false limb


replied to your



psst… if anyone wants to send me some angsty…

I want something angsty AU with mixed wires and both thinking they have missed their chance with each other. Yes. That’s vague.

Vague and yet I love it?? I doubt I could write anything good enough to keep you reading but i’ll try lol. It’s short and sweet but i hope it’s okay.

She should have known this would have been her luck. Apparently good things don’t happen for Emma Swan. Ever.

“You want to talk about it?” David asked her as he settled a hot mug in front of her slouching form at the breakfast bar.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

She really didn’t. How does one explain to their older brother their boy troubles, when said brother may have just been the cause of them in the firs place?

“The beginning always helps.”

She’d met Killian on her second day in her new job. She was unaware that the Storybrooke archive was such a large department. She’d expected it to be just her in a musty basement; instead she was part of a seven-person team with a floor all to themselves.  She’d already met Leroy, Ariel, Belle, Merlin and Archie, and had a brief introduction to August who apparently was seldom there. But Killian, she’d had the pleasure of meeting on her second day. He was cheeky, flirty, infuriatingly happy and extremely easy on the eyes. Which of course made Emma dislike him from the start.

Not wanting to cause trouble in a job she’d only just started, she gritted her teeth and chose to ignore him, which was a task in itself. Slowly, she found herself interacting with him more, apparently giving the brush off only encouraged him and Emma couldn’t help that a small part of her began to enjoy the back and forth.

The first time he asked her out, she flat out told him no with a cold harsh tone to her voice. He’d faltered at the knock back but accepted her rejection like a trooper and resumed their strange friendship as if it had never happened.

She’d often come back to her desk to find a steaming cup of fresh Starbucks coffee waiting for her, with his prosthetic curled around it.

“Don’t let it go cold, love. That nearly cost me an arm and a leg.” He’d wink over at her, chuckling at his ridiculous joke. Somewhere between scowling at his poor humour and returning his false limb, he wormed his way into her affections.

Over six months they became closer, and after a few after work outings with others, they learned more about each other and just how much in common they had. Casual texting became more frequent and grabbing a bite to eat at the local diner after work became a regular occurrence.

They’d become friends.

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Disabled dragons

On the topic of disabled dragons in Sornieth, disabilities are just as ranged and varied as they are here, and can have lasting effects on a dragon’s social life and ability to function in dragon society.

Of course, this is under the assumption that dragons have similar societal flaws as us humans do, where we see abled people as a standard, and disabled people as individuals that force us to modify this standard in order for them to reach happiness. (or, worse, we force them to reach an abled person’s definition of said standard in order to be respected or treated fairly).

In other words, disabled dragons must struggle to be given the proper societal treatment, as disabled dragons cannot do things such as fly properly, or keep up with other dragons, or (specifically for a gijinka clan), transform easily between their dragon and humanoid shapes.

Rest is under the cut! keep reading to learn about how dragons use wheelchairs and stuff!

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sweetest-garlic  asked:



This is Eileen Nearne. She was a spy during World War II and at 23 she was dropped by parachute into occupied France to relay messages from the French resistance. She was captured by the Germans, tortured and sent to a concentration camp. But she managed to keep up her story and was moved to a different camp. She managed to escape the camp and hide from the gestapo until the area she was hiding in was liberated. When she passed away in 2010 she was given a hero’s funeral.


Check out Virginia Hall. She was wanted by the Gestapo as one of the most dangerous allied spies. She worked for Special Operations Executive (SOE) in Nazi-occupied France in World War II. Having lost her lower leg in 1933, she wore a prosthetic. In 1942, the Germans took direct control of France and Virginia had to leave. She managed to hike all the through the snowy Pyrenees Mountains to Spain on her prosthetic to escape the Nazis. Think about that for a minute. Prosthetics weren’t what they’re like now. This would have been some tough shit. I don’t see James Bond hiking through the snow on a false limb. OH AND. She then returned to France to train and arm guerrilla groups whilst constantly moving around to avoid detection by Nazis - who by this point had issued wanted posters and rewards for the so-called “limping lady”.


Meet Nancy Wake. One of the most decorated Allied servicewomen of World War II. Nancy Grace Augusta Wake was known to the Gestapo as ”The White Mouse“ for her ability to evade detection and capture. She was part of the French Resistance and later on in the war joined the Special Operations Executive (SOE). She was parachuted into the Auvergne region of France to provide guerrilla groups with arms. Her compatriots praised her strength and courage, two qualities she needed in abundance when she killed an SS sentry with her bare hands to stop him raising the alarm during a raid. After the war ended, Nancy was awarded the George Medal, the US Presidential Medal Of Freedom, the Médaille de la Résistance and three Croix de Guerres from France.


Also, your English teacher is behind the times and in my opinion, totally wrong. Gender is a construct. No-one is born with their gender, they’re born with their sex (literally, the organs you are born with). Gender is something you learn. And should you decide you are not female, or male, or either, then that is your decision. If you want your pronouns to be ‘they’, ‘them’ etc. then so ahead and use that! People are still adjusting to using different pronouns for people. But they will get it eventually. I promise you.


