eventually, likely in 300 years, a human brain would be full of memories, information, and all kind of stuff, making a person unable to put two words together, feel disoriented, as if you had a "brain fog." Having trouble finding things that could be in front of you. Feeling very confused, taking longer to process new information, or having trouble understanding things. Difficulty making decisions or analyzing things... etc. Let us also not forget about diseases that deteriorate the brain, neurodegenerative diseases, that make this process painfully faster.

Is an incredible concept for horror. But like I said, this is just me doing research on a topic that I just got focused on because I need to stress myself.

hi

I am glad you asked this, cause I did not realize this about the human brain!

Old lore is in italics and is not 100% anymore

For the body

How they stay the same age looks wise is because their bodies are essentially put into a stasis-like state. So their joints don't wear down, their organs don't fail, and and things like cancer don't really grow. The only things that do seem to change is their blood cells and keratin in their body, so their hair and nails still grow. This is all based around Cybertronian anatomy.

The artifact was created by Cybertronians, who when creating it used Cybertronian anatomy as a basis. Now, human and Cybertronian anatomy are different, but hold many similarities. The relic had targeted the organs and parts of the human body that were shared in similarity with Cybertronians.

Things such as brains, circulatory system, eyes, muscles, bones, skin, and digestive system are all examples of similarities between the two species. The relic effected these organs, making them similar to how Cybertronian organs are. This means that the blood will still regenerate, they still have to eat, and they will still mentally age. However, things that are not comparable to Cybertronian anatomy were effected differently.

The relic had no clue how to handle things like hair, nails, lungs, reproductive systems, and other organs such as spleens and kidneys. There was no translation of these organs to Cybertronian organs, so the relic just didn't do much with them. Inner organs were put into stasis, still functioning but they were only effected due to being in proximity to other comparable organs. Hair and nails just weren't really messed with by the relic.

However that can have some big drawbacks. Their skin does not grow back to form scabs and scars, which can lead to wounds continuing to bleed. Their blood is able to clot cause in blood there are red blood cells and white blood cells. The white blood cells have something known as a platelet, which creates the blood clots. Since their bodies are no longer able to regenerate their skin, skin grafting surgery is required for large wounds.

Obviously, with several of the characters, this is not an option they are able to take. Miko for example got an acid poured on her face during a recon mission, and skin grafting would not have fixed this. That is why she has a metal plating around her head. Jack's chest also has metal plating after getting an injury across his chest. Most of the small scars you see on our human characters either came before the beam blasted them, or were the result of donor skin grafting. Kade's burn scar for instance is one of the injuries that is received before the beam hits the group.

Now for the brain issue

In Cyberpunk Edgerunners, which is one of my many inspirations, we are introduced to these ports in the skin.

These ports as seen in EP 2 "Like a Boy", David and Lucy are seen stealing a technology known as Datashards from Corpo people. These Datashards can contain anything from money, information, photos, videos, schematics, etc.

It's basically a glorified SD card.

We are also introduced to Deep Dive Tech. This kind of technology is connected to the occipital lobe to allow for high amounts of data transfer between minds or mind and technology. This is highly dangerous and requires trained professionals to operate.

So what does this mean for my continuity?

Both of these heavily inspired what I plan to do for the brain situation.

These brain ports are connected to the occipital lobe just the Deep Dive Tech. Memories are able to be copied, downloaded, transferred, and even deleted. This allows for the operator, Raf majority of the time, to be able to extract the memories not needed for everyday life from the rest of Team Prime and the Rescue Team. Miko even asked for him to delete the memory she had of getting half of her face melted off, which is perfectly understandable in that situation.

The memories that are extracted are able to be returned to the person as well. Kade for instance had his memories of Hailey copied and extracted, put onto a hard drive specifically for those exact memories. Hailey was not one of the people hit by the beam, leading to Kade losing her by her dying of old age. He had his memories of her extracted so that he wasn't constantly reminded that she was gone, but he could also redownload those memories when he needed to.

So that's my idea for fixing the memory capacity issue! Yes it's very sci fi bullshit, but that's the fun part of cyberpunk universes.

[kervl-klear]

💥 For Yuseong

💥 - A witch has turned your OC into a militaristic vehicle. What vehicle would that be?

