#flare monitoring system

[agilemicrosys]

Flare Monitoring System | Agile Microsys Pvt Ltd

Ensure compliance and operational safety with Agile Microsys' Flare Monitoring System. Our advanced solution provides continuous real-time monitoring of flare stack emissions, offering precise data on combustion efficiency and environmental impact. Designed to meet regulatory requirements, our system helps in optimizing flare operations, reducing emissions, and minimizing risks. Discover how our cutting-edge technology enables proactive management for enhanced safety and performance in industrial flare systems.

[livingslime]

Hi hi!! ((o(^∇^)o)) what would Anselm do with a s/o that has a chronic illness (POTS) ?? Just askinnnn' from experience ( =＾ω＾)

Hi hi Cake! ⸂⸂⸜(രᴗര๑)⸝⸃⸃

As a neurosurgeon, Anselm is very familiar with the body’s autonomic nervous system, which plays a crucial role in POTS!

He would see himself as the perfect personal doctor for the MC with POTS.

He believes no one else could care for them as thoroughly as he can, ensuring their every symptom is closely monitored and managed. He would be obsessively attentive, meticulously tracking every detail of their health, to managing their medication and food.

He would tell the MC that their condition makes them more fragile, more in need of his constant care, and he loveeees being the one they rely on. In his mind, every episode or flare-up would be an opportunity for him to prove how indispensable he is.

He's always prepared to cradle them in his arms when their legs give out!

[milksnake-tea]

━━ 4:00:00 A.M.

in which silver wolf and sunday realize they have more in common than they'd originally thought. 2.1k words.

It’s just about 4:00:00 system time when Silver Wolf finds herself pulling yet another all-nighter.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to her; as much as she needs it (much to her chagrin, as unfortunate as it is, she is painfully human and thus needs sleep as everyone else does), she often finds herself staying well into the wee hours of the night with her room shrouded in darkness and her face illuminated by her various consoles and monitors.

She stifles a yawn as her thumbs move on autopilot across the rhythm game she has up on her phone. To any normie, the bright colors and flashing lights would’ve given them a seizure with how rapidly they blinked. But Silver Wolf is already starting to get bored of it - even at this speed, the game was too boring, too slow.

There’s little to no joy as the victory screen flashes. With a sigh and a stretch of her arms, Silver Wolf leans back in her chair.

She’s bored, so incredibly bored.

Nothing interesting is happening anymore. It’s like the cosmos has gone dead-silent, waiting for the next update or patch to come. Except unlike with games, Silver Wolf can’t just leave this reality and pick up another one.

She stares up at the ceiling despite the lack of light. It isn’t like anyone’s awake at this time, either. Firefly might be, but she’s off in a whole ‘nother star system and probably doesn’t feel like having some fun - not after Penacony. Blade’s knocked out, and Silver Wolf would eat her shoe before she asked Kafka of all people to game.

That leaves two people: Elio, and the new recruit.

And Elio hasn’t left his man-cave for the last three weeks - not like Silver Wolf would play with him, anyways. He’s got to be one of the most boring players of all time; he already knows everything that’s going to happen, and so he’s never lost.

As for Sunday, well…

She raises her hand and violet-blue screens materialize at her fingertips. She sorts through the base’s security camera feeds (made by yours truly), scrolling mindlessly until she spots something, no, someone in the hall outlooking the cosmos.

She grins. Perfect.

With a cartoonish popping noise, she teleports right besides Sunday so she can speak in his ear.

“Whatcha looking at?”

Sunday jumps, wings flaring like a deer in highlights. He unfortunately doesn’t scream in absolute terror, nor does he jump back with a face so scandalized it would rival that of the oldest and most traditional of great-great-grandparents.

Silver Wolf bites her lip to hide her disappointment. Indifferently, she tilts her head and lands neatly on the floor besides Sunday.

As soon as he gets his bearings back, Sunday sighs with a pointed look. “Was that really necessary?”

“Of course,” Silver Wolf snickers, planting her hands on her hips. 

She kind of hates how she has to crane her neck up to look at him - over three years of working with the Hunters, and she’s yet to find someone who wasn’t taller than her. And she’s been drinking a lot of milk, too (never let Kafka find out. If she did, Silver Wolf was going to throw herself off the top of Pier Point)!

“You didn’t answer my question, though. What’re you doing up so late, Mr. Wings?”

If Sunday cares for her nickname, he doesn't show it. He rarely shows anything. “I could say the same to you, Miss Silver Wolf.”

“Well, since you’re new, I’ll let this slide. But it’s pretty well-known around here that I don’t exactly need sleep.”

Sunday raises a brow. “Is that right?”

Thinly veiled amusement laces his tone. He obviously doesn’t believe her.

“You don’t have to believe me,” she shrugs, feigning indifference. “Isn’t the fact that I’m here proof in of itself?”

Her eye twitches when Sunday insteads lets out a breathy chuckle, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Time and time again, Silver Wolf has been looked down on because of her stature and young age, and many more times she’s used that to her advantage. She’s been called a child, immature, a brat - all by people she would eventually bring down with ease.

But for some reason, she doesn’t see that condescending gaze in Sunday’s eyes. No, it’s something different - something… warm, and fond.

It creeps her the hell out.

“It’s rude to stare,” she clips, crossing her arms. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you that?”

Sunday’s gaze becomes downcast. Shit. Did she say something she shouldn’t have?

“My parents were…”

Fuck.

“You don’t have to finish that,” she interrupts hastily. Sunday shakes his head.

“No, it’s alright.” 

Looking up to the great vastness of the universe, Sunday’s eyes become unfocused, as if gazing upon something far, far into the distance, something that couldn’t be seen by the naked eye.

“My parents left me at a very early age due to the Stellaron Crisis,” he begins. Internally sighing, Silver Wolf falls silent. “For as long as I’ve ever known, Robin was the only person I had. We did everything together, from our lessons to sneaking out at night to watch the stars.”

“You? Sneak out?” Silver Wolf raises a brow. Maybe he isn’t as uptight as she thought he was.

“It was mainly Robin’s idea, although I was more of a troublemaker than I am now.”

“You’re a wanted criminal.”

“That’s besides the point.”

Well, at least there’s potential. Silver Wolf wouldn’t know what to do if she had a religious prick with a stick up his ass as a coworker… he’d be fun to tease, but that’s it. Regardless, she nods for him to continue.

“Anyways, it goes without saying that Robin was… is very important to me. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy, even if it meant that Gopher Wood would target me instead of her. And… as much as I owe to Gopher Wood, he wasn’t the kindest of father figures.”

He turns his head slightly to meet Silver Wolf’s eyes. She hopes that her expression is normal.

“So, forgive me, if I haven't learnt anything my parents should’ve taught me.”

Whatever sympathy Silver Wolf had shrinks quite quickly. Her face drops into a pout.

“Alright, geez,” she groans, stretching her arms. “I’m sorry, okay? I said something insensitive.”

Sunday hums. “Are you really?”

Her pout drops into a glower. “If you’re thinking of making me grovel, think again. I’m not going to stoop that low.”

“Alright, alright,” Sunday concedes with a smile. “I forgive you.”

There’s something in the way he speaks that makes it so that she doesn’t even want to grace him with a response. Turning her cheek with a huff, she joins him in watching as the nebulae pass by.

For a moment, the world is still. Silence envelops the base, and the only sound is a distant soundtrack of classical music.

Then, for reasons she doesn’t know herself, she speaks.

“You know, I also had a sibling.”

In the reflection of the window, she sees Sunday’s brows raise with intrigue. Warmth rushing to her cheeks, she coughs and hastily continues. By the End, why did she ever think this was a good idea?

“Well, they weren’t as much a sibling as they were a coworker. But they were the only one who could ever keep up with me. I’ve yet to meet another person like them, and I doubt that I ever will. They were like a 5-star artifact that rolled into all of the right substats.”

“You say ‘were’,” Sunday observes carefully. “Have they…?”

“They’re not dead,” Silver Wolf says bluntly. “They just left. I see them sometimes, but they don’t remember me.”