Originally posted by gifs-for-the-masses

make a wish

for the @carryon-countdown, 23rd of december: chapter 61

a/n: so here’s a little fic i wrote for chapter 61 day even though it’s already the 26th of december cOUgh. it’s a parallel between the events of chapter 61 and the present moment. i hope you enjoy it! merry christmas, everyone ! <3

everything is burning, and baz is crying.

the grass and trees around him are going up in flames, flames he set himself, and simon snow is in front of him, holding onto his face – trying to get him to stop all this, probably. baz isn’t hearing a word of what he says. he’s just staring at simon’s mouth, which is hanging open (mouth breather) and moving quickly around frantic words that don’t get past the roaring in baz’s ears. or is that the roaring of the fire around them?

it’s a complete mess - this burning forest, this failed mission with nicodemus, these two crying boys crouched in the middle of nowhere. getting nowhere.

strange, baz thinks idly, strange that all his life he’d wanted so many things - good grades, his father’s approval, his mother back - but the only thing he truly, fiercely wants before he dies is to kiss the boy he loves.

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Sure, those high school health classes might tell you how to properly use contraception, the basics of what to expect during pregnancy, and how to generally care for a newborn. Hell, for my final I had to carry around for a week one of those mildly-creepy dolls that cried and wet itself. What they didn’t tell you in class is that one in five pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Yeah, your mother probably sat you down one day when you were young and told you about your period. Maybe she discreetly left a box of tampons under your bathroom sink. Maybe she was one of the “cool” mothers and took you to the doctor to start you on the pill after you had been dating that one guy for a while. She probably sat down on your bed, a maudlin smile crossing her face as the enormity of her baby girl growing up twinkled bittersweet through her mind. She talked to you about safety and responsibility, of making wise choices, and reminding you how she didn’t get to sleep through the night until you were three because you were such a fussy baby. What she didn’t tell you is that you were her third try. She didn’t say you had two brothers or sisters passed ill-formed and bloody, unviable clumps of cells and false limbs squeezed from her body in that cold, sterile abattoir of a hospital room. Your mother will never tell you this. No mother will tell her daughter this, but statistically there’s a good chance it happened. People say new life is a miracle, but the reality is miracles take a bit of practice to get just right.  

I met my husband during my sophomore year of college. I was a plain girl, but had dated men on and off since high school. I was no virgin, but you wouldn’t catch me putting out on the first date. We suited each other well. He wasn’t extraordinarily handsome, but he had the chiseled jawline of Greek statue. He was sentimental and had a soft sweetness about him that instantly endeared him to me. He was not the wild, fun guy that you went on a couple crazy, memorable dates with, but the sort of man you settle down with. He was a finance major, and had a comically overblown New England accent that you think you’d only hear in comedy sketches. He was strong but gentle, and had very close ties with his family. This is the sort of man you meet and know instantly that he was made for fatherhood. Made for raising and taking care of his family, and I loved him for it.  After about a month, I invited him over to my apartment with definite plans in my mind for our first time. I had the wine, the candles, the soft jazz. He was very much a romantic, and I thought for sure he’d find it beautiful.  After a light dinner and some heavy kissing, I took his hand and began to guide him to my bedroom. He stopped suddenly and released my hand upon realizing what I was implying. He smiled, blushed a little, and told me he was actually waiting for marriage. I knew he was religious – Catholic in particular – but I hadn’t known he was that Catholic. I was raised in a nonreligious family. We weren’t any sort of diehard atheist avengers; just that religion wasn’t a thing for us.  I knew he attended Mass with his family on holidays, but hadn’t realized he was such an adherent. I already loved him, so I (not without a little disappointment) respected his wishes.  

We continued dating over the next two years, and he got an amazing job offer for a big-name venture capital firm a week before he was to graduate. He took me to meet his family in Massachusetts shortly after graduation, and they were your typical New England bunch. They were well-meaning, but very loud and very Catholic.  Again, not in any sort of creepy cult sense, but they had me go to Mass with them (very long and very boring) and their home was littered with crucifixes and Virgin Marys. 

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I need a winterhawk fic where Clint is a single father whose kid is adorable and won’t stop asking Bucky about his prosthetic arm!!! Someone please write this :-)

Kate won’t stop staring at his arm and, quite frankly, Bucky is a little bothered by it. When he’d agreed to watch the little girl whilst Clint took the dog to the vets, he really hadn’t known this was what he was signing himself up for. Granted, he probably shouldn’t have put on a short-sleeved t-shirt, but she’s seen him in one before and hasn’t been so… indiscreet. Can children her age be indiscreet? He has no idea. He knows nothing about kids. This was utter stupidity on his part. Well done, Barnes. ‘Cause of death: humiliation’ was not what he wanted to be printed on his death certificate.

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anonymous asked:

Where/how did you come up with the idea for her?

It’s actually a funny story how I came up with her: I had no idea what I was doing. 

I first started with : I want a support character with shields that work differently than say Reinhardt. I want her  to be a mechanic, so I’ll add tool bags to her outfit. 

I’m not sure where massive burns got added, but as soon as they did I wanted her to have false limbs that she’d built for herself. As well as the burns, she got a remake to have a backstory to involve Overw.atch as her previous organization. 

I knew I wanted her ‘element’ to involve fire, and at that point I hadn’t even named her yet, I just was working with certain colors and designs. 

These colors (and the stripe) stayed with her no matter what I changed her design to. I loved the whole backstory with the massive injuries. I even knew that her hair was dyed a bright red to cover up the burns on her scalp and hide her blonde hair. 

This is when Jackie came into play. It was meant to cause confusion in writing when his name, Jack, was written. The height was meant to go with this. Then the sweater loving, shop for the underground running, pair was created. 

Then Phoenyx “Nyx” Anderson - [redacted] was named and aged. Dorado was the place to be stationed based on the languages that Nyx could speak anyways. 

