#my meat suit is my vessel

[schismmm]

I have vertigo from wisdom tooth issues and it is wild. I walk like captain Jack sparrow right now. The vibe is drunk in the fems bathroom complimenting strangers who you love and trust.

[c0smicdrift3r]

[rabberoth]

Attention all celestial beings, deities, demons, and other ethereal entities inhabiting mortal meat suits:

We know it’s a bit of a drag dealing with these squishy, high-maintenance vessels. Eating? Sleeping? Showering? Yes, it’s all very mortal and inconvenient. But hey, this is your ride, and no one likes a broken-down car. Show some respect to your vessel—it’s literally carrying you around the mortal plane.

Here’s your “Vessel Maintenance Checklist”:

Fuel it properly! Eat some actual food—yes pizza rolls count but throw in a vegetable or two occasionally.

Hydrate. Your body right now is mostly made up of water. You need to replenish your reserves once in a while.

Sleep! At least 6-9 hours. Powering through is not a long-term solution, my friend.

Showering and grooming. A clean vessel is a happy vessel. Your mortal friends will thank you.

Stretch and move. A little walk won’t kill you!

Remember: Treat your vessel with kindness, or it can start feeling bad. You’ve been warned.

[shardminds]

a sacrifice in your name

pairing: azriel x gwyneth berdara rating: e (for eventually they'll fuck) wc: 4.8k almost (ch 1 - 3) primary tag: (for later chapters lol) dub-con, prophet/demon, blood play

read on ao3 - prologue under the cut

Honestly, the cul-de-sac picket fence cottage was exactly like the intel had suggested; sleepy little street, the cutest little picket fence and a garden filled with lavender and wildflowers. Aramis had been expecting something a little more run down, a cabin in the woods or something, but no. They’d been getting sloppy. This bitch had just been living in the town, going about her business, making friends with the neighbours. All it took was one flash of an old graduation photo to the hag working the counter at the general store, a fabricated nickname and some sob story of surprising a sorority sister from college — people will fall for anything these days. That shit would not fly in a city, but something about the cloying fresh cut grass smell and lack of starbucks drive thru’s drove these people insane. Community spirit, or something.

Hell, it made his job easier.

“Like candy from a baby,” Felix says, his meat suit — a waitress they’d picked up along the way — adjusting his- her blouse. “Only the baby’s dead and the candy is the sweetest win we’ve seen in centuries.”

Aramis nods. It’s a once and a lifetime deal. Almost worth stringing up an angel for.

“D’ya reckon this will be enough?” From the back seat of their piece of shit sedan, Leona reapplies her vessel’s cologne. Unfortunately, she’d wrangled into the flesh of a mortician in the throws of his mid life crisis. That’s the kind of stink that doesn’t fade away with a cheap $5 bottle of horse piss. Some people have no taste. “I mean, will it appease—”

“If he doesn’t want her, someone will.” Stepping out of the car, Aramis checks the surroundings for signs of life. This far past midnight, not even the streetlights greet them. “Either way, we’ve hit the lotto, boys. Now shut the fuck up until I give the signal.”

His own vessel — a twenty something peaked in high school type — stands out a little too much in this quiet town. Having two mediocre-hot girls turn up with a pre-balding guy past 2am in the middle of nowhere? It only screams only one thing. And, from the looks of things, this ain’t that kind of town. Who gives a shit. It’s an in and out job. He’ll be back in the pit tearing out spleens with his bare hands in no time.

If he’s lucky, they might even let him eat them. Damn, a guy can dream.

They approach the cottage in silence, the buzz of a far off highway their only companion. Until it’s not.

There’s a heavy creak, almost intentional, coming from the whitewashed porch. He holds out his hand, signaling Leona and Felix to halt or split or do something. They didn’t really discuss signs before they left the car. Luckily, both demon’s stop behind him.

She’s there. Outside. Sitting at a plastic al fresco dining set, as if that’s normal behavior for a human. Well, it could be. He hasn’t been human in centuries. He wouldn’t be above ground if he didn’t have a debt to pay. It’s cold here.

