#barometric pressure changes are my enemy

[brain-wyrm]

I don't think anyone would send asks for this so I'm going to self-indulgently answer some myself.

11. Although he is a semi-intangible ghost-demon-thing, Kirun has weaponized the chains that once bound him. They have thorn-like protrusions and he enjoys using them like a whip and garrote :)))

5. & 17. He was trapped for, like, a century by his own people (elves) because of his efforts to annihilate the encroaching human population using nationalism-fueled necromancy basically. Essentially using resentful energy from dead warriors to be used as undead soldiers and Hollows (cyclones of aggregated nature and uncontrollable rage centered around a vengeful elf spirit that rampages nigh-mindlessly). When MC (self-taught shaman) gets lured into his prison by a remnant follower (don't trust floating ghost keys, folks), he basically makes a deal with MC involving stitching their souls together (allowing him, the evil entity still hoping to wreak havoc on the people MC hopes to save, to break free).

18. He's both. He's unhinged, sarcastic, ruthless, and maniacally in your face. At the same time he's also a strategist, patient, and cold when he wants to be.

20. Look, MC is HIS vessel. In a slow-as-hell-burn enemies to lovers kinda way. Initially, it manifested as holding MC hostage. (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)b

19. The bond or his now-defunct imprisonment is the only thing keeping Kirun from turning into a hollow himself, it turns out. When enraged, however, parts of it peak through-- growing branches like antlers, thorny vines emerging from shadows, foliage whirling around him, and drops in barometric pressure.

10. There are constant different AUs or variations I entertain with this story in general! Which is why it's hard to pin down a singular canon. It's all still subject to change according to my whims, as this narrative is predicated on total self-indulgence and intermittently structured via a solo game of Ironsworn.

Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Send me a number and an OC, and I'll answer.

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

How does your OC behave when enraged?

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

[samiholloway]

In my quest to figure out my non-migraine(?) Headaches I still keep getting whenever the weather changes*, I found these earplugs** that claim to control the air pressure change between the outside and the inside of your head. I'll let you know if they work, but there's a free app that tells you when the barometric pressure is shifting and when to put them in, so that's nice.

*weather is my mortal enemy now, apparently. It also ruins my attempts to get my breathing under control. So of course I live in the time of crap weather, when all the systems are going haywire.***

**it's called weatherx, the plugs and the app. The plugs are like less than 18$ on Amazon, less on their own site but you have to pay shipping, sooo.

***climate change is gonna be hell on us headachy, wheezy types. Pray for us.

[kuklamarzanny]

I really don’t need prophetic powers that give me headaches on days it will rain, I’d really rather not get headaches

[nonbinarynerdbot]

It sounds like you’ve done quite a bit of research/have a good understanding of the pain aspect.

I put a lot of this below the cut just because it ended up being a lot longer than I expected.

So I actually have similar pain issues that your character does, and I did the whole “ignore it and pop pain meds” thing. The result of that is that eventually my body just started giving up. My pain days slowly got worse and more frequent, the pain was more exhausting, and it became harder for me to keep doing the same things I used to.

The cold is also my worst enemy. I can handle temperatures around the 40s F if I’m able to *maintain* that temperature, but if there’s a big temperature swing? Just shoot me. Same with the rain, changes in barometric pressure FUCK me up. My pain gets worse/overwhelming and my fatigue becomes so strong that I literally am unable to stay awake, no matter what I do. Getting too hot is also Not Good for me, but heating pads are my best friend. I’ve tried ice, and it works for the short term (maybe a handful of hours) but then it backtracks and I’m in worse pain than I was before. TENS machines are my nemesis. I tried those fuckers once and couldn’t last ten minutes, and I paid for it for *days* afterwards. However it’s not always possible to get to my heating pads quick enough, so I end up with so much muscle tension that even a professional massage couldn’t ‘fix’ it right away. It took… 4 sessions I think before I started having relief for more than a couple days afterwards.

I put off getting a mobility aid for a *long* time, and it’s done more damage than good. The first time I used a cane it was because my knee hurt so badly I couldn’t put weight on it. The problem with a cane for me, is it hurts my wrist because the angle - no matter how I adjust it - puts too much pressure on just my wrist. I’d use my cane for a day, then my hand would be useless the next day because the pain ended up just moving. I continued putting it off, supplementing with joint braces and more pain medication, and that led to my symptoms worsening. It became difficult for me to make it through the day without limping by the end, and I was constantly exhausted from trying to hold my body in place against the pain.