Nyx got a redesign a few days later during a stream. This is the design we all know and love and now? Nyx is utterly one of my favorite characters to write and draw. (But Captain will always be first)

Truth that has been merely learned is like an artificial limb, a false tooth, a waxen nose; at best, like a nose made out of another’s flesh; it adheres to us only because it is put on.
But truth acquired by thinking of our own is like a natural limb; it alone really belongs to us. This is the fundamental difference between the thinker and the mere man of learning.
—  Arthur Schopenhauer, On Thinking for Oneself
Dramatic Irony

lexiepiper submitted

“Drive,” Arthur gasped as the door slammed shut behind him.

“But that was-”

“Just drive!” he shouted, wriggling so that she could slip past him into the drivers’ seat.

“That was Lew-”

“Vivi,” Arthur whimpered, “we can come back later.”

He clamped his good hand, his flesh hand, over the spot where metal met skin. Blood discoloured the sleeve of his shirt, and Arthur took a shuddering breath. “I think my port’s damaged,” he explained.

Vivi didn’t move to take the keys from where Arthur had dropped them on the floor. “We’ll come back, right?”

Arthur nodded, breathing as deeply and evenly as possible as the pain in his arm throbbed and spiked with every heartbeat, and why had he ever wanted to connect his nerves to this metal monstrosity because damn, it hurt!

As Vivi retrieved the keys and the engine spluttered to life, Arthur fancied that through the tears that were slipping down his cheeks, he could see somebody standing in one of the mansion’s dimly-lit windows.

The corner traffic lights reflected on the windscreen of the van as Vivi waited to pull into the little B&B half an hour down the road. It wasn’t the spot they’d originally planned to spend the first night of their celebratory road trip, but so long as there was a hot bath, Arthur didn’t really care.

“I thought you said that your arm was fine for exertion.”

Arthur flinched. It was the first thing that she’d said since they pulled away from the mansion - Lewis' mansion, he reminded himself - and the accusation was like she’d slapped him. In fact, he’d have preferred it if she’d slapped him.

It took a moment to find his voice. “It’s fine for small things,” Arthur responded, finally peeling his hand away from the bloodied sleeve. His fingers were tacky with drying blood. “I didn’t exactly think that I’d get dropped down a trapdoor, or chased around a massive building, or a-attacked…”

Vivi’s shoulders stiffened, and Arthur shrank back in his seat. The movement pressed Mystery against his side, and the mechanic jumped, shying away from the dog automatically.

The light turned green, and Vivi pulled the van into a parking space directly outside the motel’s office doors. She turned off the vehicle and unclasped her seat belt before twisting to fully face the trembling man.

“What am I going to do with you,” she sighed.

Arthur found his gaze drawn towards his friend’s face, and was surprised to notice sagging shadows beneath her eyes that matched his own.

“I thought you don’t remember what happened in the cave,” he blurted.

Her face twisted into something that he couldn’t place before smoothing back into exhaustion.

“I don’t.” Vivi settled back into her seat with a shrug, and Arthur clamped his hand around the hem of his shirt in an attempt to quell its shaking.

His other, artificial arm hung useless and unmoving at his side.

Vivi’s gaze traced that false limb, and she reached for Arthur’s sleeve. “Let me disconnect that,” she offered.

Arthur shook his head. “Let’s go inside first, and then we can get this thing off me where there’s more room to move.”

She stared at him for a moment, and Arthur swallowed thickly and tried his best to smile.

Vivi grimaced back at him. “We’re seriously a mess,” she sighed.

Arthur chuckled, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. “Yeah, we are.”

With a rustle of cloth, the girl beside him opened the door and slipped from her seat.


He opened his eyes again, meeting her gaze. “Yeah?”

“Was the cave really as horrible as my nightmares?”

She stood just outside the van, leaning one hand against the open door. She looked so sad, like a balloon that had once floated proudly overhead but now rested on the floor, its surface sagging and wrinkled.

He opened his mouth to reassure her that that wasn’t the case, that everything was fine, but nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie anymore.

Something in his face must have betrayed him because Vivi sighed. “Yeah, I thought so,” she whispered before shutting the door with a gentle thump.

The stars glimmered through the open rear doors of the van, and Arthur sighed as he stared at them. His port still throbbed steadily, but the gut-wrenching, nauseating agony had subsided somewhat now that the nerves had been disconnected. Vivi had even managed to force him to take his prescription painkillers, although they hadn’t begun to work yet.

The offending metallic limb was draped over his lap, and Arthur grumbled as he fiddled with one of the wires. The job was difficult one-handed, and almost impossible without a workbench, but after a hot bath and wrapping up his stump-port in thick white bandages, he needed to sit outside for a while.

They really shouldn’t have gone on this trip.

Arthur had been against it, but Vivi had been her usual excited self, and how could he not give in to her enthusiasm after the horrible months that they’d just had?

Sure, his arm hadn’t been quite as ready as he’d inferred.

Sure, he still jumped and jolted whenever Mystery bumped against him, even if the dog-that-Arthur-knew-was-some-sort-of-monster was after nothing more than a scratch behind the ears.

Sure, Arthur himself barely slept, barely ate, barely lived with the shadow that had cast itself over him.

But why couldn’t they just once have nothing bad happen?

The warm night air chilled around him, and Arthur shuddered as his fragile soul trembled with the ripples in the spectral plane.

Something appeared in the darkness before him, glowing purple and radiating grief and fury that sang in twin beats to the pain that constantly ran through Arthur’s own soul.

