#φ

[majokkoradio]

"Knife of Romance" - Tenshi Kinryouku - May 25, 2000

[ccieatchildren]

Whumpay 24 Day 1: Strapped to an Operating Table

TW: Experimentation, Eye Gouging , Noncon Drug Use

Whumpee jolted awake.

He tried moving his arms, but found them, and his other limbs, clamped down. Cold metal pressed against his back, and Whumpee still felt groggy from whatever sedatives they were injected with before. He pulled and pulled at the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge. 

A hand knocks on the table next to his head, startling out of his panic. A person moves from behind him to another Whumpee notices standing in the corner, craning his head to watch them. 

They begin to talk, and though he couldn’t hear what they were saying– he never could– but Whumpee had become adept at lip reading. Hyper-focussing on the researchers’ lips he tried deciphering what was said, but the shapes they made were unfamiliar. 

He wished his brother was here. 

Not only was he hearing, but he also understood English. Tears pooled in Whumpee’s eyes at the thought of their brother. 

Shifting in his restraints, Whumpee drew the attention of the people once again. They argued with each other for a few seconds before the taller one grabbed a scalpel. The other hurried to a metal cart covered with various other medical tools and drugs, pushing it near him. 

The one with the knife approached their metal bed, muttering a few words until they realized he couldn’t understand them. Seemingly done with trying to communicate with him, the scientist sighed, turning to their partner and nodding. 

Whumpee did understand this. 

He screamed, tugging at the clamps, trying in vain to break the solid metal. The main one barked some sort of order at the other, who sped to retrieve a syringe. They both held his arm down, despite his incoherent yelling, putting the needle through his skin. 

Immediately Whumpee could feel his limbs slacken, brain becoming foggy. They tried pulling away once more, but nothing happened. His head and arms felt as if made from foam, somehow soft but immovable. They tried blinking the sensation away, but even his lids did not reciprocate. 

He had lost sight of the researchers in his panic, but Whumpee was returned to his situation by the scalpel appearing much too close to his eye. He attempted to turn or scream again, but he laid still and nothing but quiet gurgles came out. 

He could do nothing as the blade pressed against the edge of his optic organ. Could do nothing as they slowly scooped out the ball, and still couldn’t do anything as they carefully severed its long tail. Whatever gods were out there were merciful enough to make it painless. 

After they took the first one, then went the second. Both carelessly thrown onto a tray. The organization had no use for his eyes, powerless and inhospitable. 

Unlike his brother’s. If only the rest of his body could withstand the calamity.

Now Whumpee was the recipient of the twisted experimentation instead. 

The uncomfortable sensation of something he needed being torn from him was horrifying. But, much worse, was right before the nerve was split, when he could still see. In a different situation, when he wasn’t being forever altered and his brother were still alive, he would’ve thought it cool. Looking around the room without being confined to his head. Not staring at the bleach white ceiling and unsmiling scientist, but perhaps behind him, or around the corner. The possibilities endless. 

Not now however. One gone, and his vision halves. It is disorienting how quick it is. As if a light turns off one only one side, before the other endeavors to compensate. Second gone, and he sees nothing no more. Stuck in a black noiseless room. Only touch, but even that was muddled by the slowly dissolving sedative. 

Whumpee was used to being a sense behind others, not having the privilege many others had. However, it was all he had ever known, and he never much minded. He did not need sound as the others did, content in his world. 

But having something he had always had a grasp of cruelly taken from him… it will stay with him for evermore. 

Feeling begins to return to his body, and along with it comes the pain. The pits in his sockets irritate from the air, exposed to an element they never should have. 

Nothing else happens in the dark silent void. Nothing else can happen but to wait.

Soon rubber probes around the holes. It is violating in a way he can not explain, and he hopes he never experiences it again. His thick tongue garbles out a protest. He thinks… There is no way to tell anymore.

The prodding gets more aggressive, the touch turning into burning. He can feel his vocal cords vibrate with the scream.

A tug. The string coming out of his eye is yanked, jerking his head with it, and Whumpee whimpers. 

The room gets slightly hotter, close to his yarn. He wails. 

Whumpee’s vision returns. It is once again outside of himself, literally seeing himself from an angle he never will again. 

The researchers watch him, faces blank, focussed only on their work, uncaring of him.

The new orb is shoved back into his skull. It does not fit correctly, unnatural and clearly not meant for him. It knocks against the top of the socket, lids not able to fully close over it, moving flesh in his skull to make space for itself. Fitting a triangle into a square.

He may have his sight back but not his eyes.

The second follows in a similar way, but he has to suffer more, the drug leaving his system. It is agonizing, forcing an item that does not belong, and he screeches and shrieks throughout the whole process. The shorter one is put off by his reaction, steadying his legs. The taller one seems accustomed to his suffering. 