Gwyneth Berdara is a slip of a thing — tall and skinny, with her hair tied out of her face in some kind of messy knot. Aramis doesn’t know much in the concepts of flesh bag beauty but there’s something about her that clenches in his gut. Something other. The cherry of her cigarette glows brighter as she inhales and it illuminates the marks leading up her neck. Tattoos, perhaps? He’s not close enough to really tell, but it doesn’t matter anyway. He would wear the fuck out of her.

“Three demons, huh? For little old me?” She exhales a cloud of smoke and something that almost sounds like a laugh. “You guys are late.”

Leona shoots him a look. Felix does the same. He lowers his hand, taking tentative steps towards their prey.

“My apologies, sweetheart. Car troubles, wardrobe malfunctions — you know how it is.” He’s not too sure why he’s lying. Really, they should grab her, knock her out and drive to the closest portal without even breaking a sweat. This vessel isn’t really built for that kind of grunt work, though. The sweat pools on her lower back, a long drip following the curve of her spine, despite the pre-fall chill. That and his vessel’s wearing pretty much a handkerchief with a belt. Not exactly bounty hunting gear but, you know, needs must. He’s done more with less. “We’re here now. That’s what’s important.”

She stands, unfolding her crossed legs slowly and it’s crazy because she doesn’t even look towards them — just stands, stubbing out her cigarette in the half full ashtray as she does. Like she’s bored. This probably worked on normal people. But they aren’t people at all. Felix sniffs as if he can smell it too. Faint, but still there. Her fear.

“It’s no problem, really. Take your time.” She says, rolling up the sleeves of her jacket, the same scribbles on her neck littler her arms and wrists. They must be tattoos, or she’s an art teacher or something. He can see that — surrounded by kids, paint by numbers, sketchbooks and poster paints. Aramis’ mouth waters, suddenly hungry. Gwyneth Berdara isn’t an art teacher. No, it’s much worse than that. “Quick question, does Hell have AC? I don’t do too well with heat—”

“Shut up, bitch.”

Felix snaps his head to Leona, meat suit’s honey voice sharp with barbs. “Now now.”

Aramis shrugs it off. Leona’s never been the patient one. Millenia spent in the furthest pits only serving to hone her like a blade. Vicious. A worst case scenario type. He preferred to take it slow, play the long game. Back in hell, he’d been known for it. But a few bad bets, bad calls, bad deals — the house always wins. And in this case, the house won’t just break his legs.

“You’re going to come with us willingly or we’ll drag you out ourselves.” He says, each step a little more tentative. The fact that she isn’t cowering kinda pisses him off. Like she’s too good for them. No, it really pisses him off. She should be scared. The stench of fear should be intoxicating, he should be feasting on it, drowning in it. Fuck, he should be wearing it thicker than Leona’s piss water cologne, parading it around the pit like a king. “I don’t mind ditching this tux for yours if I have to,” He smirks. “I’d be gentle, I promise.”

Gwyneth Berdara sighs. She fucking sighs.

“Well, I was going to go nicely,” She descends the stairs, all casual arrogance as her booted feet hit the gravel path straight to them. Aramis will dream of his fist around her throat for the rest of his days. That and more, he’s sure. She’s less than an arms length away when she stops. He can scent her fear still but it’s coated in ozone, like someone left it out in a storm. She shrugs her shoulders in an act of nonchalance that boils his piss. One more fucking word— “But then you were late. No hard feelings, right?”

Felix twists, eyes black as she looks between him and the girl.

“What do you mean no hard feelings?” is the last thing he hears before the world burns from his periphery, circling in. It’s worse than the pit, it’s worse than an exorcism. His very essence is being clawed from the inside out, each extension of him severed from the confines of his vessel. He shouldn’t be able to taste his own burning flesh — fuck, there shouldn’t be any flesh to burn, especially when he can feel the vitality of the cheerleader surging in his- her skull; unharmed, cheering on his demise, waiting her turn to take control again. He screams but there is no sound. The body doesn’t obey him anymore.