The mechanic scuttled backwards with a cry, but he only had one arm, and even though it’d been ten months since he’d had two of the things, rehab really isn’t enough to sort out those reflexes that rely on limbs that aren’t there anymore.

He fell onto his damaged side with a yelp, immediately curling around a port that screamed with pain at the impact. Tears sprang to his eyes for the second time that evening, and a sob slipped involuntarily through his lips.

The arm clattered to the ground outside the van.

Arthur lay on the floor, his hand once again clasped around his port and tears streaming down his cheeks. This was bad. He’d need more rehab, more stitches, more damned hospitals. They’d remove the port. He’d have to start again.

The shadows danced around him, cast by a source of purple light just outside the van.

Arthur gritted his teeth, forcing himself to sit up. He kept his gaze away from the ghost that he knew waited there for him, busying himself instead by checking the fresh bandages on his stump. A dark spot the size of a pinhead had seeped through the fabric, and was growing steadily larger.

The shadows moved with the figure in his peripheral vision, and Arthur flinched back, this time leaning on his good arm. This was it - he was going to die here, in the back of the van, with nothing to defend himself except for a toolbox, a box of trail mix, and a bag full of books. Panic stuck in his throat, and Arthur’s heart beat wildly, like a bird fluttering frantically about its cage.

The ghost straightened up, and Arthur found himself staring not into the bone-white skull from the mansion, but something else entirely.

Lewis’ mouth and eyebrows turned down in a frown, and in his large, gentle hands, he held a shiny metal limb.

“Artie,” he whispered, and the mechanic shuddered at the echoes of the void that shadowed the spectre’s every syllable, “what on earth happened to your arm?”

Solarpunk Fashion

I’ve just been on a pinning spree and thought I’d share my Solarpunk Fashion board and my thoughts on Solarpunk fashion with you guys.

I imagine fashion being heavily influenced by are areas of the world where it’s hot and sunny, so you’d see a lot of South American, African, South Asian influences. Which actually ties in pretty well with the Art Nouveau aesthetic because Art Nouveau was influenced by the Asian and Islamic worlds. You would see a lot of traditional color and pattern - just not traditionally European color and pattern. 

Not only would clothing styles be less Eurocentric, so would hair and beauty. POC wouldn’t feel pressured to lighten their skin, or straighten their hair, or get plastic surgery to have more European features, because diversity would be celebrated.

I think accessories would be very important. You wouldn’t have a large wardrobe, you’d have a small number of well made and versatile garments. You would create different looks by adding different, awesome, accessories to your simple outfit. I’ve already done a whole post on headresses.

Florals would be for everyone, so would skirts and makeup. I’m kinda obsessed with the idea that in a Solarpunk world we’d have progressed far enough that we had let go of toxic masculinity and men would be encouraged to express themselves with things that we currently think of as ‘girly’. Seriously, men wearing skirts, makeup and flowers still look masculine - they also look gorgeous.

Body shaming would be a thing of the past. If you’re tall and skinny, that’s fine. If you’re short and round that’s also fine. Clothes would tailored to individuals so you would have flattering clothes no matter your size or shape. If you want to show off your shape then that’s your choice, if you want to cover up from head to to toe then that’s also your choice.

People who needed prosthetics or aides would have would have gorgeous prosthetics and aides. Works of art that turned a disability into a celebration of life. A false limb or a wheelchair that shouts ‘Yeah I might have lost something but that’s not stopping me - I’m living life to the fullest!’. Hearing aides would be stunning jewelry, contact lenses would be dazzling colors and patterns.

Clothes would be comfortable. Nothing too tight, you can breath, you’re not cutting off blood-flow. Nothing too short, you don’t need to worry about what happens if you need to bend over. Accessories might be elaborate but they’re also light, you don’t feel weighed down by your fabulous headress.

There’s a lot of hidden tech in what you wear. Solar collectors in the fabric (there is already solar collector cloth in development) and in your jewelry. Kinetic energy collectors in the soles of your shoes and thermal energy collectors worn against your skin (again, tech that already exists). Communication devices, media players, cameras, fitness trackers, all built into your clothes and accessories and powered by the energy you are collecting as you go about your day.

When Gavin was young they told him he was ruined. Damaged boy, waste of space, dead weight. Weak, useless, good for nothing. He knew where he belonged, where he didn’t, knew the kind of life he was headed for and wasn’t about to sit around waiting for an unmarked grave. When you’ve got no one else you teach yourself to survive, and given the right kind of motivation Gavin learned to help himself to a little of everything. There was no guilt or hesitation, this was his destiny after all, the life he as born to, the devastation they always told him he would be.

When Gavin was a teenager, all spindly limbs and false confidence, he isn’t sure who he is or where he’s going but he knows that he is ruined. Knows it not in defeat or resignation but in that unique way of the young and angry, defiantly reclaiming what they made him. He’s taught himself to laugh like a forest fire, like scorched lungs and dirty smoke, a practised grin disguising a gutted house, eyes lit up like embers. A natural disaster has no room for empathy, cannot know fear or loneliness, and even the strongest and most powerful tremble in the wake of its destruction.

When Gavin left the UK, older than he looked but younger than he should be, he buried ruined, tucked it behind white teeth and quick fingers, determined to be something else here, something clean. Nothing could touch the new Gavin, strong and quick witted, this shiny unblemished boy full of last laughs and gilded promises.  It couldn’t last, of course, even the best lies come unraveled in the end and Gavin’s darkness sang to him, snapping at shadows and chasing him into the jaws of Los Santos. And there, in a city drunk off its own demise, where good souls are eaten whole and the wicked play for keeps, the golden boy found his silver lining.  