Sunday’s gaze becomes lidded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Silver Wolf waves him off. If he’s about to get all sappy or therapist-y with her, she doesn’t want part in any of it. “It was going to happen one way or another. It was in the script.”

“Still, isn’t it lonely?”

Lonely?

Silver Wolf doesn’t know what to make of that word. Loneliness implied the lack of companions, of which she has many - excluding the Hunters, she has Friend, Demon Lord, White Collar, and Servant. They are the ones who have been with her ever since her days in that dingy old fast-food restaurant. With them around, she was never alone.

But that doesn’t seem to be what Sunday is asking.

“I don’t know,” she says nonchalantly. “It is boring without them, though.”

Sunday doesn’t reply. The silence returns, but this time with a heavier weight. Her chest constricts - she wants to sigh, but holds herself back.

It’s stupid, anyways, to grieve for someone who never left. She still sees them, after all. They just… don’t like her as much as they used to.

A memory she’s tried to bury comes to mind - the Astral Express’s cabin, a hologram, and a distrustful gaze, and a word that haunts her more than she’d like to admit: Intruder.

Ugh, whatever. She knew it would happen; Elio had warned her. She’d read the script. She’d taken their memories herself. She even made fun of Kafka when they didn’t fully remember her.

She’s being stupid - maybe this is why Blade always told her to not stay up too late. Emotions are dumb, and she does not have the time to deal with them-

There’s a gentle weight on her head, and then a soft rustling of her hair. Silver Wolf bluescreens.

“It isn’t a sin to miss someone,” Sunday offers softly. “Nor is it a weakness. All it means is that you treasured that person deeply.”

“I know,” Silver Wolf mutters. She hates how her throat has become a little choked up. Slapping his hand away, she shoots him a disgruntled look. “I’m not a child, by the way. You don’t have to treat me like one.”

“My apologies,” Sunday chuckles, returning his hand behind his back. “I’m afraid I got a tad bit carried away. I do hope you can forgive me, Miss Silver Wolf.”

“Whatever,” Silver Wolf sighs, dusting off her hair in a meager attempt to get it back in line. “And you don’t have to call me that.”

“Call you what?”

“Miss. It sounds stuffy. Just call me Silver Wolf, like everyone else does.”

“Not everyone, though,” Sunday points out, mirth glimmering in his eyes. “If I recall correctly, doesn’t Miss Kafka refer to you as-”

“Call me ‘Wolfie’, and I’ll drop you off at the IPC. ”

“Point taken.”

Silver Wolf squints. She doesn’t like Sunday’s tone, still patronizing as ever - but maybe that’s just how he talks. Eh, who cares. He isn’t the only one who talks weird - Kafka would give him a run for his money.

In search of some sort of stimulation, her phone materializes in her hands and she starts up yet another game - that Origami Bird game that she’d dueled against them with.

As always, she opts for PVP - Aeons know how dull the A.I.’s playing style is. But barely one minute in, and she already finds herself itching for something new.

“Is that from Penacony?”

Silver Wolf nearly jumps out of her skin, but thankfully, she manages to play it off well. Sunday is looking just over her shoulder, intrigue barely noticeable but still present.

“Yeah,” she says, shifting away slightly so that he doesn’t breathe on her. “Got launched a few days after you got arrested. Wanna play?”

Surprise flickers briefly over his dove-like features. “I… I suppose I could; although, I do have to warn you - it has been quite some time since I’ve picked up a video game.”

“Really?” Silver Wolf wrinkles her nose as she hands him one of her consoles. “What do you do in your free time, then?”

Sunday blinks. Silver Wolf blinks back.

“My what?”

Silver Wolf visibly cringes.

“Good grief, how are you worse than Blade?” She blows a raspberry, starting up the game. Atop her head, her holographic origami bird flutters to life, nestling into her hair comfortably. A few moments, and soon Sunday's own avatar materializes with a gentle coo. “Alright, whatever. Get the tutorial done, and then I’ll PVP you.”

“Ah, alright. How do I do that again-?”

Does he even know what PVP means? She doubts it. But as the familiar theme song begins to play, the chirps of the holographic birds fill up the empty silence, and she once again finds herself in the motions of teaching someone to play, she can hardly bring herself to care.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

tags: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

[mychlapci]

Milk that policebot stupid, now Ratchet has had it with Prowl getting another crash from overworking his damn experimental cerebral hardware for the 13th time that quartex. He's decided that Prowl needs a proper break for once. Naturally, our haughty tactician refuses, citing that he'd go insane from the lack of mental stimulation, since he can't deactivate the battle computer. Hell, he can't even overload properly since having too high of a charge may cause the damn thing to fritz out and damage his brain.

Ratchet's solution? Turn the damn thing off by cutting it's power source. The battle computer here is so power hungry, it needs a whole different source of fuels or else it'll drain Prowl's main tanks dry in no time. This is why his processors are actually wired to the condensers in his chest; his fat, voluptuous milky boobies are there to provide juice to that thirsty hardware. So in theory, draining his chest pouches should starve his processor and drop it into power saving mode, allowing him to overload safely.

Unable to protest against the logic of his chief medical officer beyond a few indignant complaints, Prowl very quickly finds himself strapped onto a sybian with milkers latched to his erect nozzles. Because that's what he needs. To be milked until his mind is empty enough that he can finally cum all of that stress out from his pent up frame.

Hands cuffed behind and locked down onto the surface behind him, he can only wriggle in place when the suction is activated. Condensed, pure fuel flowing out from his perked up titties while Ratchet continues to attach buzzing stimulators throughout the rest of his body. Once the systems monitoring his pouch levels note that he's finally below 70% capacity, the dildo in his pussy flares to life, vibrating at a low frequency, forcing a gasp from its captive audience.

Prowl has never felt like this before. He was forged with the experimental hardware in place, so finally being allowed to experience pleasure without restraint like this is a completely new and foreign experience to him. Ratchet wipes up the drool leaking from his panting mouth, and stuffs it back into his intake.

"Good mech. Let it happen. Shhh."

He can feel his processor becoming more and more sluggish, background programs and simulation queues pausing and terminating one by one. Everything is becoming fuzzy, coloured by that sickeningly sweet haze of arousal building in his core. He's at 50% now. The vibrator kicks up a notch, and starts thrusting into his fluttering valve. He jolts when he feels firm, skilled fingers begins to massage his node, eyes all but locked onto the dim swaying lamp overhead. World out of focus.

It's so hard to think now. So empty. So good. The nodes attached to his doorwings and various armour gaps flare to life, making him shiver against Ratchet's broad frame, pressing against him from behind. Prowl squeals when the milking pads suddenly starts exerting pressure on his sensitive titties, squeezing them to encourage more fluid flow. His chest reserves are getting low now.

18%. His needy little frame is becoming so charged up, components rattling and trembling, so unused to such amounts of pleasure. Ratchet is whispering praise and encouragement directly into his audials, even if he no longer has the ability to parse the words. Those hands are gripping his hips now guiding them to grind against the sybian, meeting each thrust in slow, intoxicating glides. Good, obedient, little slut.

There's something building inside him. Prowl doesn't know what it is, but he knows subconsciously, whatever it becomes, it's going to wipe him completely clean. He wonders if this is what it feels like to truly overload. 5% capacity. The battle computer is so quiet for once. His body and mind are unraveling under Ratchet's hands, separating mind from matter. He's floating.

Those arms are wrapped around his uncontrollably shaking body now. So very close to cumming, he can't even conjure up a single line of thought anymore. And as that pouch gauge tips from 1.1% all the way down to a 1.0%, Prowl cums. Electricty surging through his frame snd processor, thrashing mindlessly in Ratchet's embrace. Valve spasming and squirting around the thrusting false spike, lubricants gushing out and dripping onto the device, pooling into a veritable puddle on the floor below. His spike just seems to ejaculate on and on, as if making up for lost time, releasing all of that backed up transfluid at once.

