#Whump science

[teine-mallaichte]

I’ve been brainstorming (and when I say brainstorming I really mean "daydreaming about while at work") a concept I’m now dubbing “Neurobehavioral Conditioning” or “Neuro-Operant Training” — basically an advanced way to "train" a whumpee by combining behavior conditioning, operant conditioning, and behavioral modification. Think of it as a futuristic shock collar, but with a twist.

The general concept is that of an implant. This implant would be remote, controlled by the trainer, owner, whumper, etc, and at eh press of a button would "reward" the whumpee for good behaviour, following orders, being submissive, or whatever else.

I have three ideas for this implant:

Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS)

Mechanism: DBS involves implanting electrodes in specific brain areas, like the nucleus accumbens, to stimulate pleasure and reward centers.

Control: A remote control would adjust stimulation levels to reward good behavior.

Pros: Highly targeted, adjustable stimulation.

Cons: Requires surgery with risks like infection and brain damage.

Real World Inspiration: DBS is used to treat conditions like Parkinson’s and severe depression, showing its ability to enhance specific brain functions.

2. Insulin Pump-like Device Administering Euphoric Drugs

Mechanism: This device would release small doses of a euphoric drug into the bloodstream.

Control: The trainer can control dosage and timing to reinforce positive behavior.

Pros: Easier to implement than brain surgery, easily adjustable.

Cons: Risks of addiction, tolerance, and side effects.

Real World Inspiration: Think of insulin pumps but for mood-enhancing substances. While not perfect, the concept of continuous, controlled substance delivery is pretty similar.

3. Insulin Pump-like Device Administering Neurotransmitters

Mechanism: Releases neurotransmitters directly into the brain, affecting mood and behavior.

Control: Like the drug pump, it’s remotely controlled for precise neurotransmitter release.

Pros: Direct and potentially faster-acting than drugs.

Cons: Requires precise control to avoid imbalances and side effects.

Real World Inspiration: Current research on neurotransmitter modulation in psychiatric treatments.

Now… Imagine This:

The whumpee is unaware of the implant. Every time they follow an order or please the whumper, the button is pressed and they experience a wave of pleasure. The sense of joy and satisfaction becomes so intertwined with their compliance that eventually the button may not even need to be pressed. In Whumpees mind the wave of pleasure comes directly from obedience.

** Whumper glanced up, catching Whumpees eye. “You’ve done very well today. I’m proud of you.” Whumpees chest swelled with warmth at the praise. They didn’t fully understand the source of their happiness, but in that moment, it felt perfectly aligned with their purpose. The sense of joy and satisfaction was so deeply intertwined with their compliance that they couldn’t imagine anything else.**

**Whumper called out gently "Could you please tidy up the coffee table, dear? It looks a bit cluttered." Whumpee "Of course!" They move swiftly to the coffee table, clearing away magazines and placing them neatly in a stack. As they work, they hum softly, a look of contentment on their face. The moment they finish, a wave of pleasurable warmth washes over them, originating from deep within their mind. They feel a sense of happiness and fulfillment, a smile spreading across their face as if they had just accomplished something truly meaningful.**

I feel the subtlety of influencing the whumpee’s emotions makes this concept all the more intriguing (and creepy). Sure, the whumper could crank up the remote to enforce submission, but the quiet conditioning might be even more satisfying.

Honestly, maybe it's a good job that I never actually qualified as a doctor what this is the sort of thoughts I have while stood in a gym yelling at someone on a treadmill 😂.

Mandatory science dump Under the cut

Key Neurotransmitters and Their Functions:

Dopamine:

Function: Often referred to as the “feel-good” neurotransmitter, dopamine plays a crucial role in reward, motivation, and pleasure. It also influences movement and emotional responses.

Theoretical Effect of Artificial Addition: Increasing dopamine levels can enhance feelings of pleasure and reward, potentially improving mood and motivation.

Too much = addiction and psychosis.

Serotonin:

Function: Serotonin is involved in regulating mood, appetite, sleep, and memory. It has a calming effect and helps maintain a balanced mood.