The feeling of needles poking holes behind his eyes will never leave him. But it is finally done.

They hold up the mirror in front of his face, reminiscent of his mother after she cut his hair. But this is much worse. Much, much worse. Because of what stares back at Whumpee, widened in fear and grief.

His brother’s eyes. 

[purelyhornyred]

Jobs

I'm here to showcase all of the different jobs the Phrs have!

Non-human characters are automatically unemployed.

Most Characters born into rich families are also unemployed.

[sophieinwonderland]

"What's your favourite number? What about the other members of your system? "

Me, studying to be an engineer, on the first day of a mandatory math course that's mostly about calculus:

"It's cool its derivative is equal to itself, but why does the senior lecturer like e^x so much? Isn't he exaggerating a bit?"

Me, a few weeks later at the end of the math course:

"ALL HAIL THE EXPONENTIAL FUNCTION, OUR LORD AND SAVIOR!"

It just makes everything a lot easier.

And to make this a proper ask:

"My favorite number is Φ!

Ghost’s is 8.

I asked Almond and she said 2. Abby says her is 3."

What's the reason behind the number Φ being your favourite number (along with your system members' favourite numbers)?

Lol!

To the question... I went with Φ because spirals are pretty.

Okay... No. That is part of it. But it's also that... Numbers have never been my thing. I mean, I like statistics. I like polls and surveys that can measure how people are thinking. But not really much beyond that. At some point last year though, I was looking at videos about different educational videos, and I found one that delved into the "Golden Ratio."

What I found fascinating about the golden ratio was the lore to it, I guess. It's interesting how often the golden ratio ended up occurring in nature.

But it's also more interesting to me how much it didn't. But people believed it did anyways. It developed this sort of mystical quality where people who didn't really understand the math would see the golden ratio even in places where it wasn't.

So I guess that what really fascinates me about Φ. Not just the number itself, but what the number says about us as people. About our ability to see patterns in nature and recognize those patterns. But also about our ability to invent patterns where they aren't there. And to turn something as objective as math into superstition and folklore.

Hope that makes sense.

(Ghost's lucky number has always be 8. Abby says 3 seems like a magical number, and Almond just likes 2. Abby and Almond's were pretty off-the-cuff without much thought behind them. Of course, as I write this, Abby is criticizing me for OVERTHINKING mine. 😜)

[retops]

the one share is yours

[zombie-x-x]

[luka-labrathor]

It's questionable. As a former fanfic writer I do not consider my works to be as valid or as good as the works of published writers. Yet I voted YES. And I feel like writing an essay about it.

You can't say a published writer's text is better quality than a non-published one's.

Franz Kafka never published The Metamorphosis. If it wasn't for his friend Max Brod who didn't burn his works as Kafka requested, we would have had only a few short stories of Kafka that would probably be forgotten after Brod's death. It works the other way around too: The worst poems I've ever heard were from published and well known authors (who I would rather not name) – and they even dared to read them themselves in front of an audience.

Fanfiction is a medium older than you'd think

People are jokingly saying every medieval work about the characters of the Bible is a fanfic/fanart but like... Are they wrong? And what about legends? Aren't those just glorifying fanfics about the saints? What about The Frogs by Aristophanes? Was it a memoir he wrote about Aeschylus and Euripides fighting like old hags in the Underworld? No, it wasn't. It was kinda? a fanfiction – not real, completely from his imagination. And one from my own experience: I once won a youth literary award for writing a story about "What happened after the water goblin from K. J. Erben's Bouquet of Czech Folktales decapitated his child". That was a fanfic and nobody cared.

What the fuck is a "real" and "valid" writer?

That was the last straw for me. I don't think any writer – even if they were writing just their diary – can be less valid than any other. Some people still consider fantasy genres less valid than "high" literature. But is it less part of our culture? Does it affect us less than fucking Catch-XXII by J. Heller? I don't think so. People love their classics, they love their fantasy romances and they love their fanfics, so why would we consider the author who wrote a fanfic about Geralt of Rivia less valid than the author who wrote a fanfic about Iphigenia among Taurians and is of the name Johann Wolfgang Goethe?

*this poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. if you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post)

**the only correct answer is yes by the way. why is this even a question lol

[mianimasenpoeticus]

[purelyhornyred]

I SAID I'D MAKE MORE ART FOR IT DIDN'T I??

Proudly introducing the Genderbend Au!

God I love them so much

[1introvertedsage]

[diqestivos]

kimi edit bc I am so bored

ib chaerish

plus other shit I pulled out of my ass

[retops]

your important personality

[zombie-x-x]

[moonlit-ripples]

That's right, we have to rely on NEMO

[daredevil-vagabond]

Someday, I'll head to the other side. - Hi Φ CLUB, Nilfruits + Bakui

non-gif ver

[abdoulmorad]

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