Prowl was cumming so hard, he didn't even register when he'd blacked out and rebooted, still in the same position, securely held by those strong servos. All he knew was that his relaxed frame could no longer move. He could see something in front of him. Colours, shapes moving. There were a few noises around him, but the silence in his head begged for greater attention. He was… He didn't know why he was there. Nor does he care. It doesn't matter anymore. He felt good. So good. He was being good. That's what the voice and the headpats were telling him. He's good.

Once completely out of it, the milking pads automatically throttled their flow, keeping his pouches teetering on that 0.25% theshold as to not drain him dry completely. Ratchet moves to insert a feeding tube into the blissed out tactician's slack mouth. Moving him to a private ward so that he can lie down and rest at last, letting his tits fill out again until his battle computer and higher brain functions re-engage.

And if Prowl finds himself, unknowingly of course, spending more time than agreed previously within the confines of the medbay, well, it's not like he could protest anyway. All Ratchet has to do is use a low flowrate for the feeding tube while leaving the milking pads on, keeping his silly little processor in power saving mode until he decides to let Prowl regain cognizance. Whenever that is.

Because their chief tactician just looks so pretty like this. He's so much cuter as a blank little fuckdoll, all milked stupid and demure. And if the rest of high command just happens to find him posed on his knees like a mindless toy next to his desk when they come to the CMO's office, well, feeding him a bit of transfluid here and there is definitely contributing to replenishing those boob fuel levels, for sure. Not that Prowl cares. He doesn't even have the capacity to care. Silly little slut just wants to be a good bot, be fragged through the floor and swallow all of that delicious cum right now. And perhaps, when he's good enough, that gentle voice and warm hands would give him more headpats, and maybe let him cum what little remains of his silly mind out again (he will). Might turn this into a full fic later if I can scrounge up the motivation-🔌

yesss this is so hot, i have no notes. i think it's funny that milking Prowl just straight up turns off his battle computer and makes him a little dumb.... mhmm

[bunnytornado]

Okay so imagine going to a beauty salon in hell and Vox is sitting in the waiting room flipping through a tech magazine about new TV models. He is considering changing up his look.

Beauty and the Jackelope

Vox X Reader Platonic

No TWs

Rachelle’s Beauty Emporium. While located on the outskirts of Cannibal Town, it was one of the best places to go for beauty advice. Normally, I avoided Cannibal Town just due to the fact it wasn’t the best in terms of getting grub.

Rachelle’s place though, had it’s charm. Getting my Strawberry hair cut and styled, while they did so well avoiding antlers and ears, sure made it worth going to. Even more so when they helped during those shedding months.

Hence, why I was here today. I needed the velvet shed. It was starting to peel on it’s own and it was driving me crazy. Which meant I became irritable at work. I had gotten into it more than once with Vox’s head assistant when he badgered me to get repairs done quicker on any systems that ended up down.

So, I came here to get rid of this week’s velvet. However, I hadn’t expected to see a certain demon there. What was Vox doing here of all places? “B-Boss,” I squeaked out and slowly sat beside him.

“Do I know you,” Vox said with a huff and air of annoyance. He flipped through the magazine in his hand. Wait, was that a TV model magazine?

My confusion and nosy nature perked at such a strange situation. “Yes. I work for you. As part of your IT department…I’ve been in your office to fix your TVs…a lot.”

“No. That’s a deer demon. You’re not her.” Vox stated, looking down his non-existent nose at me. “I would know. Don’t try to fool me stupid rabbit.”

I gave him a dirty look. “Sir, I’m a Jackelope. Not a rabbit. And 100% not a deer.”

“Ha! Prove it.” Vox said and shook out the magazine like it was a newspaper, settling back into the chair.

I growled and glared at him. My antler’s flared slightly, growing a hair, before I forced myself to calm down. "I don’t have to prove shit to you. I have better things to do here then remind you who I am.”

“Knew it, Rabbit. If you just wanted to get in my lap for a ride, you should have just said so instead of trying to act like you work for me. After I get my new model, you and I can go back to my place,” Vox purred and flipped a page.

I felt like I was going to puke and shook my head, my anger flaring again. My ears flashed a red, and my nose scrunched. My antlers grew to where they could be seen. I held my tongue, but my ire was already flaring. Between the itching and now his attitude, I was losing control of my temper.

Suddenly, I felt a claw poke at my three-pointed antlers. “Excuse you,” I snapped and pulled away from his claw. “Anyone tell you to fucking look with your eyes and not your claws?”

“Aww little Bambi,” Vox purred and reached out to tap them again. “I swear, all of you deer demons have the same antler growth.”

“I. Am. Not. A. Deer! Dammit, I am a fucking Jackelope,” I snarled and moved to a few seats away from him, out of reach.

“All I’m seeing is a Deer Rabbit,” Vox said and smirked. He knew what he was doing, and he knew this was his employee from the start. But some things were just too much fun to skip out on. Especially when this employee was usually calm and collected. “So, Deer, why don’t you climb in my lap, and I can continue looking at new seasonal models?”

Just as I was about to finally snap, my name was called to go get my hair and antlers taken care of. “Bunny?”

“HA! So, you are just a Deer Rabbit,” Vox laughed and grinned.

“Uh, Fuck you! I am a Jackelope! My name is Bunny,” I snapped and stomped off.

As I walked away, Vox continued to laugh and flip through his magazine. “I think a Curved Monitor might look good.”

“You’re Forehead would be too big sir,” I snap before rushing off for my appointment.

[misslavenderlady]

Life Update - My mom was in the hospital

Hi, everyone. So my mother has had Multiple Sclerosis for the past 17 years. If you don't know what that is, it's an autoimmune disorder which causes damage to the central nervous system. It decreases your ability to move around and causes physical pain and mental distress. It's very different from person to person, but my mom's balance and coordination is affected the most.

She has seasonal flare-ups caused by extremely hot or cold weather. This past weekend she had a fever which triggered a flare up and caused her body to shut down. She fell in our kitchen when trying to get to her room, and I had to call an ambulance. I was at the hospital with her for 7.5 hours where they did a CT scan of her head (no concussion), an X-ray of her chest (no pneumonia) and a swab of her nose (no Covid, but she has the flu). She was put on an IV with medicine for her fever and pain.

I was brave for her, but it was quite traumatic, as she had a similar medical emergency when I was a teenager. Hospitals are very uncomfortable for me because every time I go, it's because someone I love is in pain. All I care about is making sure my family and friends and healthy and safe.

Please forgive me for any silence on my platforms. My family is my top priority and I've already been under a lot of stress because of my grandfather's health (he has multiple respiratory conditions). I have my fiance by my side helping me take care of everyone.

My mom's home safe and sound now but I need to monitor her in case her fever returns. Please send good wishes to my family.

Love you all.

- Lav 💜

[mmxstrangers]

CONGRATULATIONS!

🎉You chose a two for one special!🎉

You have selected the [Kapp and Undead] as your attire. Please see the following list of properties with this choice.

Kappa

Your head is hollow and open like a chalice. Water fills it and the more water you hold, the better you feel. Different liquids placed inside will alter your power for better or worse, so be careful with what you fill your head with.

You can snatch and eat the souls of others.

You LOVE cucumbers! They are a temptation you cannot say No to.

Undead

You are now experiencing post mortem and all the "perks" that come with it. From Livor to Rigor mortis, the progression of decay is your journey to navigate through.

Even though you are actively decaying it doesn't hinder your ability to perform daily tasks, though, some things like Rigor mortis make things a little difficult. You can detach and reattach any part of your body with simple needle and thread.

At some point three will be nothing of you but a skeleton.

The two lookalikes squinted at the message before glancing at each other.

Before they could fully process what was going on, a Poof! went off along with a cloud of smoke to briefly obscure the two from view.

Chi blinked, the optics on his visor activated to show where he was looking. While he didn't feel that different - various audio signals detected were still being received and processed, so he knew his information-sifting was intact - he could feel the sloshing of... Something, in his head.

He hesitantly lifted his hand.

The skintone of it was off - more greenish and scaly-looking in texture, with webbed fingers and clawed fingertips. Not only that, but a new weight was on his back.

What... Was he?