Leona and Felix can’t help him, their faces contorted in pain, in horror. True faces, not their vessels. He can see them now, through the veneer of flesh. Oh fuck.

The lights go out.

“Like I said,” It comes as an echo, strung out as if rattling around what’s left of his form. He doesn’t hear it so much as it invades every part of what he is. He tries to grasp for it, but it’s elusive, like water, like salt. Pouring through smoke he’s losing control of, burning when it catches the shriveling curls of his form. “No hard feelings.”

He burns until there is nothing left.

read on ao3!!! >>>

[karmaspidr]

Why the Player doesn't and SHOULDN'T exist in Undertale Yellow.

Figured that I should explain my take seeing as everyone who saw the meme (ON REDDIT) about it didn't like it. I'll be sharing my personal views about the 'Player', evidence for our existence within the game and why I don't buy it.

1. Neutral Flowey Dialogue: This is the only piece of evidence I've seen for 'Player's' existence in Undertale Yellow. If you battle Flowey 4+ times and have a FUN Value of 70+, he will talk about him and Clover being alone in his mind and a strange feeling he's been having since Clover showed up.

Focus on that last part. "Since Clover showed up." Clover first fell into the Underground hundreds of runs ago, runs that we don't get to play. If Flowey was talking about us, he would've said that he's been having this feeling since Clover fell into the Dark Ruins for the first time.

It's just as likely that the sight of another human dug up some remnants of Asriel from within Flowey but I don't have any evidence for that either. I honestly think this whole thing was just an Easter Egg of some kind. This alone isn't enough to prove to me that the Player is possessing Clover. Speaking of Clover.

2. Clover's Character: Unlike most of the human characters in this fandom, Clover has a clear personality throughout the game. He's kind, hates injustice, has a sense of humour, is honourable enough to spare Martlet TWICE in the Vengeance Route and is always ready to fight for what is right.

Any choices that the game gives us are all things Clover would reasonably do by himself. Half of the time we are given only one option.

3. The Narrative: Think back to the end of the True Pacifist Run. Clover spares Ceroba despite her pleas, then sacrifices himself for Monsterkind. Such a momentous moment that caused many of us to tear up.

Here's where the issue comes in. If the 'Player' exists, then Clover isn't some selfless hero who was able to befriend all these characters, peacefully resolve every conflict, and choose the needs of the many before himself. Some faceless entity using Clover as a meat suit did.

Same with Genocide. It's no longer a story of twisted Justice and the morality of Undertale. It's just us playing for another ending.

The same issues show up in the main game. The Player being canon strips our protagonists of any character, individuality and responsibility, the good and the bad.

At least in Deltarune, Kris' struggle for control is actually part of the story.

5. Player's Potential: The concept of the Player is interesting, don't get me wrong. But this fandom refuses to use it to its full potential. We've turned ourselves into another Chara. Some demonic entity with no real motivation forces our human characters to do bad things and bad things only.

Wouldn't be interesting if the Player was more like the Collector from The Owl House, or if the Player's relationship with the human characters.

In case you forgot, we didn't make Kris our vessel. We were forced to possess them after our perfectly good, empty vessel was thrown out.

[timmo-eggo]

Remanufactured AU: Frankie and Monster Frankie lore!! part 1!!

This is an au for my silly self insert world where canon stuff isn’t r e a l l y changed aside from the Contestant backstory but I’mma call it an au to be safe. I just added wordbuilding that works for my story so apologies in advance if some stuff doesn’t sound like it fits in with Finding Frankie vibes! I’m just fucking around and having fun with it!!! Some prior info before the info dump: I like to think that the brothers who originally made the cereal are separate from the Frankies. Frankie (I'll be calling Other Frankie just Frankie) would become the visionary for the park and show while working under the CEO who bought the IP.