I did a *lot* of research and started using forearm crutches (I use SmartCrutches), which were a game changer for my ability to walk more easily, stand for longer, and it reduced my joint pain. I did my best to not use them though which - you guessed it - led to my pain getting worse because I was still ignoring my body. Crutches/canes/braces/mobility aids as a whole are not only pretty inconvenient because they’re bulky and there’s a learning curve to navigate with them, but they also end up earning a lot of questions/comments from other people. Most people are well meaning, but it’s uncomfortable to constantly explain myself/give other people reassurance that I’m not dying (yes, I’m serious).

Continuing to ignore my body has me in my current situation where my decision to put off using aids and ignoring my body’s signals has me so flared up that I’m unable to go back to work. I simply am unable to do anything for more than twenty to thirty minutes while upright.

With hypermobility, you lose muscle tone quickly, so my fibromyalgia flaring to a debilitating degree from ignoring my body’s signals led to me being couch bound for months, which means I was unable to move regularly enough/maintain a physical routine well enough to maintain my muscle tone. Because I’ve lost muscle tone, my joints are too unstable for me to go back to my job until I go to physical therapy.

When I got diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I got put on a nerve blocker, which got me through ~5 years of pain management, but this flare led me to going to have my medication adjusted. The main side effect is fatigue, which combined with the fatigue I’m naturally feeling means I’m spending a lot of time frustrated because I *know* that my body used to be able to do things, but now I spend so much time fatigued that I can’t maintain a ‘normal’ routine (normal in quotes because everyone’s normal is different) which is making it harder to get back to what I used to be able to do — assuming my old normal will even be able to become my new normal again.

Point being in all of that is that realistically, your character will be able to push off/ignore their symptoms for (potentially) years, but eventually that neglect for their body’s needs will catch up with them. For me, the progression was slow, but the more I ignored it, the worse it got until my body just stopped giving me a choice to ignore it.

Hello! I am looking for some writing advice here

So I have a character that has chronic pain, and I’m trying to do research but it’s proving difficult, but I don’t want to just bs my way through it, because that wouldn’t be fair of me or good representation to just make stuff up as I go.

So if you have any tips or do and don’t things or anything like that it would be a huge help!

(And specifically I’m trying to figure out if this character might need any sort of mobility aids or anything like that, but any type of help is greatly appreciated!)

[grasslandgirl]

oooo i sent it more as a fix prompt but also from one adhdhead to another i’m glad we agree!! thinking about sam and peter study dates

ahhhh fvbjsjvkbjf im so dumb i’m sorry i saw “adhd sam” and my brain just yelled YEAH. RADICAL. and that was it kjdvskfj 

that being said i’ve been haunted by ricky montgomery’s Line Without a Hook + eldonado since yesterday so........ hmmm.... (oh no this got wildly out of hand)

-----------

Peter threw himself wholeheartedly into anything he worked on. It was just how he was built. Peter was either on or he was off, and it was hard to get him to change course once he was en route. Head down, eyes narrowed, his whole body angled down at his computer like if he got his face close enough to the screen, it would start streaming information right to and from his brain. His hair would flop, unnoticed, into his eyes and he would shove his glasses so far up his nose that Sam would worry he was going to bruise his nose. 

All this to say, of course, that study dates were something of an occupational hazard when you were best friends with Peter Maldonado.

And also secretly in love with him.

Well, mostly-secretly. Secretly to Peter, and probably only Peter, because Sam was 90% sure everyone else was in on the secret and knew how hopelessly gone Sam was for his oblivious best friend. Gabi was the only one who ever said anything to him about it, though. So, little victories. 

Finals were looming over their heads like a dark storm cloud. Looming on the horizon, fucking with barometric pressure just enough to make everyone jumpy and nervous. Peter worked well under pressure- which was a good thing, because Sam knew Peter put more pressure on himself than anyone else did- but he would always show up the night before a big exam and demand that Sam help him study. It was so commonplace after seven years of friendship that Sam didn’t question it anymore. Mostly.

There was always that small, hopeful, and nervous voice in the back of his head asking why Peter always studied with Sam when he studied just as well on his own. The only answer he could think of was that Peter knew Sam studied better with him there. But that wasn’t- that couldn’t- Sam always shut that annoying little voice down before it spiraled any further.

