#biggest injuries

[kurakuradon]

captain & nurse

[sugarcoatednightshade]

thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.

And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.

And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.

And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?

Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.

Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.

[serpentface]

Some qilik variation

Qilik are the most phenotypically diverse sophont and have a massive degree of variation in coloration and feathering across and within populations. This is partly due to being composed of at least three ancestral species and multiple subspecies (mostly interfertile and widely hybridized), partly due to their extremely wide range and often isolated populations, and partly due to the significance of color and display features in mate selection (and varying and ever-changing cultural conventions of attractiveness).

(A few here display body modifications, namely clipped brow feathers and selective plucking. The most vivid orange and pink shades require carotenoid pigments derived from the diet)

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

The clip where Geno says Azzi is the best conditioned is here at 4:30

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMmBNbp1csA

Thank you, Anon 🩷. I'll quote him every time someone tries to say anything negative about Azzi. "they're either going to try to guard you one on one, which they can't 😏"

[whump-side]

Now that I think of it, my blog being "whump-side" is a funny coincidence.

[jay-arts-t]

Should Scott technically be allowed to fly the blackbird considering his visor/glasses makes him colorblind???? Since he can only see red through it??? Or do you think he's memorized the positions of which lights and indicators are so he's fine? Thinking about the first time Logan is in the Blackbird with Scott flying it and he's shitting bricks over it.

[sinnettini]

i'm so sorry for wimbledon2021posting but i'm sad look at him..

[gayestcowboy]

i’m starting to get the urge to learn how to knit and that scares me

[faltine-fae]

betting on it that silco's molotov cocktail did kill felicia & connol, just as jinx did with her bomb with mylo & claggor🙁🙁🙁

[bugsbenefit]

Mike's og character design having a birthmark is really cool i think but also related gripe i have with the show is them not giving him a scar post s3 which would have been in the exact location the birthmark would have been in originally. perfect set up and then they fumbled the prime opportunity to make a homage to their original idea

the show always picks and chooses when to be medically accurate. like how Steve never needing immediate medical attention after the multiple blunt hits he got over the head is an actual miracle. but it's easy enough to suspend disbelief on that since people get knocked out and get back up again in movies all the time. everyone's used to that

but actual bleeding wounds are a lot weirder to just magic away especially when Jonathan and Nancy both got lasting scars from something as clean as a knife cut in the same show

face skin already scars incredibly easy to begin with and on top of that the cut Mike gets is the opposite of the clean knife cut J/ancy made. that's from getting his face forcefully smashed into a metal pipe and giving it's bleeding like that (unlike Max who only got bruises, no broken skin from hitting the wall) he seems to have either hit a valve/edge or the blunt force was That much. that wound lining is going to be jagged as fuck either way, no way that heals cleanly irl (only upside here is the mall being built as a cover for a new military base so the pipe's at least not rusty, small wins. low tetanus risk who cheered)

i get why they'd ignore it from a technical perspective. giving a character facial scars is always tricky since you need to make sure it's in the exact right place every day with how obvious even small placement errors would be. i get they avoided the hassle. still, fumble imo, would have been really cool. kind of more surprised i've not seen more fans go with medical accuracy on this, that's things fandom usually jumps on. i've seen no art and like one fic go with that scar now that i think about it

anyway that's the closest canon got us to the birthmark territory but then they didn't L

[batsplat]

Misano 2007

[dramas-vs-novels]

How can I bribe you into helping me get a job in the industry, other than promising my undying love, which you already have <3

The industry is horrible and awful, low pay, long hours, no real chance of advancing.

Whenever people touring the station or new interns ask me for advice, I always tell them to change careers lol

[greeenchrysanthemums]

is etho washed up in your au?

Haha no, but he does avoid fighting as much as he can so his skills might be just a little bit rusty. He does have many old injuries that do tend to flare up as well, so there are some moves cannot perform anymore. He also likes to play up the goofy inventor persona a lot, mainly because he thinks it is very funny. Because of this, many people, including some in the resistance itself, are under the impression that he is washed up even though he is not.