Suddenly, he felt a nervous spike of energy flare up - and it wasn't from his own systems.

A feeling of concern settled in his gut as he turned around to his partner.

[ CONTENT WARNING: body horror and graphic description ahead. It gets gross. ]

Theta's tendrils were tensed behind himself, shaking as if frozen in place and visibly struggling to move.

The pseudo-Zero's systems felt... Off.

There was normally a buzz of sensation as his body actively monitored for changes, which was a blessing and a curse in-of itself - it was from his self-repair factor, responsible for near-instantaneous replacement of his fleshier bits at the cost of his metabolism processing whatever he shoved into his mouth blindingly quick. It was why he was usually so hungry all the time.

While the gnawing in his stomach didn't go away at that moment, Theta did not feel that buzzing sensation vibrating under his skin anymore. If that was the case... That meant his self-repair factor was completely offline.

The horror of the realization slowly blanketed over him, punctuated by the sloughing of skin weighing downwards and tearing away from his face on one side.

A sickening plop was heard afterward, feeling the residual warmth of fluid slipping through his fingers.

Glistening flesh greeted him as he stared at the fallen part of his cheek, suddenly becoming more aware of the cold feeling hitting his exposed teeth and muscle. The smell of chyme penetrated the air. If there was anyone around, the scent alone would drive them off - but Theta's mind was twisting onto itself, struggling to understand what was going on and utterly ignoring what was around him.

Chi's calm aura was barely keeping him from freaking out; Theta would have completely lost his mind otherwise. However, his partner's presence didn't stop a foreign emotion from creeping into his circuits; it seized the red robot completely, apprehension freezing him in place.

He felt nauseous.

[purplesaline]

Symptoms of POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome)

Hypoxia (dizzy within 10 minutes of standing up, may experience vision "grey outs" or black outs)

Standing too long may result in trembling (like what happens when your muscles are tired after a workout), cold sweat, feeling like you're about to vomit

Some people may faint

Arms above your head tires you quickly

You feel better if you squat down

You start sitting or laying down with your legs lifted (so they're higher than your heart) when you never did that before

Dry skin (if you had dry skin to start with now it's even dryer)

Intolerance to heat. Need to sit in the shower because standing is even harder than outside the shower

Slower healing

You get heartburn/acid reflux more often

Your feet/hands get cold even when it's warm out (secondary Raynauds)

Exhaustion/lack of energy. You're just tired all the time.

"Out of shape" you can't walk as far/do as much as you used to be able to

Frequent urination

Feeling worse after eating carbs (particularly refined carbs)

Exercise intolerance

Not an exhaustive list

If you read this list and found yourself relating to enough of those points to make you concerned, when was the last viral or bacterial illness you experienced? A lot of people who got covid will have developed POTS as a result. POTS can also be triggered by physical trauma, and AFAB folks are far more likely to develop it than AMAB folks.

If you have ADHD or are hypermobile you are more likely to develop POTS.

If you have hEDS you are more likely to develop it.

the majority of the symptoms we're aware of is a result of our blood vessels not properly constricting, which causes blood to pool in our lower extremities rather than return to our heart for redistribution. This causes the heart to pump harder in an attempt to get the blood returned.

My case is one of the more severe ones and my symptoms are constant rather than coming in flares, but to serve as an example just a 20 minute shopping trip to Walmart had my heartrate up to 200bpm. Luckily fainting is not one of the symptoms I experience.

This is also a disorder than can get more severe over time, so it's possible many people have had it since childhood but the symptoms were mild enough to not be noticeable.

POTS, despite having so many cardiac symptoms, is not actually a cardiac disorder, it's a neurological one that impairs the autonomic nervous system and is one of the listed conditions under rhe Disautonomia umbrella (welcome to the zebra club!).

It is not considered a lethal disorder, despite how frightening it can be to have your heartrate so high. The largest factor to worry about is if fainting is a symptom you experience, but other than the dangers associated with that POTS sufferers have a normal life expectancy. It's disabling for many people and inconvenient for those that aren't disables by it, but it's not damaging your heart.

If you think you might have POTS it can be helpful to have some data to bring with you when you talk to your doctor for the first time. A "poor man's tilt table test" is a great diagnostic tool that anyone can do with access to a heartrate monitor. If you already have a fitbit that can monitor your heartrate that will work just fine. It's not the most accurate but it will give a good enough general snapshot and should hopefully convince your doctor to take the next steps.

If you don't have a heartrate monitor yet one of the most accurate heartrate monitors available to the general public is the Polar H10 chest strap monitor (in fact the guy that did my official testing said it was the best one to get). It was about $100 CAD, so definitely not cheap, but it can be used with some VR games that track your heartrate if that's something you're into lol.

A blood pressure monitor is also something that can help eith diagnostics but they're unfortunately not the most useful as they weren't designed to be used when standing (which is when the blood pressure drops), and, well, I even managed to error out the hospital's blood pressure monitor because my BP dropped too low, so I wouldn't worry too much about getting one unless you want to have one hanging around a anyway. If you do decide to get one, Omron is an excellent brand and recommended by the guy who did my testing (there was one other one he recommended above that but I've forgotten the name of it).

If your adhd meds have stopped working as well as they used to

And you've experienced any of these symptoms I highly recommend you look into getting tested for POTS. I have a strong suspicion that the recent concerns about adulterated adhd medications is not actually a problem with the medication, but a result of POTS. One of the biggest reasons for a false negative on amphetamine drug tests is dilute urine, so with POTS causing frequent urination it's entirely possible to get a false negative even with a therapeutic dose of amphetamines in your system.

If you do take amphetamines your doctor may suggest your symptoms are caused by them, so if you do approach your doctor with data from a heartrate monitor I recommend taking a medication holiday first. A full detox is approximately 3 days, but even skipping a day will make a noticeable difference in the data.

If you think you may have POTS there are some things you can do right now to improve your quality of life.

Get more electrolytes. Gatorade, pickles, SALT

Compression stockings. The best ones are that go all the way up to your midsection—pantyhose style. Thigh high is pretty good too. Even just the sock style can help though so get what you're able to access. There are three main pressure levels, the second level will generally be what most people need, but if your symptoms are more severe you may need the highest level. Keep in mind these will be much harder to put on. Get yourself some of those gardening gloves with the rubber coating, they help a lot.

Pop a squat. This will immediately drop your heartrate back to resting rate and it will stay there as long as you're in this position (it doesn't work like this for normies lol)

Get yourself a shower chair and take cooler showers

If washing yourself is a major chore don't be afraid to use an electronic scrubber! I've heard there are some specifically for exfoliating but honestly I've just been using one meant for scrubbing my shower and put a soft pad on it. Works like gangbusters!

I'm running late so I'll leave it here, but my asks are always open if anyone has questions!

Take care of yourselves.

[sage-nebula]

Summary: After Tails accidentally electrocutes himself in his lab, he considers the consequences of his mortality and decides to do something about it. Sonic is less than enthused with the result.

[Part 1 of A.I. Means Love]

- - -

Tails came to on the floor of his workshop, the smell of singed fur strong in his nose and his muscles twitching all over his body.

For a minute, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He took stock of the uneven palpitations of his heart in his chest, the way his arm jerked without his consent. His foot did, too—and when it kicked, it hit something with a loud clang audible even over the music still playing from the overhead speakers. Tails craned his neck so he could look, and saw a partially disassembled eggrobo by his feet.

Oh.

Grimacing, Tails pushed himself into a sitting position. The eggrobo was a new model, or at least one he’d never seen before, and he’d found it skulking around the upper plateaus of the Mystic Ruins. Tails was never one to leave discarded badnik pieces laying around—that was littering, and also wasteful—and so he’d brought it back to the workshop to take it apart to see what changes Eggman had made to this new model. Taking badniks apart to study them was old hat by now; Tails was confident he could do it even half asleep. But his confidence had gotten the better of him this time. So sure was he that he could pull it off without a hitch that he’d forgone his usual safety equipment, and when he hit a live switch with his screwdriver . . .