It didn’t do anyone any good to overcomplicate things that were objectively very simple. Peter liked routine, they were best friends, Sam was the only one who could talk Peter down from an academics-induced panic attack at 2 in the morning the night before a final exam. 2 + 2 = 4. Simple math. 

Sam was slumped on his back, halfway falling off his bed with his head and shoulders draped over the side of his mattress. The notebook he was supposed to be reviewing was abandoned, sitting on his stomach. Peter was sitting at Sam’s desk, leaned over and scowling at his laptop. 

It was unfair, really, how pretty Peter looked illuminated by the blue-white light of his notes document. Sam had the perfect view of Peter’s upside down profile, all furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw and dark hair that’d had hands run through it too many times. It was late and Sam’s brain was wrung out and exhausted, only able to focus on Peter’s expression as he mouthed whatever obsolete moment in history he was trying to commit to memory, and the looping chorus of a Carly Rae Jepsen song he’d had stuck in his head for the last two hours. 

A big part of being friends with Peter Maldonado was knowing when to draw the line. 

“Pete, dude.” Peter looked up, blinking away the lines of notes Sam could almost see in his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Either we know it or we don’t at this point.”

“You think we should cut our losses?”

“I know you can survive on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, dude, but I can’t.” Sam tapped himself on the forehead. “This baby needs r&r or I can’t fucking function.”

“Right, right. What time is it?”

Sam sat up- an impressive showcase of his abs that Peter didn’t notice, of course- and dug around in his rumpled comforter for his phone. “12:30.”

Peter sighed heavily, tipping his head back against the headrest of Sam’s computer chair. “I should go home.”

“Dude. Just-” Sam was his own worst enemy sometimes- “just spend the night.”

“Yeah? Your moms won’t mind?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they assumed that’s what was happening when you showed up after dinner.”

It was probably just a weird reflection from the computer light on one of Sam’s posters onto Peter’s face. There was no way that Peter was blushing. 

“Anyway,” he continued, shoving his textbook and notes off of his bed instead of looking at Peter, “I’m gonna drive you tomorrow anyway, right? Saves me a trip.”

Peter closed his laptop with a soft click. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not-”

“It’s cool, dude, don’t be weird. Just two bros-”

“Chilling in a hot tub?”

Sam prayed Peter couldn’t see the hot blush he felt rising to his cheeks. Five feet apart cause they’re not gay. “Whatever you want, dude.”

Peter knew Sam was gay. He was the first person Sam had come out to- followed closely by Gabi and his moms. But there was a difference, Sam was sure, to having your best friend be gay versus having your best friend be gay and in love with you. An invisible line in the sand that would shift their relationship forever. Sam didn’t want to test how that shift would happen. Didn’t want to risk losing his best friend on the off chance that he wasn’t alone. 

“Right.” Peter repeated. 

They went to bed in pieces: Sam pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and throwing one to Peter, Peter neatly stacking all his notes on one corner of Sam’s desk, Sam kicking all his schoolwork to the edges of his bedroom floor as opposed to the middle of it, Peter brushing his teeth with the same toothbrush he’d kept in the Ecklund house since they were ten, Sam turning off all the lights, Peter wandering back into his bedroom, Peter’s hair turning to gold and ink in the faint streetlight coming in from the window, the two of them curling up back to back in Sam’s bed just like they always did.

And then it was dark and quiet and all Sam could hear was the faint sound of Peter’s breathing beside him. The warmth from Peter’s back mere inches from Sam’s. They’d fallen asleep next to each other a million times, but Sam still felt electric with the proximity. How easy it would be to just- stretch his legs out and wind his feet with Peter’s, to flip over and press his nose into the soft place where his hairline met the back of his neck, to whisper something hopeful and mortifying into the still night air and hear Peter’s breath catch in silent response.

Sam stayed still, held himself perfectly motionless lest he finally show his hand. And eventually, they both fell asleep.

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

Peter woke up surrounded by Sam. The pillow he’d pressed his face into smelled like Sam’s hair and the sheets on his bed were the same tacky Star Wars ones he’d been so proud of in the seventh grade and the bed was warm with Sam’s body next to him. For an instant, Peter let himself consider it: waking up next to Sam like this every day. Falling asleep with his arms wrapped around Sam and waking up with his head on his chest. 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring dawn light, and against the daydream that quickly threatened to spin out of control. He could still hear Sam’s sleep heavy breathing behind him.