…………………………………………………

Huchu and Yuseong sneaked into a mysterious storage in the middle of nowhere. There were a raised of terrorism on the eastern part of nation C and C2ISTAR was hired to find out where did these terrorists get money to fund their activities. Angae’s sleeper reported that the group is self sustained through some form of business and Noeu found some traces of underground transactions on private water vessel in the high sea which Beagcha confirmed to be a common practice between illegal goods dealers.

Orenji had identified the location of congest activities through surveillance by air and Seoltang analyzed the photos. They found that there’s one particular isolated storage clearly under a camouflage attempts with interesting security measures and so the scientists duo are dispatched to identified the chemical compounds hidden in that storage.

Huchu and Yuseong are now inside, it’s full of cardboard boxes stacked upon each other. Huchu swiftly cut one of the boxes open to take a look, a bunch of brown glass bottles are arranged inside but what caught Huchu’s attention is their caps.

Huchu: “It’s cough syrups”

Yuseong: “But if this is what they sold, why be so secretive and suspicious?”

Huchu: “Probably because they are not selling these for medical use, to simplified; cough is a respond to an irritation in your throat where the brain tells muscles in your chest to push the air out of your lungs. This resulted from the stimulated nerves sending a message to your brain and cough syrup suppressed that function”

Yuseong: “Wait, so all allergy pills directly suppress your nerves system?”

Yuseong frowned at the horrifying implication toward the current allergy treatment and how many MDD patient have history of allergy pills usage due to some form of chronic allergy but then he beam other sunny smile.

Yuseong: “That’s so cool!”

Huchu doesn’t know what to make of Yuseong’s reaction.

Huchu: “Yeah…..we call them antihistamines. When mixed with the right NSAID in the right amount, you can creat a handmade drug that are a lot cheaper than heroin or amphetamine”

Huchu prays that this will not give Yuseong any weird ide-

Yuseong: “That gives me an idea”

Huchu sighed, now he has to ask Seoltang to kindly re-indoctrinate Yuseong again.

Huchu: “Yuseong, NO”

Yuseong: “But-But a food that prevented body from getting Ghrelin is really interesting, it could be use as a cure for some case of obesity and eating disorders! We can get a funds for this research by advertising to the executives that these are food that make soldiers unable to feel hungry no matter how little nutrition they have, it will sell well and all we need are antihistamine that bind to H-2 receptors-“

Before Yuseong could accidentally invent other market of people’s right violation. They hear a sound of shatter glass followed by a small thud, like someone had collapsed. They took a second to quickly check on each other before deciding the next move; should they move toward or away from the sound?

The scientists duo are way too curious to considered their options and just immediately go to checkout where the sound came from because SCIENCE.

They found one of the terrorists collapse on the ground alone next to one of the open box and a shattered cough syrup bottle, no blood, no injuries.

Despite the risk, Huchu reach out to check on this terrorist. Looking at the skin beneath his fur, it’s somewhat yellow. Indicating that his liver has difficulty functioning, the heart is okay and the breathing is normal. Huchu dig into the terrorist’s pocket to check if he has chronic illness or is taking any medication which he found a small package of Naproxen. This lead to Huchu checking the terrorist pupils which appear to be expanded, having a theory in his mind he lean in and smell the leftover substance in terrorist’s mouth to confirm his diagnosis.

Huchu: “It’s a case of overdose. Unlike Ibuprofen, Naproxen last longer in your blood so it is harder for your body to clean it off and so it is easier to get an overdose once diluted in cough syrup that are designed to be easily absorbed”

Huchu slowly inserted a tube through his patient’s throat, careful to not trigger a gag reflex. Through it, he feed terrorist some activated charcoal to absorb as much Naproxen and Dextromethorphan as possible.

Huchu reach into his pocket for Acetylcysteine, but he found that the bottle is empty. It appears he accidentally took a used bottle with him…either that or Angae wasn’t seeing correctly when he help Huchu pack the supplies.

Huchu: "He needs a liver transplant, I will let him borrow my liver for a bit. Let’s see if his body is compatible with mine"

Huchu unbutton his uniform, prepare to open his skin and dug a tube into his Portal vein and Hepatic artery but Yuseong stop him.

Yuseong: "No! You already trade your liver and kidneys off a couple of times this year not counting when you replace the broken blood-pumpimg machine with your heart! You can’t always resort to these kind of method!"

Yuseong shakingly squeeze Huchu's hand but then suddenly, Yuseong lighten up and he wags his tail somewhat excitingly. Huchu is clearly startled by the sudden shift of expression.