Theoretical Effect of Artificial Addition: Boosting serotonin levels can improve mood and reduce anxiety and depression.

Too much = serotonin syndrome.

Norepinephrine:

Function: This neurotransmitter is involved in the body’s “fight or flight” response. It increases alertness, arousal, and attention.

Theoretical Effect of Artificial Addition: Enhancing norepinephrine can improve focus and energy levels.

Too much = anxiety and high blood pressure.

GABA (Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid):

Function: GABA is the primary inhibitory neurotransmitter in the brain. It helps reduce neuronal excitability and promotes relaxation and calmness.

Theoretical Effect of Artificial Addition: Increasing GABA levels can have a calming effect, reducing anxiety and promoting sleep.

Too much = excessive sedation.

Acetylcholine:

Function: This neurotransmitter is involved in muscle activation, memory, and learning.

Theoretical Effect of Artificial Addition: Enhancing acetylcholine can improve memory and cognitive function.

Too much = Muscle cramps.

Key Brain Areas for DBS for this purpose:

Nucleus Accumbens (NAc):

Function: The NAc is a central part of the brain’s reward circuit. It plays a crucial role in processing pleasure, reward, and reinforcement learning.

Theoretical Effect of DBS: Stimulating the NAc can enhance feelings of pleasure and reward, potentially improving mood and motivation. This area is often targeted in treatments for depression and addiction.

Ventral Tegmental Area (VTA):

Function: The VTA is involved in the release of dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward.

Theoretical Effect of DBS: Stimulating the VTA can increase dopamine release, enhancing reward-related behaviors and potentially improving mood.

Medial Forebrain Bundle (MFB):

Function: The MFB is a pathway that connects the VTA to the NAc and other brain regions involved in reward processing.

Theoretical Effect of DBS: Stimulating the MFB can modulate the entire reward circuit, potentially providing a more comprehensive enhancement of pleasure and motivation.

Central Amygdala (CeA):

Function: Traditionally associated with fear, recent studies have shown that the CeA also has neurons involved in reward processing.

Theoretical Effect of DBS: Stimulating the reward-related neurons in the CeA can promote positive behaviors and enhance feelings of reward

A few real world related technologies and research that explore similar concepts:

Automated Insulin Delivery (AID) Systems:

These systems combine insulin pumps with continuous glucose monitors (CGMs) to automatically adjust insulin delivery based on real-time glucose levels1. The technology and principles behind these systems could be adapted for neurotransmitter delivery.

Neurotransmitter Modulation in Psychiatric Treatments:

Treatments for conditions like depression and anxiety often involve modulating neurotransmitter levels using medications such as SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) to increase serotonin levels2. While not delivered via a pump, the concept of adjusting neurotransmitter levels to influence behavior is similar.

Research on Neurostimulation and Neurotransmitter Release:

Studies have explored the use of electrical stimulation to influence neurotransmitter release in the brain. For example, deep brain stimulation (DBS) can affect dopamine levels, which is relevant for treating Parkinson’s disease.

[whatiswhump]

Although it could be considered relative, Test Subject has decided not all days here are created equal.

There are the days they are left alone in their cell, like a book forgotten on the shelf of a library. Those are the dullest of their life but there is solace that they aren’t actively being cut open.

Then there are days of trials. Sometimes injections, sometimes infusions, sometimes inhalants, sometimes surgeries where the Test Subject doesn’t even know what occurred because they were unconscious for it. Then they only see the aftermath.

And then there are the measuring days. At least that’s what they call them. TS probably shouldn’t like them, going poked, moved around, blood lost by the bag that leaves them struggling to lift their arms. But at the same time, the X-rays, the MRI’s, the swabs, although they are all capturing and removing things piece by piece from TS, it feels like the least is being done to them.

They know. They know the logic didn’t make sense- lull days they were left completely alone. But on those days they became afraid that maybe they were no longer useful. Maybe their final test had been run, maybe they were slated for expiration next. They couldn’t know and that was made those days just as invasive as the days that unknown vials made them tremble, vomit, and stopping breathing.