Slowly, Peter sat up in bed, pushing his hair out of his face and scrounging the nightstand as quietly as he could for his glasses. He allowed himself a single glance at Sam- sleep soft and sprawled out on the bed, his hand inches from where Peter’s shoulder had been, like he’d been reaching out in his sleep- before standing up and grabbing his phone from where he’d left it charging on the desk.

“Sam.” Peter poked his shoulder. “Sam.”

He groaned incoherently, but rolled over, which was a good sign. 

“You have to get up, dude.”

“Breakfast?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah,” Peter laughed a little, “I’m sure your mom’s making breakfast.”

“Urrgghhh.”

Peter grabbed the clothes he’d left in the corner the night before and pulled an old t shirt out of Sam’s closet. “I’m stealing a shirt.”

“Oh,” Sam said, half sitting up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah- good, okay.”

“I’m gonna go-” Peter gestured weakly towards the door, and beyond it, the bathroom. Sam peered up at him, the light from the window hitting his face in a single pane, like something out of a sun-soaked French movie. Like this was the moment where one of them broke the uncertainty, the silence. Peter could see the scene unfolding in his mind’s eye, like he’d seen it a hundred times. He’d say something like, did you sleep well? And Sam would answer, better with you here, and Peter would oh-so-slowly close the distance and drop his jeans to the floor and Sam would arch up and meet him halfway and the camera would pan away, leaving them both washed in the golden early-morning light. “Bathroom. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Peter said, and closed the bedroom door behind him. 

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and Sam’s t shirt under his sweatshirt and hoping it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how badly Peter wished every morning could be like this. 

He left the bathroom quickly and perched on the edge of Sam’s bed, scrolling through twitter while Sam did his hair in the bathroom. 

Breakfast was quiet and normal and filled with the usual mini-dramas in the Ecklund house. Kara didn’t want PB&J for lunch and one of Sam’s moms left the flat iron on in their bathroom and Leah almost burned the eggs and Sam spent half of breakfast finishing the math homework he’d almost forgotten he had. 

Sam drove them both to school early for the Morning Show, laughing and singing along to his “perfectly composed drive to school playlist,” and the rest of the day went on normally. He took his history test and saw Sam in math class and they sat with Ming and Randall and Phil at lunch. 

But all the while, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. He’d had... feelings for Sam for a while, unquantifiable and nebulous. He’d categorized them all: the way his stomach twisted when Sam smiled at him crookedly, the skipped beat of his heart when Sam slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders, how his hands got clammy when he caught Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye, how he always found ways to hangout during and after school. But he’d never dared to name the feeling. Defining it meant- meant he should do something about it. Made it real. 

But that morning, waking up next to Sam, borrowing his t shirt to wear to school, falling asleep next to each other- they were all things they’d done a million times before. Peter’s chest ached with the normalcy, the domesticity of it. 

Peter’s fingers itched to try and piece it all together, his feelings and Sam’s and their history together. String it all together on a corkboard until it made sense. But Peter knew it wouldn’t work. Not without Sam there to see the bigger picture in the first place. It’s why they worked so well together; Peter would gather and organize all the information, but Sam was the one that knew how to put it together, knew how to see the forest from the trees in a way Peter never could on his own. Even if he tried to map out the snarl of feelings in his chest, Peter knew he’d be left with a labyrinth of post-its and red string without Sam there to untangle it for him.

Dramatic irony, he supposed.

Peter caught the bus home, Sam had something for theatre after school, and spent the entire ride with his music turned as high as it would go, trying not to think about Sam as he stared out the window. 

The problem, Peter realized, with being a self-professed movie lover, is that your brain starts to treat life like a movie. He could imagine a dozen different ways his life could spiral out from this moment, a dozen different movie time-lines he could find himself in. The tragedy, where he never tells Sam and lives his entire life in uncertainty. The drama, where he tells Sam and it tears their friendship apart. The tragic love story, where he and Sam are together and happy until they’re not. The comedy, where Sam laughs him off and they go back to their friendship with a tiny crack between them, spackled over with laughter that’s just a little strained. 

The romantic comedy, where everything goes perfect and they ride out into the sunset. 

