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From the flames of revengeâand of Charles' wrecked helicopterâthe Toppats are reborn.
⌠Oi, that's actually a pretty cool name: The 'Toppats Reborn.' Chief reckons he should use that.
His musings are interrupted when he and Chuck hear someone give a low whistle behind them. They turn.
"Didn't take long for you to find my replacement, huh, buddy?" asks Charles sarcastically.
"You!" snarls Chief and he brandishes his oversized cybernetic sword at Charles, eliciting an 'oooh' from Chuck.
"Chillax. If I was gonna kill ya, I'd have just, y'know. Blown up the helicopter. Barely figured out how to change your course in time and save HQ, but, anyway. This whole control override thing is pretty handy," Charles says and tweaks his right cybernetic earpiece for dramatic effect. "Your idea?"
It was, but Chief dodges the question. "Bollocks. 'Course you're gonna kill me."
"Nope."
"You just love murderin' Toppats."
"Okay, uhh, ouch? I'm apparently a Toppat now," Charles says and gestures to Chuck (who tips an imaginary top hat back at him), "so, no. And, uhh, actually, I didn't even mean to blow up that station. But don't tell my boss that, or I'll lose my medals." He waves away several first responders; apparently as the government's valiant hero he has the authority to do that.
Chief's sword-hand wavers. For all the bravado Charles had aboard the alien ship, now he's taking it all back? Was he lying then, or is he lying now?
"ButâŚ" Charles eyeballs the blazing wreckage of his beloved aircraft. "I⌠kinda deserved this. I'm, uhh, not even mad. Really." He surreptitiously wipes away a tear, then locks eyes with Chief, unreadably and uncomfortably long. "Did it feel good?" he finally asks.
Chief considers it. "Yea. Yea, it felt good," he says.
"Well, it didn't feel good when I blasted you with my cannon. I don't⌠I don't know what that means, and it's bugging me. Sooo⌠can we be done?"
"We ain't even," warns Chief.
"Oh, totally. No way."
The two nemeses stare each other down. They both find it difficult to look away.
"Fine. Truce," says Chief, and he sheaths his sword within his metal arm to bring out again his right hand.
Charles shakes it.
Metal crunches noisily, and both men look down in surprise; each trying to one-up the other in force of grip, they've dented each other's hands.
In his shock Chief can't help but laugh, and Charles joins in.
It's a damn shame they have to be enemies.
"Tell Henry I said hey," Charles says, addressing his doppelganger now.
"Wanna trade?" jokes Chuck with no small amount of bitterness to his tone.
"Sorry, bro."
"Nah, no hard feelings. Any friend of Henry's is a friend of mine⌠I guess." He initiates a long, overly complicated, flourishy secret handshake which Charles mirrors exactly, and they end it with a fist-bump.
After saying their goodbyesâand, in the case of Chief and Charles, shooting several conflicted looksâthe trio part. Charles distracts several officers with a lie, and Chuck eagerly pulls Chief by his dented metal hand away from government eyes and toward a transport truck⌠which he knows just how to hotwire.
-
"What theâ?!"
Henry, having opened his bedroom curtains for the morning, is faced with a problem. There's a puke-green military vehicle, clearly stolen, very conspicuous, and sitting in his apartment parking spotâwith Chief and a freshly toppatted Chuck brazenly playing cards atop its roof.
Henry feels a twinge of jealousy, both of Chuck's adventures and his sharp new maroon hat. It's been over a long, boring, painfully law-abiding month since Henry last left his apartment; it's time he went out.
"Hey." He opens his window and raises his eyebrows down at Chief. "My turn."
-
Dark, rain-filled clouds loom above the CCC Midwestern branch's research laboratory. They're the perfect cover for seasoned thief Henry to be dropped off by Chief atop the lab roof.
Henry pickpockets a sleeping CCC security guard posted by the door, and along with their ID he snatches their hat for himself. He swipes his card and slips through the hallways with head lowered beneath the hat's brim; he's following signs for the 'TESTING ROOM'. Undetected, he's just waltzed straight into the crash test hangar of CCC's single largest hub for gadget development.
He ducks to narrowly miss being hit by a bottle rocket. It's just been fired by a researcherâstraight at the head of another who barely manages to duck as Henry did. They both laugh. A scientist in a lab coat floats by in a bubble which nearly pops in its collision with another scientist's gigantic pogo stick.
The general gloom of losing Charlesâtwice, mind youâbegins to lift from Henry's face. A researcher putters by on their rocket powered scooter, throws up a gang sign at Henry, and revs their engines, blasting off at once across the concrete. At that, Henry even manages to crack a smileâthough it takes only a moment to fade and vanish.