Tails sighed, and barely resisted the urge to bonk himself on the head. The pain of electrocution was lesson enough; he didn’t need to smack himself for being so careless. And he didn’t need to tell Sonic, either, or else he’d never hear the end of it and would probably be monitored as he tinkered with things for at least a week—

A sudden surge of guilt swept through Tails’ system.

Sonic.

It was an exaggeration to say that Tails had almost died just now, he thought. Sure, he was electrocuted—but he couldn’t have been unconscious for that long, and though he could taste iron in his mouth and his muscles were jittery, he could still move everything just fine. He had all his mental faculties. There were other cases of electrocution that were much worse than what he’d just been through where people had come through just fine. He hadn’t almost died—he was fine.

But if he had . . .

If Tails did electrocute himself to death in his workshop, what then? What would Sonic do if he came home to find that? What if he came home early from his latest jaunt out because there was an Eggman emergency, and he needed Tails to build something to combat it, and Tails couldn’t do that because he was dead? Or what if Tails went with him to deal with the Eggman emergency, and got careless in battle just like he was careless here, and got stomped to death by a giant mecha? Truthfully, Tails wasn’t too worried about that happening; the odds of Sonic not pulling him out of the way in time were statistically very low. But very low wasn’t impossible, and if Tails got killed somehow and Sonic was suddenly left stranded without any way to combat Eggman’s new tech, or just the right machine needed to prevent the end of the world . . .

Tails clambered to his feet, and abandoned the eggrobo in the middle of the workshop floor in favor of making his way over to his computer desk. He jostled his computer from sleep with a simple shake of the mouse, and hopped into his chair as the monitor flared to life.

The best time to come up with a solution to help prevent the end of the world in the event of his untimely demise was yesterday, but today was still better than tomorrow. Now that he knew what he needed to do, all that was left was to crank it out.

Tails cracked his knuckles and got to work.

[Keep Reading on AO3]

[kiigan]

Regarding Itachi's illness: (reposting & tweaking from the old blog)

ㅤNothing really ever confirmed in canon, as far as I'm aware? Kinda just called a mysterious illness/possibly a chakra illness whatever that is?? We all know it was just Kishimoto realizing he had to kill Itachi because otherwise he was gonna go toe to toe with Madara and Obito and single-handedly settle the whole mess. Thankfully for us, the fandom is filled with incredibly dedicated people and some have come to a reasonably plausible and evidence-based theory on what this illness could actually be. Disclaimer: none of this is my original work and I'm simply adapting the idea as a headcanon. Sources can be found [here].

⇾ Microscopic Polyangiitis (MPA)

I'm not going to bore anybody with medical jargon, so here's the main points and what's relevant to my portrayal:

MPA is an autoimmune condition. It’s the result of blood vessel inflammation, which can damage organ systems. 

People who have MPA may feel generally ill and fatigued, have a fever, or a loss of appetite and weight. When MPA affects the lungs they may have shortness of breath or cough up of blood. 

Medications that suppress the immune system form the foundation of treatment for MPA. As such, there’s an increased risk of developing serious infections and susceptibility to other diseases.

ㅤIn general, MPA is treatable and, with adequate monitoring and care, may even achieve remission. In other cases, symptoms may fade and return recurrently. In my canon verses, because Itachi was determined to die by Sasuke's hand, he only bothered with minimal care and to keep himself alive for as long as needed (also, let's be honest, it's kinda hard to get proper meds and healthcare when you're a wandering S-ranked criminal). In my canon-divergent and modern verses, Itachi still has to do regular check-ups but he keeps an eye on his meds/treatments and, save for occasional flare-ups, he's at least mildly healthy.

ㅤNote: In my canon verses, I headcanon that Itachi occasionally smokes opium when he is in particularly severe pain from MPA. If the use of drugs for medicinal purposes (or in general!) bothers you, please let me know beforehand and I'll keep this detail out of our threads.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

System Upgrade 0/17: Test Subject

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Echo, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair Set when Echo has been rescued from Skako Minor and is set to join Clone Force 99 Word Count: ~2550

Synopsis: Being rescued from the Separatists wasn’t the end of Echo’s ordeal, as the Kaminoans wanted to know exactly how he had been altered...

Content Warning: injury description, medical procedures, Echo in pain

"What are they doing to him?"

Wrecker's usually strident voice wavered with concern. He was pressed against the toughened viewing pane, hands spread, as though the contact might give him some insight into what was happening in the room below.

Tech pushed his goggles up his nose, glancing up from the datapad he tapped at and quickly away again as though the scene before them could not be viewed too long. "They are testing the extent of his cybernetic enhancements. Using the results of the scans they have already completed, the Kaminoans are now stimulating his implants one by one to find out exactly how they link to his nervous system."

"Yeah, but-" said Wrecker, wincing, "does he have to be awake for it?"

No-one answered his question. They didn't need Hunter's enhanced senses to hear Echo's howls of pain reverberating through the supposedly soundproofed walls.

Medical droids hovered around the prone patient; no, more like a prone test subject. Echo's torso and head were held steady with tightened restraints, his left arm similarly bound – the rest of him, those parts that had been rebuilt from metal and wire after he fell into the hands of the Techno Union, were dismantled and spread about like some 3D representation of a blueprint – one with a suffering clone at its centre.

A Kaminoan scientist glided serenely around the room, seemingly unperturbed by the ragged screams that tore from Echo's throat with each new touch of the droids to the metal ports installed in his body. The Batch watched as blue electricity arced from the droid into Echo's body, causing him to convulse as it raced along the exposed, trailing wires that the Kaminoans had laid out to map. Occasionally one of his detached limbs would twitch. Other times the heart-rate monitor that would stutter, or Echo's chest would seize completely as his breathing failed. Then another signal would be sent, and the screaming would start again.

Wrecker peeled himself away from the glass, turning his worried expression on Hunter. "We gotta help him."

Hunter stood immobile, arms folded and shoulders tense, his expression fixed in a fierce frown as he followed the steps of the procedure being carried out in the lab. The only outward sign that he was affected was the way his pupils dilated with each arc of electricity – the way his nostrils flared as each fresh scream reached his ears.

Crosshair was the one who answered, briefly removing the toothpick from his mouth to gesture with it. "What can we do?" he asked acidly, turning a withering glare on his brother. "They won't clear him for duty until they've satisfied their curiosity."

"But... Echo helped us," protested Wrecker, turning to him with his hands outstretched in appeal. "We fought alongside each other. We took down the Separatist ship."

"Correct," said Tech, "and the Kaminoans have read our battle report, as have the senior generals. But Crosshair is right; until they have satisfied themselves that they understand the functioning of his altered body – and assured themselves that he does not pose a risk to the GAR – then these tests will continue."

"Hunter!" Wrecker invoked his brother’s name in a desperate appeal, and finally Hunter's eyes flicked away from the scene in the medical room to meet Wrecker’s.

"We've done all we can for now," he growled from behind gritted teeth. "We vouched for him in our mission report. We stated that we would welcome him as a member of Clone Force 99. Now we have to wait."

Wrecker turned to plaster himself back on the window, gaze roving over the altered clone on the med table. Echo's pallid skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as he trembled and panted, adrenaline coursing through the human parts of his body. One of the medical droids was carefully unfurling more cables from his abdomen, and the Kaminoan scientist leaned over and peered at the work with interest.

Wrecker slammed a fist in futile protest against the hardened glass, unable to tear himself away from watching. Tech moved to stand beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll be there for him when it's over."

"How long will that be?"

For a moment Tech tapped at the datapad. "They sedated him to dismantle the cybernetics. Then woke him up for testing. They will probably sedate him again at the end of the process.”  His voice shook just a little as he said, “It... may be some hours yet."

"Tech's right," came Hunter's low voice. "We'll be here for him. No matter what, he'll come out of this knowing there are people waiting who see him as more than a test subject."

Crosshair's shoulders twitched in an involuntary flinch. Tech glanced at Hunter and straightened his goggles unnecessarily before looking back at his datapad, anything to avoid looking at his brothers or at Echo.