At least on “measuring days” the techs didn’t talk as much. They just picked up limbs and manipulated, just like a doll. One liked to hum. TS could relax here. These days they didn’t usually even notice when canulas went in.

And to think they used to be so afraid of needles.

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee’s tied down in a hospital gown gagged and blindfolded. 

The gag is so they don’t bite.

The blindfold is so no one has to look into their eyes when they run unethical experiments.

Besides, they’re here for the science, not torture. They had the stomach for blood but not for the crying.

[becomingvecna]

Petri Dishes by Klari Reis

[the-broken-pen]

Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,” the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder–hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. 

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned. 

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet. 

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head. 

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital. 

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner. 

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead. 

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch. 

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world. 

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

[echoingalaxies]

One of my favorite comfort tropes is Caretaker seeing Whumpee smile or hearing them laugh for the first time after whatever happened to them - or for the first time ever.

And they'll silently promise themselves to do everything in their power to make that sight/sound a frequent occurrence in their life.

[will-o-the-wips]

How many times do you have to kill an immortal before they break?

[whatiswhump]

I love it when the patient is being subjected to a treatment or an experiment and those around him do it so quickly, so casually, that the patient can’t keep track of what’s being done to them.

They’re alarmed and scared and they can’t even resist bc they’re too disoriented with how quickly that doctor or lab staff is moving to do anything. Bc the staff is used to doing this and while it’s horrifying to the whumpee, it’s just another day for all of the rest of them, that their suffering is so commonplace and usual is always jarring, I love it.

Like if the staff is good at restraining whumpee quickly bc they do it all the time or their next round of treatment has people laughing and joking while they have mechanic like movements setting them up, swabbing with alcohol, putting in the cannula, placing the instruments, bc they’re just so used to it they could do it in their sleep so they’re absent minded and chatting with their colleagues or ignoring whumpees fear bc that too is usual.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

could you please please give more reasons for a whumper to, well, whump? i feel like sometimes my writing is disconnected because they don’t have any realistic motives to do what they do

Sure!

For Security: the whumpee has been overthrown in some way by the whumper, who keeps them under lock and key to prevent them from accumulating power and reclaiming their position.

For Gloating: the whumpee and whumper were bitter rivals. When whumper finally bests whumpee, they keep them around to relive the moment.

For Utility: the whumpee possesses a rare skill, and the whumper kidnaps or imprisons them in order to have access to it. (Bonus points if the whumpee refuses to comply!)

For Punishment: similar to vengeance, the whumpee is deemed villainous or criminal by society, and the whumper(s) feel justified in hurting them. After all, they deserve it, don't they?

For Fun: the whumper is in power over whumpee in some way, and has taken to torturing or tormenting them whenever they get bored.

For Deterrence: the whumpee has broken a rule and must be made an example of.

and as @stabbysheep said,

For Science: the whumper is conducting experiments, either out of curiosity or necessity, and they need the whumpee for the trials. Could be completely legal (maybe whumpee is a criminal, maybe they volunteered not knowing what they were signing up for, maybe they're not human), or not (whumpee is kidnapped to be used as the perfect test subject).

even more reasons

[whereserpentswalk]

Your girlfriend used to be a supersolider. I mean physically she still is, but she doesn't work as one anymore because of an injury taking away the use of one of her arms. She's been through a lot, she's been fighting for longer then unmodified humans tend to live, even with life extension technology, she's been fighting for longer then even the planet you're on has been colonized by humans. The empire she fought for is long gone, but she's still here.

She looks strangely inhuman. Her body looks almost like a statue, she's so perfectly lean and muscular, but in an almost inhuman way. Her eyes are strangely colored, and her skin has pieces of machinery sticking out of her. She's more human looking then the cyborgs you tend to see throughout the city, but there's something most people consider off about her. People always act uncomfortable around her, especially since her body language is kind of stilted, and her face doesn't show emotion, it makes her think of herself as less human than she is.