He shoves his hands in his pockets to prevent them from instinctively snatching every gadget he sees. Besides, he needs to save room for what he's got written in crude handwriting on a scrap of paper, which he now pulls from his pocket:
-
'amnesia ray gun
cop repellant stink field?
pop-up invisibility dome'
-
While he's looking down at his note, somebody lands next to him⌠in a burst of gunfire from their minigun jetpack.
Oh, that's hot.
And, as Henry notes with a twinge of Charles-related guilt, so is its pilot.
"Hey, man, saw you looking right down. Wanna take 'er for a spin?" they ask.
Henry gawps at the jetpack for a second, then nods dumbly.
The jetpacked researcher, with their blue CCC jacket sleeves torn crudely off for a more rugged look, claps Henry on the back so forcefully as to send the slimmer man reeling. "Larry Bakedfries!" They introduce themselves with a cheesy grin. They shrug their jetpack off one shoulder like a backpack and offer it to a delighted Henry.
-
Sparks fly, both from the ricochet of minigun bullets and between Henry and Larry. Turns out Henry's got a thing for reckless goofballs.
His mission forgotten, Henry spends the entire rest of the day jetpacking around, goofing off with his new crush, and meeting like-minded nerdy CCC employees who welcome him in good faith as their new coworker.
Maybe life isn't so bad.
"A teleporter, you say?" Larry pops the tab of an NrG drink from the break room vending machine and takes a swig.
Henry nods.
"Hell of a shame you had to go and bust it up. Hard to get your hands on one of those babies! Back in the early days, every new agent got one⌠apparently. Me, I'm green, even greener than you. I busted in a couple a' months ago for a jetpack joyride, they hired me on the spot, and⌠I just⌠never left. Larry Bakedfries!"
"Whoa."
"Ee-yup. Pretty stupid hiring practices, but I'm not complaining."
Henry responds with a smile.
Suddenly, Larry stares him directly in the face until Henry's forced, blushing, to break eye contact. Uh-oh; might Larry have recognized Henry from his counterpart, Hal's, very frequent TV appearances?
"Y'know, you're really cute," Larry finally says bluntly and hands Henry their cell phone. "Can I get your number?"
Unthinkingly in his flustered state, along with his number Henry puts in his full name.
"'Henry⌠Stickmin,'" reads Larry. "Stickmin and Bakedfries, huh? They'll be calling us 'Stickfries' before long!"
Larry's rewarded with happy Henry nodding and a very sneaky kiss on the cheek. Giggling, he waves goodbye to Henry with an enigmatic 'Larry Bakedfries, out!' and clocks out for the day, but before he can leave Henry gets his attention.
"Wait! UmâŚ" Henry pulls out his crumpled note to show Larry and he taps the words 'invisibility dome'.
"Oh, why didn't you say so? I've got one of those puppies back at ye olde bachelor pad. You can have it. You done with work too?"
Henry nods and taps his fingers together shyly.
"Wanna come home⌠with me⌠play some Fortnite, or something?" Larry asks him and they scratch their five o'clock shadow.
"Yes!"
Larry leads a very happy Henry out and to their 'whip', a small and compact rocket-powered bipedal mech.
As the two of them stomp off into the sunset, Henry sighs. At last, he can sayâfor the first time since his ex Charles' disappearanceâthat he's had one truly good day.
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And welcome to the Dead Men's Tales (DMT) fanfiction hub.
Info:
Fic tone works to mirror the Henry Stickmin games: goofy, sincere, and emotional when deserved. Expect to laugh and also to hurt a little.
Basic knowledge of Completing the Mission is required, knowing the bio lore is recommended.
No lewd themes, though a small amount of cursing and some harm/death.
The chapter drops themselves will be spoilered, but be warned: if you scroll the blog, you'll DEFINITELY see spoilers.
If the chapters get buried, find them in the TOC section of this post or at #dmt full
This is an ongoing project and I might make revisions. If a revision is important enough, I'll make an info post about it.
Chapter drops are not standardized because I have a gig based work schedule, but I'll try not to leave you hanging. Expect at least 3 days between chapter drops.
My concept artist and beta reader is teknamy on tiktok! All art, unless otherwise stated, is credited to him. He would like to ask that you not be gross about his art. No, he will not draw the stick guys making love.
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What I love about this site is the fact it's the closest I've gotten to pre-2000 internet in years. No one knows anyone's real name, photos are entirely optional, and we're pretty sure at least one of our mutuals is 100% lying about everything. There's a reason it's one of the only social media sites I keep coming back to. It somehow manages to be just as horrible, enjoyable, and chaotic as 1990s chat rooms used to be.