Also, excuse my writing aaaa I'm not the best at writing coherent stuff esp when I'm brain rotting. Here's the link to part 2! Link -Frankie put a lot of money into the show when it was just a regular parkour show along with having this place be unnecessarily massive for the immersion. But profits weren't coming in enough for everything, for the bountiful of fast food, the amount of electricity used for this place, and ofc it didn't help that the place was right next to a garbage disposal zone. Frankie went too close to the sun with this idea and tbh it didn't even entertain him as much as he wanted, something was missing.

-Frankie went home to his apartment and did a spring cleaning. The place used to also be where his other brother, the soon-to-be Monster Frankie, also lived before he got sent to jail for murdering some children. During the cleaning, he found a lil secret nook in his brother's room, inside it was a journal with a 6 fingered gold hand and the number 3 on it that contained all of his brother's insane ramblings and ofc rambles about the show before it got made. Frankie couldn't make up the scribbles but did understand the visuals. This was the thing he felt was missing.

-Frankie would start implementing the ideas but it was more harmless so his ratings didn't immediately drop to hell, plus the place was still very public. He would also start giving in more and more late rent as he was using the leftover money to bail out his brother.

-Then the two deaths occur at the park. The place wasn't shut down but it was in hiatus for a while as the police investigated. Perfect hiatus for Frankie cause he just completely ditched his apartment and used the money he had to bail his brother out.

-It was still early in the investigation when his brother got bailed and during which the other contestants and parents were yoinked while the police weren't looking. The meat and the classic mascot suit would be used as the new vessel for Frankie's brother.

[dotthings]

Have many thoughts from my rewatch of My Bloody Valentine. Good example of how some episodes (in this case one that was already strong) gains even more richness on rewatch and with knowledge of a full series run.

So Dean fully loses all his appetites. While Cas, who doesn’t have food appetites, takes Dean's plate and starts eating. Just something about Dean and Cas being yin-yang in how Famine is affecting them. Cas taking Dean's plate to eat.

What Dean needs, the reasons he feels hollow, isn’t something that can be fulfilled by food or one-night stands and what Cas actually wants isn’t anything to do with food either.

And this is all Cas not Jimmy. Even if Cas blames Jimmy his vessel by name, but canonically, Jimmy's soul is already in Haven by this point. Jimmy's been gone since the start of S5.

To review: Cas was blown to bits by an archangel twice, at the end of S4 and the end of S5. In The Man Who Would be King (S6), Cas specifically references being put back together after being exploded at the end of S5, however, the same thing happened to him at the end of S4. In The Things We Left Behind (S10), we get a reveal that Jimmy’s soul was freed after Cas was blown to bits and reassembled but which time isn't specified. “The human soul, it can only occupy a body while it retains a certain … structural integrity, and this vessel, it was … It was ripped apart on a subatomic level by an archangel” and he tells Claire that Jimmy's soul was freed from his body and he's in Heaven. The "subatomic level" fits the end of S4, since both times the body left physical traces (end of S5 Bobby is splattered with blood, start of S4 Chuck has a molar stuck in his hair).

In season 5, Cas's body is his own, a soulless container that holds Cas's grace and essence.

Therefore, in My Bloody Valentine, Cas blaming Jimmy is Cas in denial. It's all Cas, or rather, his own physical shell, and Cas's own feelings of emptiness, in play. Even if on its own, Cas's grace might be unaffected by Famine, he is vulnerable because of his meat suit. (At the time MBBV aired, we did that explanation, now it's transformative bleedback that adds another layer for Cas in MBBV and the Dean mirroring is more than a slightly symbolic displaced thing where it being Jimmy is a way to suggest it's also Cas, no, it's textually all about Cas).

In MBBV Cas isn’t facing up that it’s his own feelings of hollowness. And he not only tries to push it off on Jimmy (whose soul is gone), he uses the language of addiction.

“I’ve developed a taste for red meat…I’m an angel I can stop any time I want.”

This conversation with Dean and Cas plays out in background audio, while on screen we see Sam spiraling into withdrawal symptoms.