My ideal (and favorite kind of) Etho is one who comes off as harmless and makes you let your guard down before turning the tides on you when you least expect it.

[potatoeofwisdom]

Thinking about my silly little minecraft au and wondering if it would be more or less angsty if Leo is sent hurtling through dimensions during or after the events of the movie…. 🤔

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 21: Shackled (Sky & Time)

Ao3 link

Cw for blood and injury. Also the Shadow forcibly reads Sky’s mind so be cautious of that too

————————

Out of all the heroes in the Chain, Sky likes Time the least.

Well, no that’s not right. He likes Time just fine. The old man can be intimidating, of course (more than Sky thinks he really means to be), and gruff. But those are things that have long stopped bothering him. He’s lived a lifetime with Groose, after all, and fought a god, and endured Impa’s harsh reproach. Many things seem to bother him less after his adventure.

No, what troubles him about the older hero is the persistent, nagging feeling that he doesn’t like Sky. Sure, he’s given him relationship advice and laughed and talked with him. And sure, he listens to Sky’s input as much as he does that of the others. But that can’t wipe away the tension hanging between them, the way Time glances at the sword strapped to his back, the bitterness in his eye when Sky mentions Fi.

Sky quickly finds that the more time he spends with him, the more he feels that his presence by Time’s side is unwanted. That’s warranted, of course. The old man doesn’t even know the extent to which Sky’s actions have set him on the path he walks. But it still stings.

So, when he finds himself locked in a dark, dank cell with the hero, he’s less than enthused.

Perhaps it works in his favor that they’re shackled side by side rather than on opposite sides of the room. Though, on second thought, perhaps it doesn’t. After all, even if their position doesn’t create the awkward situation of trying to avoid one another’s eyes, it does put them in closer proximity than Sky usually elects to be.

And with nothing to do besides await the Shadow’s eminent appearance, Sky finds himself growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Usually in situations like these, where the silence is deafening and he can’t decide on the appropriate way to act, he loses himself in his head. Daydreams, he has found, are a wonderful way of avoiding unnecessary conflict and unpleasant thoughts. But it’s rather difficult to daydream when his ears are filled with the plink, plink of dirty water hitting the floor and his mind with the unignorable knowledge that the Shadow is on his way.

The headache pounding behind his eyes isn’t helping matters either. Neither are the memories surfacing with each jangle of the chains–of broken cuffs lying on the ground beside a scrap of Zelda’s torn dress, of cell doors surrounding him and smothering heat pressing down on him, of crawling out through tunnels that are so small he can hardly breathe.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that she’s gone. The lack of even her slumbering presence feels like a dagger in his chest.

“Are you alright?”

Time’s hand comes to rest on his arm, and he jumps, breaking from his reverie to turn to the older man. There’s blood streaked across the left side of his face, courtesy of the moblin who’d slammed its club into his head. It only seems to make him look more intense, his features more severe in the dismal lighting. And yet, his expression is kind.

Sky swallows. “Yeah, it’s just…” He gestures vaguely at their surroundings, chains clanking as he does so. “I don’t like cells much…or being chained to a wall.”

Time chuckles. “I don’t believe anyone does.”

Sky nods, letting his gaze wander the space once more. He has studied this place as well as he can with the minimal movement allowed, but no way out has presented itself. Not even a patch of soft dirt to burrow through or a crack in the wall they could bomb. Not that either would be helpful right now. Their packs are gone, stowed away under the guard of the Shadow’s lackeys.

“That’s not all, though,” Time says, quietly. “Something else is troubling you.”

Sky meets his eye again, but he can’t bring himself to answer.

Time regards him for a long moment, then hums. “It’s the sword, isn’t it?”

The Skyloftian opens his mouth, closes it, stomach clenching sickeningly. Of all the subjects they could possibly discuss, this is by far the worst.

“I just—I miss her,” he admits at last, voice cracking traitorously. “I can’t hear her anymore but…”

He trails off and silence reigns once more, broken only by that same, incessant drip.

“I heard her too, you know,” Time says, right when Sky is certain the quiet is going to crush him.

“You–” Sky swallows, hard. His mouth is abnormally dry. “You heard Fi?”