When Gavin was grown, as grown as he’s getting in any case, he wears ruined like a badge of honour, wields it like a weapon. He still wraps it up in pretty words, disguises it with friendly smiles and expensive clothes, but where once it was a shameful blot dogging his every step, now he knows its worth. After all, no one is whole in Los Santos, and no one embodies Los Santos more than the Fake AH Crew. A collection of volatile tempers, bad memories and jagged edges that somehow twisted into something more than any standard crew, into a family. They are equally awful, as broken as Gavin, all damaged, full of ruined, and god they are wonderful. Are anything but weak, could never be useless. They are terrible, glorious, and with them he is unstoppable. With blood in his mouth and gold on his fingers Gavin is chaos, is calamity, is a burning building and a city on its knees. He is everything they always said he’d be and so much more.

peggysous fic: too soon

Summary: Daniel Sousa knows exactly how many vacation days Peggy has remaining.

a/n: Well, it’s official: I am Peggysous trash. First stab (poor choice of words?) at an Agent Carter fic. I blame you, @captain–kitten​, you adorable femme fatale. 

peggysous fic: too soon

She’s got eight vacation days left - he counts each day down - when Violet leaves him.

She’s been in California far longer than she was meant to be, than she should be, frankly, but she pushes the door to his office open every morning and he’s hard pressed to find a reason not to be glad for it.

It’s hardly any time left at all, and he pulls deeper at the bottle of whiskey, lets it burn just a bit more viciously when he adds up eight days and three hours time and whatever the magnitudes, the latitudes of distance are between them.

She doesn’t need anymore vacation days to ruin him; he’d been pretending all along - false limb, false life. Perfectly adequate and hollow.

He tries not to grimace at the curl of her fingers at her side - seven days left and a stain of blood at her side.

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Fic snippet

Not Bid Time Return, but a piece of something I promised forever ago. 

How Bucky found out Darcy’d been kidnapped by Hydra. 

A spring thunderstorm rumbled in the distance; an angry murmur above the rush of cars on the street below his window. He’d opened it an inch or two on a fleeting thought that begged for light and air in the dim, claustrophobic apartment. There was no breeze yet; the sky above the city was stagnant, humid and heavy with dirt and exhaust, but he could smell the dusty wet scent of rain.

Another rumble. Closer. For a second, then two, then three, he lost the city, lost the traffic and noise, and heard another rumble. Boom. Boom. Boom. A tempest of sound and chaos that tore the earth in its rage. Artillery in the distance, black smoke. Death marching forward.

Taking a deep breath, James Barnes turned away from the window. He should call her. When the screams got too loud, it helped to hear another voice.

Dropping onto his musty, lopsided couch, he pulled out his phone. The one she gave him with no strings attached, no tracker, the only price she asked that he call.

Staring at the phone, he ran a silver thumb over the smooth face of the device. Then, caught by the sight of his own false limb, he turned his hand over and considered the metal lines across his palm. She’d taken his hand in hers. He could still feel the warmth of her fingers running over those lines. He could still feel the gentleness in her grasp. He could still see the pain and rage in her eyes. Pain and rage for him.

Darcy Lewis was a mystery. After they met, he spent a day wondering if she was real at all, of if she was just a hazy dream in the swirl of his mind. He’d wondered if she was simply a hope that somebody somewhere would forgive him someday. Then he found the paper with her looping scrawl, her number, her name, in his jacket pocket. The paper was still in the jacket, a reminder. Though, he’d moved it from his pocket, plucked at a little seam, and tucked it, hidden, in the lining. It had been there long enough now that it no longer crinkled when he moved, the paper worn soft. He never looked at it, had no reason to, but he knew it was still there.

Even with confirmation that she was no figment of his foggy, hazy mind, he puzzled over her. Knowing what he was, knowing what he’d done, how did she sit down with him? How did she hold his hand so gently? With the weight of all those searching for him, why did she stand against them and keep her word to him time and again? Only days after he’d torn SHIELD apart, her agency, she sat with him. She never blinked and never shied away from him. Instead she reached out to him and he found himself reaching back.

Running his hand down his torso, he poked at his side. The wound from Estonia was gone, healed, only a fading pink scar left, and in another week even that would disappear. Another story, another memory, erased from his skin. She’d refused to leave him, she’d pushed and pulled and nagged and pressed her weight on the wound, holding him together. Then she brought him right into SHIELD’s hands. He’d been too tired, too hurt to refuse her, but he didn’t trust them. He waited for guns, and rough hands, and shouted commands. But, she made him promises, and SHIELD kept them. He’d be damned if he knew how she did it.

Or maybe he did know. That big personality, that stubbornness, that Goddamned certainty she was always right. Her crazy, extraordinary loyalty that demanded loyalty in return. If she gave her word, then others better damn well keep theirs or there’d be hell to pay. The Director of SHIELD didn’t come pick them up because of a broken old assassin, he came for her. He felt the heaviness of Agent May’s warning that he’d regret it if he hurt her. He saw the others accept him because she did. They were afraid, they were curious, but they patched him up, and cleaned him up, and gave him clothes and food. Then they let him walk away. Because she asked them to.