If anyone was going to understand how it felt to be a Kaminoan test subject it was the four of them standing in the room right now, waiting to add a new brother in suffering to their ranks.

When Echo was sedated and the process of reassembling his cybernetic body begun the Batch finally ended their vigil, returning to their quarters. All four were subdued – few words were exchanged, even the usually energetic Wrecker sagging under the weight of the situation. Half-heartedly Hunter suggested they should take the time to rest, eat if they wanted. Nobody had to tell him they would not be taking him up on the offer. He hadn't expected them to. It was a command he gave of rote, falling back on routine when all else failed him.

It was a sombre atmosphere in their room, each one lost in his thoughts. Wrecker sat quietly in his bunk, toying with the plush tooka Lula, rocking it absent-mindedly. Crosshair dismantled his rifle, inspecting each piece – still spotless from when he had done the same thing this morning – then abandoned the task. Discarding his current toothpick and replacing it with a fresh one, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling with a perpetual crease between his brows. Tech had found himself something to tinker with, tools laid out on the bench as he dismantled a scanner. Then, seeing the parts laid out before him, he quickly swept them into a box and rose to his feet, pacing the room with his datapad instead.

Hunter simply leaned against the glass viewing window, forearm raised and forehead resting against it, watching the fierce storm-lashed Kaminoan sea surge and flow. The tension radiating from him was palpable, and the others didn't try to approach him.

Night had fallen and the lights in the complex cycled to low before there was a beep of their room being unlocked. With a quiet hiss the metal door retracted and a medical table hovered into the room, guided by one of the Kaminoan droids that had been in Echo's operating room earlier. On the table was the unconscious clone trooper, pale and drawn and with a deep-etched frown that persisted even in his sleep.

Immediately the Batch were on their feet, and Wrecker was the first to the table. With a care belied by his size he tucked his hands under Echo's prone form, lifting him gently and cradling him to his chest. Hunter moved to stand in front of the droid, seeming to loom despite the droid's lack of response.

"How is he?"

"CT-1409's heart rate and respiratory function is normal. His neural activity is supressed by medical sedation. His recovery requires no further intervention or monitoring."

"Meaning he will wake up when the sedative wears off," translated Tech.

Hunter jerked his head towards his bunk in the corner, the tidiest of the four. "Put him in there, Wrecker." The medical droid was forgotten as the four enhanced clones clustered around the one they had adopted as one of their own.

Wrecker sank down to sit in Hunter's bunk, still holding Echo's unconscious form close. "He's so light," he said with an ache in his voice, looking up at Hunter with hurt in his eyes.

"He will improve," Tech reassured him, running a medscan over Echo as though he didn't trust the droid’s report. He didn't need to be told how delicate Echo's body was – he remembered carrying him during their escape from Skako Minor, the rescued clone's weight mostly due to his mechanical parts instead of muscle and bone.

"What he needs now is rest," Hunter said grimly. "The best thing is that he's been returned to us. That must mean the Kaminoans are satisfied that he isn't under the influence of the Separatists any longer." He reached out to Wrecker, resting a comforting hand on his upper arm near where Echo's head rested. "He'll be okay. Echo is tough – we've all seen that."

Crosshair's lip curled in a sneer. "He may be tough," he said, voice tight with bitterness, "but if I were him I'm not sure I'd want to be rescued, if that was what was waiting when I got back."

Hunter's jaw clenched tightly and he didn't reply. Whilst the clone troopers had been glad to see the return of one of their own they had thought lost, to the Kaminoans Echo was nothing more than a scientific and operational curiosity. He couldn't fault Crosshair's observation, even though he knew rescuing Echo had been the right thing to do.

"What if he wakes up and doesn't know where he is?" asked Wrecker with concern, looking down into Echo's troubled face. "He might think they're gonna start testing again."

Hunter glanced at the other two. Crosshair gave a short nod, and Tech a more emphatic one. "Don't worry, Wrecker," he said, gesturing to the bed. "We'll all pile in. The first thing he'll see when he wakes up is a friendly face."

Wrecker grinned and quickly shuffled to the middle of the bunk to make room for his brothers either side. Crosshair eased himself into the back of the bunk, resting his back against Wrecker's shoulder and tucking his long legs up, arms folded across his knees as he reclined his head and closed his eyes. Tech gestured for Hunter to take the other side, waiting for his older brother to settle himself before sitting down with his back to the side wall of the bunk and stretching his long legs across both Hunter and Wrecker's laps, forming a protective barrier across Echo's back.

Surrounded on all sides by his brothers, Wrecker squeezed Echo as tightly as he dared, arms gentle around the unconscious clone's fragile shoulders. "Don't worry, Echo," he whispered, his voice as soft and soothing as his brash vocal cords would allow. "We got you. You're safe now."

Dark… and cold. Two things Echo had known for so long, held prisoner within his own body as his mind was forced to compute battle plans for the Separatist army. But even that seemed preferable to the unrelenting agony of the Kaminoan testing procedures, every synapse in his body both natural and artificial lit up with pain over and over and for what? To see what wire went where? And no matter how he screamed and pleaded for it to stop they kept going, kept testing, and his throat was so raw that his voice gave out, and still he tried to scream only now no sound came out and the pain was so intense that his mind might tear in two-

Even the memory of it was enough to send hot lances of pain along his ragged, over-worked nerve endings and he convulsed, the involuntary shudder jerking him from the threshold of nightmare and into wakefulness and there was weight, he was restrained, he was still on the table-

The weight, a warm pressure against his body, shifted as he thrashed weakly. Long fingers gripped his upper arm and he tried to cry out, but his throat was so damaged that barely a croak escaped. He kept his eyes shut, afraid of what he might see if he opened them, but then the hand on his arm loosened and a scratchy voice spoke quietly.

"I wouldn't try and move if I were you, Reg.”

He recognised that voice. Now Echo opened his eyes, turning his face towards the voice and meeting the steely gaze of the sniper it belonged to. Crosshair offered him a slow nod, the fine line of his tattoo creasing at the edge of his eye as his mouth twisted in a humourless smile.

“If you keep thrashing about like that they’ll realise you’re awake, and it’ll be back for round two.” Crosshair’s sharp eyes darted towards the ceiling, and Echo followed his gaze to see the security camera that monitored the Batch’s room. He looked back to Crosshair for a moment and nodded his understanding, then took a deep breath and focused his attention on the rest of his body.

Everything hurt – a sharp ache of remembered pain, too fresh to bear looking at closely. But the pressure he had thought a restraint was the weight of tangled limbs folded round his traumatised body. The hand on his arm was Crosshair’s, the sniper resting with his cheek on the top of Wrecker’s shoulder. Wrecker had his chin tucked to his chest, snoring gently in his sleep, his arms still folded round Echo’s waist. On the other side Hunter dozed against the crook of Wrecker’s shoulder, one arm draped over Echo’s folded knees, the other over Tech’s shoulders where the latter had slumped against him in the night. Tech’s body was turned in towards the rest of them, his head on Hunter’s chest and an arm and leg thrown across Wrecker’s lap and Echo’s back.

Echo glanced back at Crosshair, his gaze questioning. The sniper’s narrow face had fallen back to its usual stern lines but Echo still found it a comfort.

Crosshair gave him a small nod, then closed his eyes to feign sleep again.

“Like I said… don’t try and move. You won't know peace like this again for a while. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Echo took another deep breath, feeling pain in his ribs as his chest expanded and wincing slightly. On his upper arm Crosshair’s long fingers tightened reassuringly, and at that simple gesture Echo’s eyes prickled with the tears he hadn’t shed throughout his ordeal – or at any time since they had rescued him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words little more than a rasp but he forced them out, heard himself say them aloud despite the pain.

“Don’t mention it, vod.”

Just barely, the corners of Echo’s mouth turned up in a smile. He settled back, laying his head once more on Wrecker’s broad chest and listening to his steady heartbeat, to the gentle breathing of the four clones resting around him. He still trembled a little at the thought of what he might yet have to face at the hands of the Kaminoans; he was sure they weren’t done with him yet. But for now the soothing presence of his new brothers was enough to lull him back to sleep – and this time, the nightmares were kept at bay.