The smile on Time’s face is sorrowful, and it hurts Sky’s heart to see it.

“Not nearly as much as you seem to have. But yes, from time to time, I heard her voice.”

The older hero shifts, picking idly at the cold, hard, metal encasing his wrist. His eye is trained on the opposite wall, now, a faraway look in it. And without his armor, Sky can’t help but think he looks smaller than he ever has before, more human, and more vulnerable.

A question rises within him, one he knows he shouldn’t ask. But Sky can’t help it.

“What did she say?”

Time huffs a bitter laugh. “Many things. None that particularly endeared her to me.”

And there it is again, that biting remark that cuts to Sky's soul. Dejected, he leans back against the wall.

“She really does care for us,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “I know she can seem cold sometimes, and even intense, but it’s because she wants us to succeed.”

Time doesn’t reply. It is very quiet now, even more suffocating than before, and Sky lets his eyes slip closed, wishing he were anywhere but here.

The old man is entitled to his own views, but so is he. And he would really rather not have to argue over them as they await their painful fates.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), he doesn’t have to wait long.

Hardly ten minutes have passed when the door slides open with an ear-splitting screech, and the Shadow walks in. He’s still in his lizalfo form, tail swinging back and forth with every step, and his forked tongue darts out of his mouth as he takes in his captives.

“Ah, bonding over shared trauma I see,” he hisses. “What a wonderful way to spend your remaining moments—reminiscing about the ways Hylia has wronged you.”

He looks between them both, then heads over to Sky. One scaly hand grips the Skyloftian’s chin, forcing him to look up. His nails puncture his skin, drawing blood.

“Though, you fell for the goddess, didn’t you? And secured all of our fates in the process? Pathetic.”

Sky tenses, all too aware of Time’s presence at his side. But the older man hardly pays attention to the monster’s words.

“Let him go,” he growls, tone dangerous.

The Shadow laughs. “You wouldn’t demand that of me if you knew what this one has done.”

His grip tightens and Sky fights not to grimace. Blood runs down his chin to splatter onto his tunic.

“Have you ever wondered why he knows virtually nothing of Ganondorf? Well, that’s because he is the reason that man exists in the first place. His final battle wasn’t like yours, oh Hero of Time. You fought an evil man hungry for power. He fought the god who created him.”

The Shadow smirks and drops Sky’s chin. Seconds later the chains move of their own accord, lengthening and wrapping around his body. They constrict and he gasps, trying to breathe past their cutting grip.

Time’s expression darkens further, and he lunges for the monster. But with one flick of a claw, the Shadow sends him flying back. He hits the wall with a sharp, sickening crack.

No!

Sky struggles, desperately, but it’s hopeless. The shackles are so tight, now, that he can feel his pulse pounding in his wrists. The chains bite into his skin, tearing at his tunic, drawing blood.

“You aren’t listening,” The Shadow scolds, practically slithering over to where Time lies, looking dazed. He drags him to his knees. “I’m trying to impart vital knowledge before I end your lives. All the heartbreak you’ve endured, all the pain–I’m trying to make it make sense.”

“You’re lying,” Time grits out, “to try and make me turn against him. Believe me, I’ve seen this tactic before. Don’t insult me by expecting it to work.”

For a long, terrible moment it’s silent, save for the sound of Sky’s thin, ragged breathing. Then, the Shadow snarls “Lying, am I?”

He grabs Sky’s shoulder with one clawed hand and Time’s with the other, and suddenly, the pain in Sky’s head grows a hundred times worse.

He can’t hold back a scream, as magic pours into him and out. Memories flash past his eyes, flying faster than he can keep up, in a nauseating mix of color, sensation, and sound. He nearly blacks out before the Shadow finds the one he wants and seizes it. It feels like his skull is being split open.

And then he’s living it again—the battle with Demise and its aftermath. He’s watching a god fall at his feet, hearing the words that will doom his descendants for eternity.

When it’s over he sags forward, struggling to remain conscious. Every breath feels like fire burning his lungs. The taste of blood is bitter upon his tongue.

“Now, do you believe me?” The Shadow sneers.