Yuseong: “You just need Acetylcysteine right? Can you tell me its chemical formula?”

Huchu: “…..C5H9NO3S…..?”

Yuseong: “Okay, so it’s Cyclopentyl radical, Nitrate and Sulfur”

Yuseong start to look around. He goes to the open box and took the foam piece that keeps the cough syrup bottles in place. These foam are called polystyrene foam. The blowing agent use for these foam is Pentane which has the chemical formula of C5H12, only a couple of Hydrogen atoms away from Cyclopentyl radical.

Yuseong then took terrorist’s gun on the floor then took a couple of bullet. Sulfur can be found in gunpowder, and lastly Nitrates can be extracted from Potassium nitrate which can also be found in the gunpowder.

Having all main ingredients, Yuseong start constructing his portable miniature chamber. He make this chamber a while back and he always carried it with him, it cannot breakdown every atomic bound at will like the life size one but removing 3 hydrogen atoms and extracting Nitrate from potassium nitrate is not beyond it capabilities.

Although atomic physics is not Huchu’s specialty, he does recognize the procedure to take a while and so injected Beta blocker into his patients to keep his heart BPM as low as it will allows him to live so that Naproxen and Dextromethorphan spread at slower rate.

After a while of breaking some atomic bounds as well as rearranging molecular structure, the liver detoxification chemical is done.

Huchu injected Acetylcysteine into his patients followed by Epinephrine to return his heart BPM to normal rate.

The overdosed person woke up, dazed at first but then jolt up trying to get away from Yuseong like a pilot spotting SAM.

Yuseong on the other hand is smiling brightly. This is the first time anyone he cannot recognize had a specific reaction to him. It gives Yuseong a lot of hope, so much so that his knees are on the floor. May be this overdosed person knows who he was, a first lead to finding his daughter.

Yuseong beam his sunniest smile to the stranger and quickly crawl to him while speaking excitingly.

Yuseong: “Greetings mister, my name is Yuseong! I suspected myself of having one daughter and that I committed arson with the intention of robbery, do tell me if you recognize my name or appearance-“

Ignoring Yuseong, Huchu slowly and carefully approach his patient.

Huchu: “Shhh… it’s okay, I’m here to help. I will not let anyone hurt you…”

The overdosed stranger pointed at Yuseong and yell that a Mobile CBRN laboratory is chasing him.

This prompted Huchu to forcefully grab the overdosed terrorist by his collar and shone some light into his corneas.

Huchu: “Ah, He’s still high. Probably hallucinating but at least he would probably survive now if we leave him alone”

However, Huchu didn’t let go of the guy’s collar.

Huchu: “Right..?”

He look deep into his patient’s eyes….who doesn’t exactly seeing correctly and is slowly slipping away from Huchu’s hand because he’s still high-

Huchu: “You think you can get away and go ingest unhealthy stuff again?? NOT A CHANCE, you are my patient now you hear me?! I didn’t spend-….Yuseong, how long does it take us to treat this guy?”

Yuseong: “……about 2 hours?”

Huchu: “2 HOURS of sweat and effort so I can let you out to die in the outside world like the other soldiers I’ve treated!!”

The terrorist attempted to get away from Huchu who legit is just trying to kidnap the man at this point, but Huchu gripped strength is too strong, and the guy got slap in the face by Huchu.

Huchu: “SToP ResISTINg mEDicAL HeLP”

Guess the ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you’ part didn’t include Huchu himself-

Huchu carried the terrorist over his shoulder.

Huchu: “You will never lay eyes on cough syrup or NSAID ever again! You will live with ALT of 34 U/L, AST of 32 U/L, ALP of 92 U/L, Albumin of 4 g/dL, total protein of 8 g/dL, Bilirubin of 1.0 milligram, GGT of 30 U/L, LD of 175 U/L and PT of 10 seconds until you are 65 at minimum!“

Yuseong pick the rifle on the floor up then approach Huchu.

Yuseong: “Hu, I know you are concerned but wouldn’t it cause problems if they realized that one of them went missing”

Yuseong spoke with nurturing empathy.

Yuseong: “Also if his liver actually manages to reach these values then I think his liver will become a world record statistical anomaly”

Just when they are about to leave, a couple of footsteps can be heard. A big group of terrorists surrounded the duo with guns.

But then the terrorists hold their gun up. They stare at Huchu and Yuseong and oddly that's all they do, no one shoot or charge at neither of them which really confused the scientists duo.