Darcy Lewis was baffling. But, she was steady. It would be so easy to lose himself, what was left of himself. To drift into his rage and hurt and horror, and fall back into the bloody world he’d lived in for so long. But he clawed and fought for some sort of sanity, for each and every one of the thin ropes of memory he could pry free from the chaos in his head. Some days it was too much, and it would be all too easy to let himself drown. And then she’d be there. Every time his head got light and he slipped, she was there. There at the other end of a phone call, there in California, there in Estonia, here in this apartment when he couldn’t reach the wounds on his back. She wouldn’t go away, and he couldn’t make her.

She was loud and she was brash and she talked too much. And she wasn’t afraid of him. She’d yell at him and laugh at him. She’d tend his wounds — bitching the whole time — and she’d make sure he’d eat. And all the while she gave him pieces of her life. Did she know how dangerous that was? To give that information to an assassin? Maybe she did. She bound him to her and wouldn’t let him fall.

But what if the weight he was carrying was too much? What if he pulled them both down? He didn’t want to do that, he really didn’t want to do that. She deserved better.

Thunder rumbled again and the hell of his past crashed along with it. He lifted the phone and called up her number.

“Hello? Darcy?” A woman’s voice answered the call. The wrong voice.

He frowned and the mad chaos in his mind stilled, concentrated on this one point: that was Darcy’s phone, but that was not Darcy. “Who is this?” he growled.

“Who is this? Where is Darcy?” the woman demanded, an edge of hysteria in her voice.

He stood up and paced back to the window, looking through the peeling paper. Fingers twitching for a gun or a knife, he took a deep breath.

“Bucky? Is this Bucky Barnes?”

The wind finally picked up, pushing through the still apartment. He felt the cool brush against his still flesh arm. “Who is this?”

“This is Jane Foster. Darcy’s boss. Is this Bucky? Tell me this is Bucky.”

Stillness shuddered and failed. He knew Foster from Darcy’s stories. Why was she … ? “Yes.”

“Thank God,” Foster sobbed, a small cry of relief. He didn’t remember anybody being relieved to hear his voice. “She’s missing. Darcy’s missing.”

Another sort of coolness fell over him. The Soldier’s winter. “When?”

“Two days ago. I didn’t know how to reach you,” Foster said, almost accusing. “I’ve been waiting. She didn’t put your number on her phone. She, God, she wrote a program to mask it on the network. Jarvis has been trying—”

He cut her off. “What happened?”

“Director Coulson thinks it was Hydra.” Foster took a deep breath. “She was driving upstate, her car was forced off the road. We got a call from the State Police when they found the car.”

His jaw clenched. Did they know about him? Did they know about her? Did they take her because of him? No, they couldn’t. He was careful. There were other reasons somebody would grab Darcy. She was a SHIELD agent. She worked with the Avengers. They would have known her, if not who she was. They would want information from her. They would take her somewhere they could take their time. If they were watching her, they’d know she was close to the Avengers. They wouldn’t want to be found. They had to know somebody would come for her.

Foster was still talking, but her words were a distant murmur. Until she yelled. “Bucky!”

“I’ll find her,” he said.

“Wait, you … God, you need to call in.” Foster ordered, her voice cracking again. “You need to call Steve. If you had, if you … maybe she wouldn’t … God, you have to—”

“I’ll find her,” he repeated.

He disconnected the call and picked up his weapon trunk, tossing it onto the couch. As he sorted his gear, he let himself fall into that spinning chaos in his mind, drifting from moment to moment as he thought of every place he’d ever been, every facility he knew, every memory of Hydra he had, no matter how grim. He pulled every thread, and he followed them to every bleak gray bunker or gilded room.

A map formed in his mind, the lines of Hydra’s long reach spanning the globe. One by one he categorized each location, each black spot, from least likely to most. All the places they could hold her and all the places they would.

There was enough Bucky Barnes left that he shoved his tactical clothes into a duffle next to his rifle rather than wear them out the door. Darcy would tell him to be subtle. He paused as feral rage swept through him, the muscles in his arms, in his jaw, quaking and trembling with it.

Darcy Lewis was a lot of things, and maybe he’d never understand her. But, in the confused surge of memory and thought in his mind, there was a solid, steady mooring. One of the places where what was left of James Barnes was tethered. That was Darcy Lewis. And in her strange, crazy smart brain, she’d decided he was worth holding onto. She’d decided he was hers.

She’d made promises to him. Now, he would make promises to her.

He’d find her and he’d kill them all.


things i cannot begin to explain

“Log date, eight-two-two-three, many earth rotations have gone by and we are taking a break, or a lazy clod time out as I think of it, for Steven and those crystal gems.” Tsking, the tiny gem leaned against the door of the bathroom. While she may have befriend the Steven, and to an extent Amethyst, Peridot did not feel the same connection to the other two gems. The other two did not put forth the effort- well, perhaps the Pearl did but regardless. Peridot did not foresee anything good coming from befriending those two. Having an alliance with them was bad enough, which is why Peridot continued to refuse coming out of the bathroom.

Sitting and holding the voice recording device in her tiny hands she frowned. “…It’s another day I long for my leg extensions and my cybernetically enhanced arms. This makes 98% of the time I’ve been held hostage here that I have missed them.” Closing her eyes she sighed with remorse, she was not getting those back anytime soon. “As soon as I find a way to gain new ones I will show those crystal-” stopping, Peridot heard the teleporter. The gems were back. Huffing rebelliously she was about to continue until she heard the perma-fusion speak.

“-fter everything that gem has done, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was going to betray us as soon as we take care of the cluster.” They still did not trust her? Peridot couldn’t believe what she was hearing, faint as it was. It was only moving farther away. She never did anything that bad that warranted such hostile distrust towards her! “I agree. After what happened each time we encountered her, from the get-go that Peridot has only ruthlessly attacked us and didn’t show a single shred of mercy.” The Pearl had a point. She had a great point, even Peridot couldn’t find any flaws in what she had said.