With an effort, Sky drags his eyes open and turns to look at Time. The old man is still on his knees, though it looks like the monster’s grip is the only thing keeping him from collapsing. His head is tilted down, hair falling forward to cloak his features, but Sky can tell that he knows the Shadow’s words are true. He can see it in the trembling of his hands, the defeated slump in his shoulders.

A tear dribbles down Sky’s cheek to soak into his sailcloth. He knew this day would come, yet desperately, foolishly, he had hoped it wouldn’t come like this. He’d wanted to be the one to tell them all in the end.

There’s a deafening clatter as the Shadow tosses a sword at Time’s feet.

“You know I speak the truth,” he says as the shackles restraining the hero fade. “This man whom you’ve traveled with, conversed with, even protected, is responsible for all your anguish and regret.”

Time raises his head to look up at the monster. Almost in answer to his gaze, he kicks the sword toward him.

“Pick it up. Slay him. You know he deserves it.” He hooks a talon beneath Time’s chin, holding his gaze. “And after everything you’ve endured don’t you deserve it too? Even heroes have the right to get their revenge.”

The air is so thick with tension, Sky is certain he’ll choke on it. He can’t imagine Time caving to the Shadow’s request, he just can’t. But does he even truly know the man? Time hadn’t known his dark secret. And after what Twilight and Malon have told him, how can he be certain he won’t be relieved to finally have someone to blame?

Time turns to look at him and Sky forces himself to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks.

It’s so tiny an offering for the damage he’s caused, but it’s all he has.

He wishes he could do more. He wishes he could erase his mistake altogether.

There’s something unreadable in Time’s gaze, just barely peeking through the emotionless mask he has steeled his features into. Before Sky can even begin trying to decipher it, he looks back down at the sword. Slowly, he picks it up.

The Shadow’s lips stretch into an obscene grin, showing lines of tiny, sharp teeth.

“Yes,” he hisses, “well done. Now, finish it.”

Time stands, wavering slightly on still unsteady feet, and Sky’s heart climbs into his throat. But when the hero hefts the sword in his grip, when he stabs outward with dangerous precision, the glinting metal blade is not aimed at Sky.

It’s aimed at the Shadow.

The sword plunges right through the monster’s middle, and he stumbles back with a screech. There’s a flash of light, an explosion of dark, and then, nothing at all.

The chains around Sky disappear, and he crumples. Everything aches, his head pulses in time with his heart, and blood and tears fill his throat. But all that is hardly his focus right now.

He raises his head, and Time is standing there, gazing down at him. Without hesitation, he holds out his hand. Sky stares at it dazedly.

“Don’t blame yourself for matters you had no control over,” Time says, tone sincere and unbelievably kind. More tears cascade down Sky’s face at the sound of it.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t—

“But it’s my fault,” is all he manages to say.

Time shakes his head. “Demise placed the curse on us, not you. Being unable to prevent harm doesn’t mix well with the hero’s spirit—I know that well. But you did all you could, Sky. I would never blame you for my fate.”

His words are like a balm on a deep wound Sky didn’t even truly realize he had. Zelda has told him the curse isn’t his fault–even Groose has agreed–but hearing it from Time of all people is just different.

A sob rips through him and he curls in on himself, hand pressed to his face in a vain attempt to restrain the emotion pouring out of him. Wordlessly, Time kneels down and brings him into his arms. Sky collapses into him, trembling and hiccupping.

For a bit he holds him, quietly allowing him to drench his tunic with his tears. But finally, he pulls back. Immediately, Sky disentangles himself from his arms, swiping at his face, and trying to steady his gasping breaths.

“I’m sorry Sky,” Time says, looking genuinely apologetically, “but we have to go. Every moment we spend here gives the Shadow more time to collect himself and plan another attack. And there are many enemies between us and the exit.”

He stands and picks up the Shadow’s sword from the ground. Then, he gives Sky a small smile.

“Besides, we have to rescue your friend.”

Sky’s lips lift just slightly in an answering smile, albeit a shaky one. “Right.”

This time when the older hero holds out a hand, he takes it.

[rafole]

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