(The shift in Cas’s language makes me wonder if there was already a note in a file somewhere about Cas's vessel and it didn't get spelled out until S10. Authorial intent is tricky, and my thesis isn't based on authorial intent but full series knowledge/reveals, but there are signs in MBBV that Ben Edlund may have intended that it's all Cas, just Cas in there, and Cas is an addict in denial. Who knows.)

While Dean and Cas’s effects from Famine are framed as yin-yang, or complementary, Sam’s is on its own track, as his craving for demon blood gets jacked up.

Sam has grown in self-awareness to the point where he asks to be “locked down” and Dean and Cas team up to continue working the case. Which fits with the yin-yang of Dean and Cas in this ep.

But it isn’t just Dean and Cas who are mirrored. Sam and Cas are mirrored through addiction behaviors. Cas’s denials. Sam’s withdrawal symptoms. While Dean is his own category with his absence of appetites or addictions. Dean is his own black hole of emptiness.

Cas then moves beyond the denial stage of the addiction and admits to Dean that burgers make him “very happy.” Cas is spiraling, yeah, but it’s also Cas no longer falling back on distancing by using Jimmy as an excuse or addiction denial or bragging about how because he's an angel he's immune. It's vulnerable. Yet he's still in denial because unlike Sam, Cas can't admit he has a liability and he pops out of the Impala to go kill Famine by himself before Dean can even finish speaking his sentence of his doubts about the plan.

Before that, Cas asks Dean why he’s not hungry and Dean’s explanation is almost plausible: that because Dean doesn’t deny himself his appetites the way many people do, he’s “well fed” and content, therefore not hungry.

We know that's not really it. I like how Cas asked. Dean showed his concern for Cas’s sudden gluttony, Cas shows his concern for the total absence of appetites from Dean.

Famine to Dean: “Hunger doesn’t just come from the body. It also comes from the soul...that’s one deep dark nothing you’ve got there, Dean. Can’t fill it, can you?…I can see inside of you, Dean. How broken you are. How defeated. You can’t win and you know it but you just keep fighting. Just keep going through the motions. You’re not hungry, Dean, because inside you’re already dead.”

Which is Famine speaking some truths on what Dean is feeling in S5. Famine sees the truth of the torment Dean is in. But it isn’t The Truth about Dean.

Famine wants Dean to give up and give into the despair inside of him, because that's the way he'll say yes to Michael and how Famine, the horsemen, and the archangels all get what they want. But we know Dean won’t give in and that Famine is wrong, because that isn't all Dean is. He maybe going through it in S5, but he isn't giving up and he’s got plenty of life in him. He’s more than how their enemies see him and he’s more than what their enemies wish would devour him whole, the things they have wanted Dean to believe about himself.

Because so long as Dean keeps fighting, they know they’re screwed.

Famine is giving a truth that’s also a lie. Dean in fact isn’t empty. He thinks he is, and Famine picks up on it, but Dean isn't empty. He’s full of love. And strength. But that doesn't mean he's not depressed. It doesn't mean he can't fall into despair.

What’s extra heartbreaking about Dean’s lonely prayer to God at the end of the episode is that he’s looking for help in the wrong place.

First we see Cas sharing Dean’s vigil while Sam goes through withdrawal in Bobby’s panic room. Dean isn’t alone, and Cas tries to comfort Dean. But Dean’s in so much pain he walks out, away from his friend who cares, to pray alone in the junk yard to an uncaring God.

God was never on your side. God doesn’t care. God’s entertained by all this suffering in fact. God’s not even God, he’s the demiurge, and Sam and Dean are his playthings. The help, the answers, are each other. The help for Dean is the people who love him, who he loves. He has Sam and Bobby and Cas. And they will be enough.

[illwynd]

Utgard-Loki's Tale

I finally got to perform this thing tonight, so I guess it has reached its final form.