She's strangely skittish due to her past. Robots always scare her, even ones you consider small and cute. Occasionally she'll see someone with a visor covering their face and she'll want to avoid them due to some memory she has about that. She can't sleep when spaceships are passing overhead, and you'll have to hold her and comfort her until the sound ends.

Most people you meet just walking around the city think of her as being sort of creepy. A lot of your freinds talk behind her back about how she's killed people before. A lot of people think she doesn't feel emotions just because her body doesn't show them, a lot of people think it's impossible for her to love you.

You do your best to make her feel safe. You pet her skin, and kiss her a lot, and play with her hair. You feel the need to make her feel comfortable again. Whoever made her into what she is now took away her ability to feel sexual pleasure, but she seems to enjoy pleasuring you. She wants to cry when she lays her head agaisnt your breast, but her eyes can't do that anymore.

She seems to so often feel like a monster, feel like something designed to hurt people. She's so aware that her body itself is built as a weapon of war, that it makes her feel like violence itself is her nature. But you tell her that she doesn't have to be violent anymore if she doesn't want to. And you call her pretty, people have said a lot of things about her body, but you don't think anyone has called her pretty before.

[rabbit-flaying]

Humanity's Collector

Genres: Fantasy and Science Fiction

Content Warnings: Dehumanization, Kidnapping, Casual Violence, Claustrophobia, Mild Cosmic Horror

Note: I want to get back to positing my writing on Tumblr. Maybe someone will recognize this. Probably not.

"Gosh you're pretty," Glade cooed, its voice sounding a bit like Harlow's mother, a bit like a brook, and a bit like paper being crumpled up and cast aside.

Harlow looked around desperately. For he had to find escape from the strange realm he had woken in. All manner of miscellany took up space in the void around him. It looked like a storage closet, if every storage closet in the world were connected together, and the possessions of kings and paupers alike were granted permission to socialize.

He ignored Glade and stood from his wicker chair, quickly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the realm and number of objects held within it.

Above him the color white stretched out into infinitum. True white, not the dirty kind found in snow and house paint. It hurt his head, making his temples throb and blood vessels contract, so he looked away from it.

"Where am I?" Harlow demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Glade," it answered. "You're in my home."

Harlow made the mistake of eye contact. Glade's eyes shone with the light of galaxies, a dazzling rainbow of nebulae, planets, and suns. The entirety of the universe, and many more beyond it, seemed tucked away within the perfectly spherical marbles buried in the putty-like flesh of its glowing face.

He finally broke away from the hypnotic sight, his puny brain unable to handle the visions within. How much time had passed, every one of his neurons firing at once in an attempt to process the cosmos of Glade's eyes? Seconds? Minutes? Hours, even?

He needed answers, yet he did not know the right questions. Glade didn't seem human, instead a creature from a story book. And this monolithic hoard couldn't possibly be real.

"Your home?" he asked in a strangled sort of voice, staring pointedly at the patch of ebony wood ground he stood upon.

"I'm a collector," Glade explained, running their sharp nails, painted with glitter and adorned with scraps of emeralds, through Harlow's silky hair.

"What do you collect, exactly?"

Harlow watched a glittering blue beetle crawl across the ground, finding a hiding spot underneath a red and purple feathered ball gown displayed on a copper mannequin.

"All sorts of things," Glade said, flapping its hands wildly in a mimicry of human excitement. "Your world is fascinating. I remember when your kind learned how to create fire and tame animals. You have grown so much since then. I needed to have one of you for my own. Your creations are not enough any more."

Harlow carefully took in Glade's appearance, avoiding its hypnotic eyes. Despite its alien nature- as clear to Harlow as it would have been to his ancestors as they huddled around campfires concocting stories to explain their world- it chose to appear humanoid, though not precisely human.

Glade was the kind of thing that would hide in a child's closet, and speak to them in a parental fashion, loathing the knowledge that the child would never be believed no matter how loudly they spoke of its existence.

Its iridescent skin glimmered, changing colors with every movement, no matter how slight, as stunning light produced by the void poured over its body. Its proportions sat beyond the human view of normal, uncanny like an airbrushed model, but far more monstrous. Behind its smiling lips were two rows of porcelain and copper teeth, slicing perfectly through its pale gray gums.