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[cupid-tune]

Hello, I really want your opinion about the rejection of Beforius, and how he influenced society. We learned from Openbound that the high-bloods take care of the low-bloods. And many have the theory that the Highbloods basically cull other trolls when they have a disability, or a mutation that makes them unable to live on their own, and take on the responsibility of caring for them. Pretty good idea if it didn't have a lot of downsides. What do you think, could Kankri be "rejected" on the beforius, what influenced his character in the future:? or he also initially concealed his blood color, and only during the session he stopped concealing it:? If you think about it, then Rufio is also a kind of mutant, but when he grew up, for some reason he hid in the forest, away from settlements, like cities, as if afraid of someone:?

Apologies in advance for the disturbance :ззззз

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW HAPPY THIS QUESTION MADE ME

I've been thinking about this just recently!! I enjoy looking for content that tries to fill the gaps in between the experience of Beforus, whether it be dialogue or fan stuff. It upsets me that we weren't given too much insight into things, but the fun part is making do with what we have. This post is mainly focusing on mutants on Beforus, but I think this could apply to lowbloods and trolls with disabilities just as much.

Long post ahead!

A lot of what I could gather about the culling on Beforus was from Kankri's dialogue, which peaked my interest the most reading through it. In any other instance, I would take his remarks in the intended humorous manner, but if we really want to dive into this, taking what he says more seriously is a big help.

Kankri describes the problems of Beforus as more underlying and insidious, which makes perfect sense with everything else we have. Feferi was the ruler on Beforus, and as such, was likely a kind ruler with a much more peaceful system in place. The problem is, utopia can't really be achieved, no matter how hard you try. What we're seeing is a flawed system, with trolls who, despite their peaceful way of life, still behave similarly to that on Alternia. You're going to have bad people with bad intentions, and they will most certainly take advantage of the system in place because it's so easy to do.

The theory that highbloods will cull lowbloods and mutants the same amount that it happens on Alternia sounds about right, even if their version of culling is near opposite. Mutants are pitied in such a society, and will be treated like fragile beings who are in need of help. Beforus and Alternia are both bad on opposite sides of the spectrum. One cares too much, the other cares too little. I think a good comparison for this would be the foster care system and how much corruption lies within it. Though, I'd rather not dive into serious real life matters like that while trying to talk about fictional trolls, so it's just good to keep in mind for future reference. Highbloods can take in mutants to care for them, and that seems to be about the extent of context we get. We could go different ways about this and guess whether or not their treatment of these mutants is monitored, or they are left to their own accord and simply trusted.

Coddling seems to be a big deal for Kankri, as one of the only times we see him flaring up in defense is when Porrim shows him coddling-like affection. This could be taken as pale or motherly, but either way, it's upsetting for him. Again, this is probably written to be lighthearted and entertaining, but seeing as this is the only time we see Kankri aggressive, I consider it a trigger of his. Touching, in general, I think is another trigger of Kankri's, which might also come from his culled upbringing.

Kankri pulls away from Porrim a lot, seeing as he directly insults the sweater she gave him but continues to wear it regardless. There is sentiment there, but Kankri shows conflicted behavior. Another alternative could just be that Porrim forces him to wear the sweater, since...Yeah, that pant line. It's understandable. When it comes to Kankri and his relationship with his blood color, the sweater could represent his pride and will to show off his blood now that he's no longer on Beforus. Kankri might've hid his color back then, or was encouraged to wear more neutral colors by his culler like Karkat does.

Further into the coddling nature, Kankri rejects any kind of form of endearment, since his view of it is that it feels belittling and condescending. I think this idea comes from the fact that he experienced similar treatment from whoever was taking care of him on Beforus, which he had grown to dislike either back then or came to realize during the game. He's even willing to take insults if it means not using "wiggler nicknames," which further shows just how much he dislikes this treatment.

Analysis out of the way, the theories of culling on Beforus can go many different directions. Kankri was culled on Beforus, yes. He didn't hide away like Karkat, he wasn't able to in his circumstances. As such, he was raised by a troll, a highblood most likely, who treated him as though he were a prized possession. Kankri could've been pampered and spoiled, which may explain his entitled behavior, but this kind of treatment comes with a lot of downsides. His culler may have been too protective of him, not letting him socialize normally like other trolls and keeping him isolated, or instilling this idea that he needed to be watched over, that he wasn't capable of living a life on his own because of his mutation. This could've been a common practice for many cullers, manipulation and conditioning in order to keep their culled troll under control. Of course, this is a darker way of looking at things, but realistically, this is a very likely reality for many mutants on Beforus. Like I said before, the nature of trolls are a constant, and that means bad people willing to take advantage of a bad system. The only reason I'm willing to take this route is because of how defensive Kankri gets about being treated like a wiggler, and why he strives to know more than others and stand above them. His upbringing shaped who he is now, and one could think that when those kids finally entered the session, Kankri was a free troll.

With Rufioh, he probably had a much easier time escaping the culling system. His wings sprouted later, so he wasn't immediately culled upon birth. He made a life out in the forest with other lowbloods, which allowed him to live relatively peacefully, at least outside of society. Things could've been a lot different for Rufioh had he undergone the same treatment Kankri did, but we can only guess how he would react under those circumstances. Rebelling sounds about right, but who knows how far he could've gotten with that?

Rufioh's behavior is very passive, and he seems pretty content with his life as a mutant. He treats it normally, while Kankri on the other hand hates terms like "mutant" and sees it as a more derogatory term than anything. This is just a Kankri thing, but this could very well be why it's a Kankri thing. I like to think the two have somewhat bonded over being mutants in the past, and Rufioh knows the extent of the culling system and its effects. It's a good thing he ran away while he could, whether it be intentional or not. Rufioh's relationship with his mutation is because he was able to grow up in a setting that didn't shame him for it, allowing him to be carefree and treated like any other troll. This is what Beforus should be, or what the ideal was meant to be.

Beforus culling can be just as bad as Alternia culling, in the way that the victims of it suffer the effects for the rest of their lives. Many culled trolls might even die early on, either because of natural causes in mutations or other health issues brought upon them from the culling treatment. Kankri was conditioned to believe that he shouldn't exist, but to be thankful that he was taken care of anyway. If the people of Beforus were under the impression that culling was an honorable responsibility to take up, caring for the life of another, the ones who were culled are less likely to get help in their situations. His distaste towards the caste system and its inequalities is justified, and that seems to be where a lot of his priorities lie, on educating others about that underlying hierarchy. He's pretty ignorant on other subjects like Porrim's arguments about gender roles on Beforus, and refuses to learn more about it. Which, is not a good thing of course, and is definitely on the list of things he needs to work on, but there are explanations. A lot of what I think are Kankri's personal triggers came from his upbringing, though we can only speculate. Stuff like this is why I enjoy digging into canon, speculation and theories are something I'm not able to indulge in often.

But in conclusion, damn.

[triangle-meanace]

>Worker: Constantine Storkav Fe

>class: Atomic Interdimensional Railway Conductor and Engineer

>status: 3,000,000,000+ credits owed

>Physical notes: Constantine Fe is a 6'5" human cyborg from the [REDACTED] dimension. Sporting several body enhancements, Spades insists on keeping this one well and alive for how much money and time he has sunk into this "project." Nevertheless, he is a good worker. Most of his body has been replaced with bionic addons and enhancements to cope with life in between dimensions. Apart from having his brain partially uploaded to a quantum computer, Constantine still portrays emotions of lament, depression, guilt and anger. Other emotions have been mentioned or reported from various employees, but none observed through trusted sources. The only flesh leftover on Constantine is his torso, crotch, partial legs and abdomen. Many internal organs have mini addon adaptive functions via nanobot and synthetic organ replicas to help with extreme conditions.