Iâm a cis-gender man which basically means that, when I was born, the doctor went âItâs a boy!â and when I was old enough to understand I agreed with him.
The thing is, I donât know why I feel like a man. I was teased and bullied for it a lot when I was little. Iâve never had stereotypically American male interests. I never cared about sports or cars or guns. I was more interested in music and cooking and the arts. Iâve always been emotionally in tune and sensitive, even when I did my best to suppress my emotions to survive a childhood of abuse from other children.
Itâs not physical either. I donât feel like a man because I have a penis or a beard. If you put my brain in a robot body or any other body, my essence would still feel male (I assume). I literally canât imagine what being any other gender would feel like, since I feel so acutely male.
I think thatâs why the concept of being transgender always made sense to me. Iâm a man. I donât have any bloody clue why I feel like a man, but I donât feel that itâs tied to my body or my interests or the way that Iâve been treated. I feel like a man because of something beyond that. Something ephemeral. So, why couldnât others feel the same? Why couldnât a person whoâs been misidentified as a girl feel like a boy for the exact same nebulous reasons that I do?
And, since gender really doesnât make any sense to me anyway, why couldnât there also be people who feel as if they donât have one? Or who flow across genders like a ship on a map?
Are there people out there whose sense of their own gender is inseparable from their physical form? If you put those people into robot bodies or, simply, other physically different bodies, would their gender identity also swap? If so, why? Are they actually more lost in their gender identity than I am and they need to hone in on the physical in order to anchor themselves?
Why do people feel like they are the gender that they are?
My grandfather, who had a difficult time coming to terms with it when I came out, has been working very hard to understand me and my experience. About 5 weeks ago, he asked me, almost offhand, âwhy are you so sure that youâre a man?â
And I replied, âwell, I could ask you the same thing.â And I moved on, continued, tried to explain why I feel the way that I do, but I donât think he heard any of those things that I said afterward.Â
Because six days later, we talked about it again, and this is what he told me:Â
âI couldnât stop thinking about what you said last week. Because all my life I identified it as âthese are the parts that I have, and so I am a manâ. But youâre living proof that gender is not limited to what is attached to your body, so I asked myself, why am I a man? And all I can say is âbecause I have no idea what it feels like to be anything elseâ. I cannot imagine what itâs like to be a woman. Or neither, or both, or any other gender. I have always been a man.â
And I replied, âthatâs exactly what it feels like for me.â
So, shoutout to my cisgender grandfather, for stumbling upon the essence of being trans accidentally, with very little help from me. I love you, grandpa.
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like i go to work or to class and itâs always about who drank the most coffee or slept the least or went the longest without eating and i wonder when we all got so comfortable with feeling bad
i used to take so much pride in how late i went to bed, how long iâd been wearing the same clothes, how little water i drank. and looking back there was never a time in my life where i was more tired and miserable. and i used to laugh when people would tell me that drinking water and eating vegetables and exercising would make me feel better but it turns out that when you donât treat your body like shit your brain starts to catch on
idk just. give yourself more love. brush your teeth and eat a kiwi
usually i would ignore this but i feel like i need to address it because this is such an unproductive and downright dangerous mindset to have
i lost all my teenage years to mental health problems. i have the kind of issues that make it incredibly difficult to provide myself with the most basic care and most of my energy goes towards just trying to get through the day. i still have times where i donât want to get out of bed because it doesnât feel like itâs worth it anymore. every single day is trying to power through wanting to give up. i am not neurotypical and i never will be but that doesnât mean iâm doomed to suffer for the rest of my life.
i know it sounds like âjust drink water and do some yoga and your depression will go awayâ. if iâd seen this when i was at my lowest i wouldâve rolled my eyes too because of course itâs not that easy. eating fruit isnât going to cure my mental illness. but fixing my sleep schedule and eating actual meals and brushing my teeth every day were the BIGGEST steps in starting to feel like a human being again. the first time i woke up early and brushed my teeth and had breakfast (for the first time in years) i was amazed by how GOOD i felt. all my problems didnât disappear but that morning it felt like they did.
unfortunately, recovery is hard work sometimes. it takes EFFORT. bad habits donât just go away with time, especially if theyâre ingrained. theyâre only going to get worse unless you fight to change them (and it is a FIGHT). thereâs this weird culture on the internet of struggling with your mental health and thinking thatâs all there has to be and it makes me so angry because i know i was exactly the same. i would snap at anybody who tried to help me because the little things wouldnât fix me completely so there was no point in doing them at all. but those things make such a difference. thereâs a reason why âif you canât take a shower, just brush your teethâ is so widely spread. giving yourself basic care and attention is the first step to finally treating yourself like you matter again. existence wasnât meant to be punishing. youâre not supposed to suffer forever.
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