Delicate jewelry of book pressed flowers and dragonfly wings adorned its warped elven ears. It was clad in a fur cape, the stitched together pelts of numerous small animals, fur colors clashing and asymmetrical. Its heels, as thin as sewing needles and seemingly impossible to walk on, granted half a foot of height to their seven-foot frame.

"Don't worry," Glade continued. "I'll take care of you. I've been collecting humanity's creations for millenia. You may use what you find around you to its fullest extent."

"I want to go home," Harlow said, finally realizing that this was not a dream that could be banished away by opening his eyes and pouring himself a cup of black coffee mixed with salt. "Please let me go. I'm sure there's someone who would love to be here. But I like my life on earth."

"But I wanted you."

Glade hugged Harlow tightly, mimicking how it had observed humans comforting one another. Its skin had none of Harlow's warmth, and he found this hug as uncomfortable as cuddling with a marble statue would have been, if he had ever been bold enough to break the omnipresent rule of not touching museum exhibits.

Harlow closed his eyes. "I have to be dreaming," he said, his lie cloaked in a defeated sort of tone. "This can't be real."

"Of course this isn't real," Glade said, holding its newest acquisition out at arm's length. "But it isn't a dream either. You are within my home, far outside of your universe."

"Please send me back. I don't know why I'm here, or how, but I can't do this."

"Yes you can," Glade said. "It's easy. I will take care of you, and you will be my plaything. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Harlow broke away from Glade, and took off walking. There had to be an exit. Everything had an exit, whether it be a school or a church or a corner shop. The exits were always there, saddened as they were that so many people were afraid to break the rules and only took advantage of their ability to leave at certain appointed hours.

The void still seemed to stretch on into infinity, swelling larger and larger the farther and farther Harlow walked. But everything had an end if you traveled far enough to find it. Even the deserts that passed past any human line of sight and the mountains that seemed too high to ever climb over.

But now Harlow was applying rules from his original plane of existence to the alien one he had been so rudely whisked away to. And that was very foolish indeed.

"No, that doesn't sound nice," he said angrily, as Glade easily matched his pace, wearing a concerned expression it had stolen from a grandparent not too long ago. "I'm leaving."

"You can't leave. Because I didn't steal you. The original Harlow Finch Echowood is still in his home, playing solitaire and chatting away to his cat. You belong here with me."

Harlow stopped in his tracks, sitting down on an ancient jeweled throne. It had held countless kings before him, but he respected them not, only using their seat to keep from collapsing in shock.

Glade smiled. "We are going to have so much fun, and no one will ever know you to be here. Come now, I have food prepared for you."

"I can't eat your food," Harlow argued, remembering what he had learned from a book that lived in his elementary school library. It had worn a shiny green cover, and the name Susan Macintosh was written inside the front cover before his own. "I'd never be able to leave if I did that."

"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for some of my cousins," Glade said. "You will eat, or you will starve. And you're never leaving because you belong to me. It doesn't matter what you choose to do."

Harlow stood up, his dizziness replaced with a red-hot temper. "I hate you! Let me go! You can't keep me here!"

Glade looked deeply wounded, but Harlow knew within the depths of his very soul, that it was only mimicry of human emotion.

"I couldn't send you back, even if I wanted to. Then there would be two Harlow Finch Echowoods trying to live your singular and unique life."

"I don't believe you. I'm still me. I still remember my life."

"You are an exact duplication of the original Harlow Finch Echowood. You have the same soul and the same mind and the same DNA. Of course you still remember."

With every passing moment, Harlow's belief in Glade's words only grew. Any attempt to fight against them was snuffed out by diluted logic and the omnipresent knowledge that he was still alive. He breathed. Blood rushed through his veins. More importantly, his mind continued to produce thoughts and feelings to process the outside world.

"Just combine us again or something," Harlow begged. "I want to go home. I never asked to be brought here."

"I cannot combine nor reconstruct nor mend. I can only make copies of beautiful things, and things not quite so beautiful."