Yuseong: “Wait could it be…”

Yuseong’s light up into the sunniest smile.

Yuseong: “…because we save their comrade..?”

Suddenly their earpiece buzzed and Angae speak through it.

Angae: “Huchu, Yuseong, what’s going on? I got the report from my sleeper about the situation but how did things lead to that?”

Huchu: "It appears they refused to do harm to us because we save one of their friends"

Although he knows that Angae cannot see him, Yuseong still do a little nod while smiling.

Angae went quiet for a second.

Angae: “That doesn’t quite alight with what I received, my agent said there’s a hostage situation in the storage”

Yuseong, Huchu and the overdosed terrorist look at each other then at the other terrorists who surrounded them.

Huchu: “…..Who’s the hostage..?”

Angae: “The leader of this terrorist group?”

Huchu and Yuseong look at the overdosed terrorist who is still a little high.

Angae: “Wait a minute….You two didn’t-“

Huchu furiously stole the rifle from Yuseong and smacked the terrorist leader head with the handle.

Huchu: “YOu SOld tHis ShiT So YoU KnOw iT’s bAD bUt YOu STiLl InGEsT It-”

…………………………………………………

I considered going with YuSAM joke at first but my conscious say no.

Thank you for your patience in the TFC circuit and thank you for tuning into my frequency. 32G1, RWY CLR. 🛫✨

[covid-safer-hotties]

SARS-CoV-2 can infect and replicate in human motor neurons differentiated from induced pluripotent stem cells - Published Jan 4, 2024

Numerous patients experience neurological and neuromuscular symptoms during and after infection with the severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2). Apart from the central nervous system (CNS), the peripheral nervous system (PNS) is also affected. In this study, the Italian authors investigated whether SARS-CoV-2 can infect and replicate in human motor neurons (MNs) differentiated in vitro from induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSC-MNs). They also examined whether iPSC-MNs express the main receptors for SARS-CoV-2 entry and whether SARS-CoV-2 infection of iPSC-MNs changes the expression of 46 genes involved in cell survival, metabolism, inflammatory response, apoptotic and antiviral pathways.

SARS-CoV-2 is an enveloped, positive-sense, single-stranded RNA virus. Its genome encodes four structural proteins, namely the spike (S), envelope (E), nucleocapsid (N), and membrane (M) proteins. It seems that SARS-CoV-2 uses various neuroinvasive strategies and entry pathways to invade the nervous system, such as infection of the nasal olfactory epithelium and axonal transport along the olfactory nerve, retrograde axonal transport, invasion by compromising the blood-brain barrier, retrograde virus spread from the lungs to the CNS via the vagus nerve, and the use of infected hematopoietic cells as “Trojan horses” (hematogenous route).

It remains unknown whether observed neuromuscular manifestations of SARS-CoV-2 infection are caused by a direct viral invasion of motor neurons, and/or are a collateral injury resulting from an uncontrolled innate immune response. Damage to motor neurons leads to the deterioration of muscle function, manifested as muscle weakness, atrophy, or paralysis.

Two host-cell factors are important for SARS-CoV-2 viral entry into many cell types: angiotensin-converting enzyme 2 (ACE2), which is bound by the S protein, and transmembrane serine protease 2 (TMPRSS2), which cleaves the S protein, allowing this binding to take place. In addition to ACE2 and TMPRSS2, the S protein has been reported to engage other cell-surface factors proposed to serve as attachment factors promoting SARS-CoV-2 entry.

The expression level of ACE2 is low in the human brain. In contrast, neuropilin 1 (NRP1), CD147, TMPRSS2, and furin are higher and broader expressed than ACE2, indicating that they may be putative mediators of SARS-CoV-2 entry into human nervous system cells. According to the authors of this study, the infection of human motor neurons with SARS-CoV-2 mainly relies on CD147 and/or NRP1 binding. Previous studies have shown that NRP1, known to bind furin-cleaved substrates, potentiates SARS-CoV-2 infectivity and that the furin-cleaved S1 subunit of the S protein binds directly to cell surface NRP1. www.science.org/doi/10.1126/science.abd2985

About the study The authors used an in vitro model of human motoneurons (MNs) differentiated from induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSC-MNs) to investigate the infectability of these cells by SARS-CoV-2 and their expression of the main SARS-CoV-2 receptors. They also examined whether SARS-CoV-2 changes the expression of 46 genes involved in cell survival, metabolism, inflammatory response, and apoptotic and antiviral pathways.

The induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSCs) from three healthy donors (1 male and 2 females, aged between 37 and 49 years) differentiated into motor neurons that expressed both, neuronal (bIII-tubulin and SMI-312) and motoneuronal (ChAT, HB9) markers.

To verify the infectability of iPSC-MNs by SARS-CoV-2, VeroE6 cells were exposed to supernatants collected from iPSC-MNs infected with SARS-CoV-2. Reverse transcription polymerase chain reaction (rt-PCR) was used to analyze the expression of SARS-CoV-2-specific ORF7A, ORF3A, ORF8, RDRP, S, E, and N genes in uninfected (mock) and infected iPSC-MNs.

The expression of main SARS-CoV-2 receptors (ACE2, CD147, NRP1) and peptidases (TMPRSS2, furin) was assessed in iPSC-MNs infected with SARS-CoV-2 and the A549-hACE2 cells, as a positive control.

Results To validate the infectability of iPSC-MNs, VeroE6 cells were exposed to supernatants collected from infected iPSC-MNs at different time points. The results showed that supernatants collected from infected iPSC-MNs could re-infect VeroE6 cells. Furthermore, the SARS-CoV-2-specific genes (N, E, S, ORF3A, ORF8, and ORF7A) were detected exclusively in infected iPSC-MNs. The expression of SARS-CoV-2 N1, S1, S2, and E2 genes in infected iPSC-MNs was subsequently confirmed by rt-PCR.

The expression of SARS-CoV-2 specific N1 and N2 genes was identified in supernatants from infected iPSC-MN cultures by rt-PCR, confirming that SARS-CoV-2 can infect and replicate in human motor neurons. However, the viral replication level was lower in iPSC-MNs than in VeroE6 cells. In addition, SARS-CoV-2 replication in infected iPSC-MNs was not accompanied by a cytopathic effect as assessed by the crystal violet assay. In addition, the immunofluorescence assay detected N protein in infected iPSC-MNs, mainly at the perinuclear level, in the soma, and along the neurite extensions. However, the percentage of infected iPSC-MNs was very low.

Further analysis demonstrated that iPSC-MNs expressed the main entry receptors of SARS-CoV-2, including ACE2, CD147, NRP1, and TMPRSS2, but at different levels. ACE2 and furin were expressed at lower levels, whereas CD147 and TMPRSS2 were expressed at higher levels in infected iPSC-MNs compared to the control A549-hACE2 cell line. The NRP1 expression was comparable between iPSC-MNs and A549-hACE2 cells. The immunofluorescence assay for ACE2, CD147, and NRP1 confirmed these results.

In iPSC-MNs, SARS-CoV-2 infection changed the expression of 10 genes involved in cell survival, metabolism, antiviral, and inflammatory response. The virus up-regulated the expression of B-cell lymphoma-2 family protein (BCL2), BCL2-associated X protein (BAX), caspase 8, CD147, proinflammatory interleukin-6, and sphingosine-1-phosphate receptor 1, involved in the regulation of lymphocyte trafficking, brain and cardiac function, vascular permeability, and vascular and bronchial tone. The virus down-regulated the expression of human leukocyte antigen-A and endoplasmic reticulum aminopeptidase 1, involved in antigen processing and presentation, and angiogenin, which exerts neuroprotective functions and contributes to the systemic response to infection.

Interestingly, an increased ratio between the expression of anti-apoptotic BCL2 and pro-apoptotic BAX gene suggests that programmed cell death was somehow prevented in iPSC-MNs after the infection.

Conclusion The authors concluded that this study has shown, for the first time, that SARS-CoV-2 can infect and replicate in iPSC-derived human motor neurons. However, viral replication and the percentage of infected cells were lower than in VeroE6 cells, susceptible to SARS-CoV-2.

This article was published in Frontiers in Cellular Neuroscience.

Journal Reference Cappelletti G, Colombrita C, Limanaqi1 et al. Human motor neurons derived from induced pluripotent stem cells are susceptible to SARS-CoV-2 infection. Front. Cell. Neurosci, Sec. Cellular Neuropathology. 05 December 2023. Volume 17, 2023. (Open Access) doi.org/10.3389/fncel.2023.1285836 www.frontiersin.org/journals/cellular-neuroscience/articles/10.3389/fncel.2023.1285836/full