Life wasn’t like the movies, though, nothing ever went as simple or as straightforward or as cinematic. There isn’t a director behind the camera who can call cut and change the scene halfway through. There aren’t any sweeping cinematic shots with atmospheric indie pop playing in the background.

It was just Peter, and Sam, and the creeping uncertainty hanging between them. 

Right before dinner that night, Peter got a text from Sam.

sam: thanks for the study help last night, felt good about the test today

sam: don’t stress i know youre freaking out about it too

sam: you did great on the test pete i know it

Peter blinked at his phone, at the unspoken I know you hidden inbetween the lines. Sam knew him better than anyone, knew his habits and his worries and his annoying little tendencies. And he was still there. 

And that, Peter realized, said more than anything else.

Love wasn’t a panoramic of a passionate kiss at sunset. It was knowing someone, learning them backwards and forwards, all the good and the bad pieces of them. It was staying, not despite everything, but because of it.

Peter loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

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

The doorbell rang at the end of dinner. Sam rushed to get to the door before his sisters- if he was lucky, it was their batty old neighbor Mrs Gorschtt and she would prattle on for fifteen minutes about her cat, shove a cake into Sam’s hands, and get him out of having to help clean the kitchen.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs Gorschtt standing on the front porch, it was Peter. 

“Hey, dude, what’s up? We don’t have like a math test tomorrow I blanked on, do we?”

“Huh?” Peter blinked at him, “No, no.”

“So, what’s up?” Sam stepped out onto the porch beside Peter, closing the front door behind him. Maybe he could still get out of washing the dinner dishes. 

“Uh- so, the thing is-” Peter muttered, twisting one of the strings from his hoodie between his fingers. Sam’s stomach dropped; something was wrong. Peter was nervous, uncertain about something. He wasn’t looking Sam in the eye, and he had one arm wrapped around his stomach like a shield. His head started spinning with a million different things Peter could be upset about, but the thing Sam kept coming back to- he knew.

Somehow, Peter had finally figured him out. And he was coming to tell Sam- what? That they couldn’t be friends anymore? That Sam had made it weird? 

“Pete-” Sam started, trying to cover his bases, trying to fix this before his best friendship in the world went up in flames.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Peter interrupted, finally looking at Sam.

“What?”

“Pete. You’re the only one.”

“I- we’re friends, dude, I’m allowed to have nicknames.” Sam tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, even to his ears.

“I- I know,” Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he was staring at Sam like he was a page of history notes he was trying to memorize. “I got your text.”

“Oh, uh okay.”

“Sammy, I uh, I have to say something, and I want you to promise you’ll let me finish.”

Sam’s stomach dropped even further. Here it was. The end of everything. “Right,” he tried to smile at Peter, “sure dude, whatever you need.”

Peter nodded. “You’ve been my best friend since the fifth grade. You know all of my secrets, all the bad things that I don’t tell anyone else. You know that I don’t like orange-flavored things because I had too much orange-flavored medicine as a child and that I stay up too late studying the night before a test and I panic after I finish taking it. You watch movies I recommend, even though you think High School Musical 2 is the best movie ever made, you- god-” Peter scrubs his hands through his hair, clenching his eyes closed briefly- “this would be so much easier if I could just- you can see the big picture. Like with this you could just- take the words, the discrete pieces of data and put them together. Make it cohesive, coherent. I’m not making sense,” he muttered.

“Pete-”

“I don’t want to just spend the night after study dates.” Peter blurted out abruptly. His face froze, like he wasn’t sure what he just said, like he was terrified Sam was going to misunderstand. “I- I mean. I want to do real dates. With you. And spend the night and wear your clothes and have my hoodies smell like you and watch you spin around in the morning show chairs without having to worry about you catching me and I want to see you without gel in your hair and I want to lean against you when we have movie nights and-”

“Pete.”

“Sammy,” Peter said, kind of breathless. “Go on a date with me.”

“Like a study date?” Sam said, also kind of breathless.

“Like a date-date. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just- come here-” and then Sam’s hands were on either side of Peter’s face and his fingers were in his hair and Peter’s hands were caught in Sam’s sweater and then-

Peter kissed like he didn’t know all the answers, for once, and he was okay with it. Peter kissed like he was memorizing everything about the moment. Peter kissed like he was planning on replaying it like an old video tape, over and over until the tape wore thin and tore. Peter kissed like he could hear the orchestra playing behind them, like they were in some cheesy made for tv rom com and were about to get their happy ending.