Glade spread its arms, gesturing to its hoard of human objects collected in centuries long past. The treasures of every empire ever risen and fallen was present, both the spectacular and the mundane side by side in a discordant visual melody.

"Why me?" Harlow asked. "I didn't do anything."

"You speak as though this is a punishment. I have simply added you to my collection." It flicked the tears from his face, scratching him with its nail. "Now come, I have made you good food."

Glade gripped Harlow's arm and dragged him far away, weaving throughout its collection at a brisk and even pace, avoiding falling into the gaps between pieces of floor, which only infinitum laid below.

Soon enough, they came upon a small 1950s era kitchen. Two marble counters, a dirty stove, and a teacup filled sink formed a corner tucked away between a row of unplugged televisions and a huge crooked stalagmite growing from the polished tile floor.

Glade opened the oven and pulled out a pan of fresh bread. Its hands were bare, but unburnt by the hot metal dish. It grabbed a knife from one of the many drawers and cut through the bread without displacing a single crumb, before laying the slice out on a neon green plate.

"Eat while it's still hot," Glade said with a bright smile. It was a well used expression by those of Harlow's time who prepared meals for other humans, and it planned to repeat it often.

In its time spent with Harlow, its teeth had dulled significantly, and its gums had taken on a pale shade of pink. Why it had not mimicked a perfect human before meeting Harlow was beyond him, and it seemed perfectly capable of warping its appearance to become more like him.

He reluctantly tried the seed filled bread, finding it to be heavenly and soft. Faerie food or not, he scarfed it down, suddenly famished beyond all reason.

"Thank you," he said automatically.

"I have much food. It is scattered about my home, and easy to find if you look. It never spoils, so you may feast on it as you please."

Harlow sighed, and clambered up to sit on the counter. An act of rebellion his twelve year old self would have been proud of, even if Glade didn't give him the smallest sliver of annoyance, having no understand of manners itself.

"I'm really never leaving…" he said, his voice like a half-deflated party balloon still adored by a kid who refused point blank to throw it in the trash. "If that's it then, what happens when you get bored of me?"

"I never get bored of my playthings."

"How big is this place? Is it a universe, or a realm, or a room in some alien mansion?" Harlow thought these reasonable enough questions, considering his circumstances.

"An infinite pocket dimension," Glade replied. "If you travel far enough, my collection begins to grow thin. There is a boundary of where my possessions lie, and after that is the abyss. It is nearly impossible to find one's way back from nothingness."

"I hate it here," Harlow said, as though he had not made this feeling quite clear before. "I want to be around other people. Not you."

"I will bring you some," Glade promised. "Allow me a few minutes to collect them. You shall have a companion, as all humans crave, or more than one if it suits your fancy."

Harlow froze, debating his own morality versus the loneliness soon to bloom from this isolation. How could he allow more people to be stuck in this horrible purgatory of preserved humanity, just so he could have someone to talk to? The truth? He couldn't bear it. At least, not yet.

"No," he begged, the first tears ever created in this pocket dimension blooming in his eyes. "Please, don't put anyone else through this. I'll be good. I won't complain. I promise."

"Oh, how you confuse me." Something odd bloomed over Glade's face, a poor mimicry of a half-understood human emotion. "I see… Come along then."

Harlow hopped off the counter and followed Glade as it walked under a vast canopy of safety pinned together curtains fashioned from every familiar fabric and exotic cloth created by the hands of humanity.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Glade called in a sing-song voice. "I've brought a new trinket. This one can talk, so I'm sure you'll like it."

People approached Glade and Harlow from the shadows. Well, not people, exactly. They were like Glade, monstrous and wonderful, stepping straight from a story book and into Harlow's waking nightmare. There stood more figures than Harlow could keep track of, intent on viewing the treasure Glade had discovered.

"I finally brought a human home," Glade said proudly, if such a being were capable of pride. "Isn't it just a doll?"

Harlow flinched as numerous hands and insect-like feelers crept over his body, Glade's companions examining him all too closely. He felt as though he had jumped into those foam pits he had so loved as a young child, touched in all directions yet floating in oddly empty space.