>psychoanalytical notes: Although there is without a doubt of an intense distress from his previous life before Spade's initiation, Constantine has been documented to be nearly soulless even before the quantum transfer. Patient has been diagnosed with severe depression when boarding the engine at first and has not shown any progress to help his condition. Spades assures that nothing has happened while he has been on the train, but reposrt from Constantine himself state that [REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Other attitudes that have been reported were ignoring his own employees, ignoring his own health, lashing out in fits of unpredictable rage, long periods of silence that can go on for days on end, and isolation from passengers and employees. As conductor, he is tasked to collect tickets from every passenger, but sometimes will roll off the task to someone else if one of his moods flares up. He assures me that he wants to try near the end though. Patient is honest with his words, showing signs of true pain for asking for help. Final analysis currently up to date of [REDACTED] show that he is nowhere near physically or mentally capable of being reintroduced into human society or any society for that matter. Needs intense psychotherapy, medication, and put on a suicide watch.

>Supervisor notes: Keep a close eye on this one. Over the years of being in our company, he has tests many many boundaries. Some with others lives, and many with his own. It is without a doubt that he can not be left completely alone. I entrust that the station is fitted with a security system to monitor him. Too much money has been put into this one to let him get away with his reckless behavior.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Something dangerous or simply bad happens to Saruhiko's child and his mood and health drastically decays? Like imagine they get a very bad sickness and had to be sent to the hospital for a couple of days or even a week or two and Saruhiko can't let go of his kid. Like, what if he lives while they're asleep and they notice how their only parent isn't there when they need them? And also even the nurses are worried because Saruhiko doesn't touch any of his meals unless his child intently watching him.

Especially if this is the first really scary illness his kid has I could definitely see Fushimi having a minor freak out about it, well aware of how his parents treated him when he was sick, but also at the same time his old abandonment issues are flaring up as he wonders if his kid is going to die and that’s what he gets for getting attached. Like say the kid doesn’t have the best immune system anyway (probably gets that from their dad) and ends up catching something particularly bad. Fushimi does his best awkwardly nursing the kid for a few days, being told by the doctor just to keep an eye on the child and let him know if it gets worse, and then suddenly the child takes a really drastic turn for the worse and Fushimi ends up using S4 government worker privilege to speed his child to the hospital, red lights are for other people. 

The kid is placed in a room and being monitored while the doctors get to tell Fushimi what’s wrong. It’s pretty serious and imagine the doctors being initially concerned because Fushimi is just taking all this in with a total lack of expression, probably occasionally making sarcastic comments or grumbling under his breath about stupid incompetent doctors. Once he’s free though Fushimi doesn’t leave the room for anything, he’s not like parents who sit by their kid’s bed constantly fretting but he’s always there in the corner of the room on his PDA, like he doesn’t know if he should be comforting the child or staying as far away as possible. The nurses are whispering about it until one day like Munakata or Yata or Awashima shows up with some food and tells Fushimi he should at least go home and get a nap and a change of clothes. Fushimi refuses, mumbling that the kid might wake up and Fushimi won’t be there. No amount of convincing from anyone can get him to leave, he keeps saying he’s fine when he’s clearly very not. The only point I could see him leaving is if the kid took a really drastic turn for the worst, I’m not sure Fushimi could handle that and he’d probably suddenly convince himself that look, another broken precious thing, and now he can’t bear to be in the room when it really does break apart.

[burntoutangel]

MECHANICAL SEX DRIVES

LEFT HAND AMMO AT 20% SHIELDS AT 10% ASSISTED AUGMENT SYSTEM RECOMMENDING IMMEDIATE RETURN TO BASE MISSION AT ACCEPTABLE LEVELS PILOT I AM BEGGING YOU TO TURN BAC-

Shut down the warning signs, disconnect the jack in your cranial nerves that lets the onboard AI inject suggestions tactics and orders from base command directly into you brain 

You dont need them now   

10-15 enemy units are closing in on your radar, 100 feet, 90 feet, tanks with jet engines jammed into them to allow increased maneuvers and speed. 500 feet shows an enemy mech, the one you’re chasing. So close now, just a little more

40 feet

20 feet

Enemy within range 

You slam yourself through the concrete walls of the civilian residence you hid behind, the trinkets and purchases of someones life atomized in a second, a careful move to throw off the lesser visibility of the tanks

The first two are crushed under a mix of rubble and reinforced steel beams, wires from the buildings power systems sparking and igniting fuel leaks. You’re already gone and grabbing tank 4 as a club, its rotors squealing in open air as you crush it on top of tank 5, crushing them underfoot for good measure, neural links sending the details of a fleshy squish under your metal boots

3 units that had the misfortune of jetting behind you are torched in your boosters, jets of black smoke from the meat inside being cooked within seconds, they weren’t expecting a mech of this class, metal boxes with guns strapped on top are barely above the lowest rank of the food chain of combat

You arent sure if you’re the apex of that system, but you’re damn close 

The radar blip of the other pilot starts moving and you kick the violence into overdrive to make sure you’re ready and unbothered for her arrival, tanks 6-9 shatter and melt under you remaining left weapon ammo, not worth the waste of time for a proper violent death

She’s so close now

A few of the remaining tanks and what looks like two support flyers have joined her, jetting along in her wake like parasite fish, using her cone of violence to protect them from you. Gnats. Annoying insects that get in the way

You can see her through the optical systems now. Shining armor muddied and covered in scrap and imbedded shells and oil. The jagged mark of you shoulder mounted rail guns shot accents the beauty of her machine, a hole bitten through her abdominal armor, dripping oil and coolant and countless other substances that come together to make the death-angel before you.

Your fluids will mix soon. One way or another.

“YOU PSYCHO WHORE YOU DENTED MY SHELL” comes through her mechs speakers in a flurry of anger. Right shoulder lancer raised, charging, adjust two notches down, FIRE. That takes care of her speakers. We don’t need voices right now. 

She cuts boosters and doesn’t even bother counter boosting, simply stopping her furious momentum by crushing another apartment block, hands dragging deep gauges in the remaining landscape 

The remaining tanks are hit by your last 6 railgun shots, smoking craters burned into the ground as the flyers pepper small arms along your visors, blinding flashes as 7.62 shots ring against the sensors and antenna.

Out of nowhere her hand swats one out of the air, surprising even you Into stopping for a moment. Flyer 1 clips 2 as it sails through the sky, propelled by metal claws larger than its entire frame. Both create a cascade of sparks and light as missiles flares and fuel ignite midair. An incoming message from the last enemy in front of you flashes on your side monitor.

“FINE, WE’LL DO THIS THE HARD WAY”. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Her heat knife eats through the plating of your left shoulder, jutting close to the collarbone before the blade snaps in your armor and imbeds itself to you. The pain is unimaginable, burning through the pilots nervous system as it screams loud enough to crack its own jaw slightly. The retaliation is immediate, a final spare railgun round rammed through your enemies leg, blowing her mechanical kneecap out, the arching head of her mech mimicking the agony her flesh-body is probably going through, metal jaw ripping open and spiked forehead crashing into your own as the final bit of shielding for both your bodies gives way with an ear popping CRACK and a smell of ozone and desperation. A fist that costs as much or more as this entire city unit crashes into your stomach, flesh body vomiting up a mix of pre mission meds and nutrient slurry as your nervous system tries to understand feeling pain without apparent source 

Your left leg boosts itself up at uncanny speeds, remaining boosters jetting it into her center mass, where a solar plexus would be if we were flesh and blood, her visor is cracking and you can feel the anger radiating off her core. Either that or a power system on the verge of collapse. Same difference. At the same time warning signs flash across your eyes, power running low, generator damage at near critical levels, heat rising to unacceptable perimeters, pilot neural-link and information stress at 88% and rising

Both of your bodies collapse, her failing knee dragging her down as metal screams under stress, her hands clawing you down with her, falling flat on your back, adjustment boosters spluttering as they fail to adjust the sudden horizontal nature of your body. Command is screaming at you over whats left of the comm system, and from the shivers of her body she’s hearing the same message, something about “reactor meltdowns taking out an entire populated area” and “blatant waste of company resources”.  The wires remaining in your brain make a pop as you rip them from sore and bleeding ports, last message being broadcast on a private mech to mech channel

“See you back at base baby, thanks for the good time <3”