Peter kissed like Sam was his happy ending.

Finally, they broke apart- more to catch their breath than anything else. 

“Hell of a study date,” Sam breathed, unable to stop smiling.

“Shut up.” Peter was smiling, too.

And, leaning back in, Sam did.

[unlucky-words]

A theory on the genetic impact of the hero drug, or: an idea about boost varieties

(tldr; i think abilities are grouped by the number of chromosome pairs added to the body by the hero drug, specifics of them determined by a random (think fingerprint-like) development unique to each person, and this is why boosts kids get so fucked up.)

PART 1: kinds of boosts

one pair (tensile): muscle and skin durability. the addition of a ‘mesh’ over the top of or replacing the skin, and/or internal membranes to diffuse and repel applications of force, this is intrinsic to most boosts, though only slightly. an example of a purely tensile boost is anathema, prior to the second dosage.

two pairs (strength): a rare and often fatal variant of the first pair, these fast and strong enhanced are often mistaken for tensile boosts. the body however cannot support this increase of bodily energy, and will tear itself apart with time. the los diablos villain red behemoth is a living example, surviving by means of armor, constant skin and muscle grafts, mods, and steroid intake.

three pairs (material production): the body creates something, from a fluid secreted through the skin, to body armor and new limbs. an example would be anathema’s acid ability, or the mantis-like arms of the regene that attacks psychopathor

four pairs (extrasensory): increased functionality of the senses. another trait present in most sucessful boosts, but those with this set only posess a far higher degree of change. eyesight may sharpen to be able to focus on objects near invisible to the naked eye, and can do so from 100 meters away. hearing becomes so acute that the heartbeat of enemy soldiers aboveground may be detectable from many meters underground, and through solid bedrock. (it has been debated if these ought to be categorized with telepaths, or vice versa, but the difference is currently accepted as an extrasensory boost modified existing organs. a telepath grows an entirely new sensory organ.)

five pairs (environmental manipulation): ability to change barometric pressure and alter thermodynamics. an example would be sentinel, who was skilled in air current manipulation (presumably done with a combination of the above abilities). most with electric and heat based abilities fall into this category.

six pairs (telekinetic): any ability to change forces applied to objects. an example would be herald, who’s abilities are very strong (high output of newtons) but limited to acting in a very small range around himself, functionally limiting the use to flight. this category covers most with any kind of force field,

seven pairs (telepathic): possesses an entirely new organ in the head like the ampullae of Lorenzini in sharks, to pick up on the electricity in brains, and the ability to interpret the information gleaned from humans and higher vertebrates. telepaths are a security breach waiting to happen at best, and a living atom bomb of secrets at worst.

THEORY PART 2: so i think the reason boosts struggle to have kids, even when they’re don’t appear very altered (like herald) is because of the chromosome thing. mules (born from a donkey and a horse) are harder to breed because despite being very genetically similar, the chromosomes of a donkey and a horse don't match up! they recieve 31 from their father (the donkey) and 32 from their mother (the horse).

applying this to humans, you would have a much harder time getting a kid with each extra chromosome. this assumes two things; that boosts with the same number could produce a healthy, unboosted child (i’ll explain why in a moment), and for the same reason, a child with either two differently boosted parents or one boosted parent and one unaltered parent, are liable to be two things: sterile (like a mule, due to reproductive cells not aligning correctly), and born with defects.

so. going the the why of all this. malin has said regarding kids of boosts: powers aren't passed down, and there’s often birth defects, sometimes fatal. here's my theory why both of those happen: in cases of different boost level couples, the modified cell of the one parent is detected by the cell other parent in utero, and like the cases of babies blood cells fighting the mothers, one understands that the other is wrong. so it tries to self-repair, just like the body fighting off a fever, or when a blood transfusion has the wrong blood type and the antibodies don’t correspond. unfortunately for them, the boosted chromosomes are unstable. if the number is uneven, the additional boosted chromosomes will overflow, so to speak, and damage the base 46, causing moderate to severe developmental disorders depending on how great the difference is. these often are new and undocumented, and thus hard to treat or accommodate. in a boosted couple with the same number, however, this isn't an issue! as they will take each other out and leave an unboosted, undamaged child behind, just like if the couple hadn’t been boosted at all.