"Get off of me," he demanded, forgetting his promise not to complain as he shoved the nearest figure away. "Stop it. I said stop!"

Harlow tried to break free of them, pushing and shoving, even striking at them with closed fists and elbows. But he was pulled back, the creatures murmuring in appreciation on how bizarrely Glade's newest acquisition behaved.

"Stop touching me," Harlow cried. "Please. I hate being crowded. What are you doing?"

"What is it doing?" the specter asked. It brought its freezing yet intangible hand to Harlow's face, as though to seize his tears.

"That is so weird," another remarked, clicking its pincers in an oddly specific pattern.

The different figures murmured to each other, formulating explanations.

"Is it because we're touching it?"

"It's water… I think."

"He's crying," Glade explained, flapping its hands in mimicry of human excitement. "It means it's upset. Isn't it the most delightful thing?"

"I hate you," Harlow said thickly, as tears continued to stream down his reddened cheeks. "I want to go home."

"You are so repetitive," Glade remarked, before perfectly imitating Harlow's voice. "I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

Harlow finally relented. As the nightmarish figures poked and prodded him, discussing him amongst each other, he only hoped that they would soon grow bored and move on to newer shinier pursuits.

How could he stand to do this for the rest of eternity?

[macgyvermedical]

Magic Bullets: The Antibiotic Story

The year was 1907 and a Dr. Alfred Bertheim was trying to make arsenic less toxic to humans.

Why? Because in addition to killing humans, arsenic also kills trypanosomes- single-celled protozoa that cause the life-threatening infection trypanosomiasis. By creating a version of arsenic that still killed the protozoa, but not the human they infected, Dr. Bertheim could create a drug to treat the disease*.

This was not a fully new idea. About 50 years earlier, a drug called Atoxyl had been created in France. About 40 times less toxic than pure arsenic, it had been shown to not only successfully treat trypanosomiasis, but also the equally devastating syphilis infection.

But 40 times less toxic than pure arsenic is still not great. About 2% of people treated even one time with the drug ended up blind, among a myriad of other side effects. It was a start, but not ideal.

And Dr. Bertheim (under the direction of better-known Dr. Paul Ehrlich) was setting out to change that.

And it just so happened that the sixth compound from the sixth group he tried did so. Known as "compound 606", the new Arsphenamine could treat trypanosomiasis, relapsing fever, and syphilis very effectively- and it didn't leave its takers dead or blind.

Most of the time, at least. See, arsphenamine, also known by the brand name salvarsan, was a pain in the ass to administer. It had to be dissolved in several hundred mililiters of water under a nitrogen atmosphere to prepare it for administration. If it touched air, it would rapidly react, causing toxic byproducts that could cause liver failure, severe skin rashes, and even death.

But both trypanosomiasis and syphilis were definitely going to kill you, so it was worth the risk.

And the seed had been planted, so to say. The idea of a chemical able to kill infection-causing agents without killing the host was a true possibility for the future of medicine.

And by 1912, Neosalvarsan, a drug somewhat less effective -but far easier to administer and with significantly fewer side effects- was on the market. Over the next decade, Neosalvarsan would be responsible for a massive drop in syphilis cases worldwide.

But neither of the drugs could treat deadly infections from staph or strep or the hundreds of other bacterial or viral infections that still had no cure in the 1910's and 1920's.

Then came the first of the heavy-hitters. Bayer was a dye company when it started, and in 1932, three and a half decades after switching mostly to pharmaceuticals, chemists at Bayer were testing the company's dyes for anti-infective properties. They went through thousands of trials, finally finding a dye that could kill streptococcal bacteria without killing a mouse host.

Pre-1930s, streptococcal disease was a major problem. It caused strep throat, cellulitis, scarlet fever, childbed (purpural) fever, some forms of toxic shock syndrome, impetigo, necrotizing fasciitis, rheumatic fever, and many others. The skin infections may have been at least somewhat treatable with a hot compress, but the rest were prone to cause blindness, deafness, loss of limbs, and for many, loss of life.