It was finally gone, the door to their separate rooms opening. Peridot had memorized these sounds, knowing when she could leave the lavatory. Which she hardly ever did. Getting up on her feet, Peridot stood in front of the mirror but did not look in her reflection. Instead looking to her tape recorder she frowned at it, then she set it on the counter. All of what she had recently heard, it was true however rude it was. And it bothered her, it truly made her feel as if she had made no progress and was right back to square one. After speaking to the Pearl as somewhat an equal instead of a servant, after mending the sore feelings she had with Amethyst, and for the kindship she held with Steven…she was still not trusted.

Raising her head to look in the mirror, she saw it on her still. The diamond that she once proudly bore upon her breast. It felt suddenly heavier, and visions took her back to times where she had indeed attacked them. “T-They attacked me first, they just, they…they got in my way! They got in the way of the mission!” Attempting to rationalize what she was feeling it was making her feel smaller. It was making the walls close in on her, as she once did to the crystal gems. Attempting to squash them, she in turn felt as if she was going to be smashed into a flat disk.

Breathing increasing at a rapid pace, Peridot grabbed hold of the counter, tightly, and looked into the water absorbment bowl. “I just did what I was supposed to do! This was the correct way to handle it, I know that, I had to try to finish my mission and they were just tiny pebbles in my way!” Speaking louder, her voice rose and started to shake. What was happening? Another vision hit, Peridot was brought back to each time she said something cruel, each time she made an attempt on their life. It was only then that she grabbed the diamond and started to actually panic. Moving to the door she felt her head grow light, it was almost like she had been fighting for hours but it had only been a mere few minutes.

Opening the door, Peridot stumbled out and hit the wall. Trying to catch herself, it was a vain attempt. She started to think of all that the others had done for her and she fell against the wall. They could have destroyed her gem or leave her bubbled. They could have said so many terrible things to her to make her want to never come out of her gem again. Yet they were actually more merciful than those on home-world. Especially that of Amethyst and Steven, Peridot had come to care for both however differently.

The mere thought of Amethyst did enough to calm her just a bit. To the point she could sit on her behind and look at the beige wall, and try to control her breathing. Amethyst, she smiled so often around her again. She found most things funny that Peridot said or did, she was so easily amused, she made Peridot feel like she liked her. Amethyst really knew how to make Peridot feel that they were connecting on a level never explored. While it did concern Peridot she did feel more open to how she felt and much more excited and curious to what could leave up. However there was a road block, Peridot felt awful about the things she did and could not fully enjoy the way she felt about Amethyst.

“Uhgg!” Grabbing her head she closed her eyes tightly, why did Steven have to open her eyes? Why did that little runt have to make her feel things she wasn’t supposed to? Everything on Earth was so confusing and unknown, Peridot wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. Hearing the door to the front of the home base of Steven and the Crystal gems open, she could identify who it was. Scrambling to her feet she quickly looked ahead and met them in the hallway. Greeted with Amethyst and Steven holding bags of food she ignored the strangeness of that and simply cleared her throat. “I request a team meeting here in the common room. As soon as possible would be greatly appreciated.”

The Steven was the first to answer her out of the blue request; “Oh…hey Peridot, a team meeting? Uhh, I don’t know if Pearl and Garnet are back from their mission.” Amethyst was eyeing Peridot carefully. The way she looked at her did give her some sort of cold feeling that made her want to explain this all the more. Quickly Peridot responded, almost sounding rushed as she pointed to the door the rooms for the gems was. “They returned shortly before you two did, now please gather them here! I have something of great importance to speak to you all about!”

“Whoa, chill Peri I’ll go get Garnet and Pearl. Here, help Steven put these away.” Taking a strange item of food called ‘weenies’ in a plastic wrap, Amethyst proceeded to unwrapping them and ate the wrapping first. Such a strange one was that purple gem, however strange she was she still gave Peridot all the more reason to speak to them all openly and honestly. Well, as much as she could manage. Speaking of manage, she held the bag of food substances in her arms and looked to them then Steven very confused.

Steven was already putting stuff away in a hurry; “Oh! Peridot, if could start taking things out and put them on the counter?” Smiling at her she couldn’t help but feel a bit better. It was as if his healing powers worked on the mind as well. “Alright.” Was all she said as they silently started to take out items from their bags and put them away in their proper place. By the time they finished all the Crystal Gems had emerged from their chambers and were seated in said common room.

Once she approached them, she stood before them as all eyes were on her. Now normally she was fine with this, thrived even under pressure! However this pressure… this weight on her chest, due to the crest of the diamond, it made her feel so tiny, so worried. As the anxiety crept up her body, Peridot tried to speak but was found to be almost out of breath before she even began. “G-Greetings. Thank you for coming together here for me. I…I have an announcement, and I wanted to get it over with quick.” Shaky albeit, but regardless she was still seeming confident like always. Most if not all looked perplexed as Peridot delayed her message to them all. “I… I just wanted to say..” The way there eyes peered at her, they almost seemed to look through her and see what she was hiding inside. Inside her false limbs, inside her quivering little body. She hadn’t noticed how her knees buckled, but she had noticed how hard she hit the ground on her knees.