In 1936, sulfonamide antibiotics changed that. Protosil, the first of the sulfonamides, became available to treat many of the infections listed above. These would be used for wound infections throughout WWII. Unfortunately, they would also cause the untimely death of nearly 100 people via the Elixer Sulfanilamide tragedy.

Sulfanilamide was a similar drug to Prontosil and was safe and effective for treating strep infections. However, when mixed with diethylene glycol (now used as standard car antifreeze) to make it into a liquid suspension, it was deadly. See this letter from a doctor who had prescribed the liquid form of the medication, not knowing it was poison:

[to read more about the Elixer Sulfanilamide Disaster, see here]

Despite the sulfanilamide tragedy, the race was on for more antibiotics. Three years before they went on the market, researchers had found evidence of bacterial resistance to sulfonamides. What would happen when these new bacteria, that didn't die when exposed to the new wonder drug, made up so much of the bacterial population?

In 1942, the Cocoanut Grove fire in Boston caused over 492 deaths and 130 injuries. The injured were among the first to receive a remarkable new drug called penicillin. The fire and the fate of the victims were publicized throughout the world, and penicillin became a household name overnight. But once again, even before it went on the market in 1943, just in time for the end of the Second World War, there was evidence of resistance.

But fortunately, the fire had been sparked. Over the next 30 years, many dozens of antibiotics would come into clinical use. If you've taken it, it probably came out between 1940 and 1970. Tetracycline, isoniazid, metronidazole, ciprofloxacin, erythromycin, vancomycin, amoxicillin, and dozens more you've never heard of.

And then? Nothing.

Well, not completely nothing, there were a couple that came out in the 1980s and a few in the early 2000s. But nothing like that 30-year golden age.

But now we're running into problems due to drug resistance. About 1.27 million people die annually directly from antibiotic resistant infection, while antibiotic resistance contributes to about 4.95 million more deaths.

The good news is that the drugs that are being made today are directly targeting those antibiotic resistant infections. In fact, as I'm writing this, a new drug (Zosurabalpin) is being tested for a bacteria called Carbapenem-resistant Acinetobacter baumannii, which up until now has had no antibiotic that works against it.

*as you may imagine for the time period, this was not necessarily a benevolent act. See, most of the reason Europeans wanted to treat trypanosomiasis in the first place was because they kept dying of it when they went to colonize Africa. And they wanted something that would give them a leg up on the people who were already there.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

A bird flew into my class this morning and my prof looked at it and said “oh hello. Would you like to take electrophysics?” and the poor sparrow launched itself into a (closed) window.

The more important profs get in their field, the more deranged they become I think…

[questions-about-blorbos]

This question was sent to our inbox and we made a separate poll in response to it. If you want to put your Blorbo in a situation of your choice and see if people think they’ll survive, send your Blorbo and the situation in which you want to see them to our inbox and we’ll post a poll for you! (For more information, check our pinned post.)

[breezy-cheezy]

Febuwhump Day 16: Semi-conscious

Listen I know it’s May now. I still wanna finish some of these ideas dangit. Rook blows up an experiment again and Trey attempts to pick up the pieces as a knight does. Rook continues to wax poetic about science as he goes in an out of consciousness, to Trey’s dismay (thanks to my friend Canvas this is the nonsense I think about hhsdhfjksd)

Please don’t tag reblogs of this with ship tags, thanks! This was drawn with platonic intent! ✨

[whatiswhump]

Whumpee is told they have a terminal illness so when the scientist shows up at their door, promising their ability to help others with the research they could do, they figure ‘what do they have to lose? Might as well use the time they have left to help others in his position’.

But then they sign the contract and things go south quickly. There’s a needle and then they’re waking up in a room they don’t recognize and there are guards here…

Whumpee didn’t agree to this, they only wanted to help people, not this-

But the doctor replies, “since you’re terminal, every second you get with me will be because of my technology keeping you alive. If you don’t want to be helpful and contribute to my experiments and maybe find a cure, I can always let nature take its course again, it wouldn’t be murder. So the choice is yours.”