A wave of gasps hit the room, as Peridot let her head hang she felt her eyes sting. As if the air on this stupid rock wasn’t bad enough, it was making her feel burning sensations in her eyes. “I’m.. so sorry for all that I have done to you and all that I have said. I know that…that won’t be enough for forgiveness, and if you still want to write me off as nothing more than a liability then so be it.” Shaking slightly she forced back the liquids that wished to be freed, strong enough even to look at them and speak with a more humble tone. “Thank you still for allowing me to help in your crusade to keep your Earth safe. I may not hold such ties with this planet as you all do but I owe you my cooperation.” She could feel the stinging continue as she looked to them, her gaze continiously going to Amethyst in the rotation.

And as she felt the silence dig into her, she felt it. The embrace of another, Steven had gotten up and wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his tears on her shoulder as he hugged her. “P-Peridot, it’s okay to cry! And thank you, thank you so much.” Why was he crying? She of all people should be crying! In fact, as he spoke, she felt the tears begin to spill. That’s when Amethyst rose from where she sat and got on her knees, hugging Peridot as well. This caused her even more tears as she used her tiny useless arms to grab hold of them both, clinging to them as if she would drift into the nothingness of space without them keeping her there on that little rock called Earth.

As she closed her eyes, unable to bear this torment, she heard the soft raspy voice of Amethyst. “Nerd… you really are just a brat sometimes.” She sounded like she was smiling, that made Peridot feel a bit better. “I forgive you.” Such a softly spoken comment made by Amethyst, Peridot wasn’t sure anyone but her in this room had even heard it. And that was fine by her. A firm hand touched her shoulder, it was the fusion. “…I lend you my forgiveness, if you do anything that betrays this agreement I will never trust you again.” Harsh, yet still optimism flew in Peridots chest.The other shoulder was touched bya  much more dainty hand, looking at the Pearl a few more tears had fallen. She looked uncomfortable. “I…I forgive you as long as you don’t hurt anyone in this room.” Their hesitancy was to be expected, but Peridot was grateful to be given a second chance. While she may not know what she felt she would figure it out sooner or later. That was the way Peridot functioned.

“..Could someone help me change this diamond into a star?” Things were changing.

requested by thejokesterearth3alive

futureinmyeyesbright  asked:

Ugh! you are speaking my language right now. I'm honestly not even concerned about the storyline just since its so farfetched to me. Literally I'm cool with however they want to play this thing. Maybe you can help me understand why they are jumping to OI. Did they see any fractures on ultrasound or was femur length not proportional to the other measurements. Looking at the numbers is was thinking IUGR due to whatever reason. Your thoughts?

Same. My brain is literally just scoffing at it. So that’s the thing…

Fetal skeletal dysplasias may be suspected because of qualitative bony abnormalities observed during a fetal anatomic survey or because the femur is found to be short for GA. In some cases, the initial US is performed because of a family history of skeletal dysplasia (they don’t have that).

For OI type 2 (the whole spectrum with the 9 types is a later clinical+radiographic+genetic diagnosis), prenatal US features include:

  • Severe micromelia (shortening of all parts of the limb), with femur length more than 3 SD below the mean for gestational age
  • Small thoracic circumference
  • Normal cranial size
  • Short trunk length
  • Decreased mineralization
  • Multiple bone fractures, including multiple fractures within a single bone.

The demineralized bones have multiple angulations and thickening due to several fractures and repetitive callus formation. Multiple rib fractures give a concave thoracic contour (seen at the lateral thorax where the elbows “bash” in the fragile rib cage). Demineralization of the cranium results in deformation with gentle pressure with the US probe. Platyspondyly (flattened vertebral bodies) and micrognathia are commonly present.  A normal US after 17 weeks virtually excludes the diagnosis.

What made them “suspect it” (and I quote)

  • Size and mineralization of the head
  • No movement in the fetus (ugh… she can’t declare no movement; even by watching the baby 30min -which she didn’t do- and not seeing movement, you can’t declare no movement, a normal sleep cycle is 30-45min)
  • Short femurs: Most isolated “short” femurs are normal or constitutionally short. The differential for a shortened femur length should include normal variation, constitutional short limb, a false-positive, IUGR (due to maternal/placental/fetal factors), and aneuploidy (mostly Down syndrome, would have been picked up earlier, unlikely given no other anatomical abnormality). Also, should be significantly short, like 3 SD below AGA values. <5th% at the very least.
  • Not having grown: Yes, interim growth is critical. But this is also the first abnormal measure. It calls for a detailed assessment of the pattern of limb shortening, i.e all long bones (each femur, humerus, radius, ulna, tibia, fibula) should be measured to determine the relative shortening against normal values.  And follow-up shortly.
  • There’s the “sitting like a Buddha”. I’m guessing  bowing/bending of the femurs, doesn’t by any means equal a fracture. There’s no observed intrauterine fracture from what they say. The baby is breech. A baby in complete breech will be sitting with his legs crossed like Buddha, perfectly normal.

These are the measurements:

So A) She is at 23 weeks. Had a normal US at 20 weeks. Hum.
B) There’s a growth stunting in all the values, i.e. both head & abdominal circumference, as well as femur length. This could be consistent with symmetrical IUGR. We also don’t have an estimate of the values as opposed to normal; that’s the most important, the percentile. So we know that this baby had slowed growth over 3 weeks (based on Stephanie’s ultrasound). A through survey should follow - not done. And a follow-up shortly (hopefully done). Investigations for causes of IUGR as it’s most common.
C) No fractures. None of the other findings. There’s no thoracic circumference, only the AC.

So really, far-fetched is an understatement.
Sorry for the novel, just finished my OBSGYN rotation.