This poem is inspired by the traditional Icelandic rhyming poem Lokrur. My adaptation uses a bastard Kalevala metre (trochaic tetrameter), with various features of both Finnish poetry (repetition and alliteration) and Icelandic poetry (alliteration and abundant use of kennings and other wordplay), and I developed it specifically for spoken performance, in accordance with the way the story would originally have been passed along. There's some really geeky shit in here.

Also my thanks to @obligate-rebel who gave me a thumbs-up on an earlier iteration of it :D

...

By men I am called Utgard-Loki

Outlands’ trickster, apt in magecraft,

Skilled in spells and in shape-shifting

One who worked his tricks on wanderers

One who wickedly deceived them

When to his threshold gods came calling

You see, all Thor and Loki knew about me was that I throw all the best parties—what else is there to do when you live way out in the Outlands?—but everyone in attendance has to be the best there is at whatever it is they do, so these two gods... they thought they’d crash my party, cause some trouble, start some fights, show me who’s boss in my own house, and I had to figure out a way to get them to head on home without actually starting a war, because, y'know, that would tend to put a crimp on the party scene. So do you want to know how I managed that trick?

Surely you have heard them tell it?

Heard the tale as they recite it

Heard about Thjalfi, swiftest,

Tricked in foot-race versus Hugi

Passed by one who treads so lightly

Or the contest of the mighty

Rymr, he who calls the thunder,

Put his lips upon the vessel

‘Pon the cup all full and frothy

Froth as white as salty sea-foam

And the thirsty draughts he drew then

Drained the horn—of but a mouthful!

So it seemed by liquid’s level

Sore was he, Midgard’s protector

Falling short in simple trial

Surely you have heard them tell it

Heard the tale as they recite it

Heard how Loki, sly and clever

Set his hunger versus Logi

Chowing down along the trencher

Met the two with crumbs between them

Drawing even, feasts devoured

Loki patting bulging belly

Smirking with his smile ‘broidered

Met they then—but skinny Logi

Ravenous as wolf in winter

He had eaten all the meat…

And all the bones… and all the trencher!

Thus was Laufey’s heir defeated!

And you must have heard them tell it

Heard the tale as they recount it

How the grim one’s son continued

Put him forth another challenge

Boasting of his strength of body

Strength indeed of all his sinews

I set before him then the mouser

Tomcat’s father, hearth’s wee tiger

Purring on the floor before him

That he should test his might upon it

Asa-Thor bent low to grasp it

Bent to wrap his grip around it

Struggling with grunts of effort

Grunting as he tried to lift it

But one paw he barely shifted!

One paw raised above the tiles!

Purring still the feline bore it

As Baldr’s brother failed to heft it!

Fury gripped lord of Bilskirnir

And in his anger bade another

Challenger be brought before him

Said I then I thought my mother

In her youth a wrestler had been

But in her dotage still might suit him

Wroth was he with red beard bristling

Stomping on the mat before him

As Elli hobbled to her corner

But soon she did contrive to hold him

Hold him fast with arms around him

Arms like bands of stubborn iron

Till his knee did bend beneath him

Shamed was Grimnir’s lauded kinsman

Beaten so by woman wizened!

Tell me those are not the stories

More or less as you have heard them

But one voice has not been cited

One has not been heard to tell it

That is me. And if you’ll heed

I’ll tell the legend as I lived it

And each contest I’ve recounted

—true it is that I deceived them

Wanderers of Aesir kindred

But look at it from my perspective

Behold for but the briefest moment

Consider how I first had found them

Sheltering in fingers’ caverns

Cowering within the leather

Where the last night I had left it—

I swear I did not mean to wound them

Or to frighten with my snoring

I was merely heedless taken

Heedless of their headstrong journey

Thus I met them in the morning

Waking to their faces frowning

Trying to be most disarming

Not to give them cause for worry

Then they asked ME where the pathway

To the hall of Utgard-Loki!

I saw it full, the very future

Of which I’d had no foretelling

For they queried after speaking

‘Mongst themselves of doom impending

Doom that they would deal that monster

Dwelling in those halls unknowing

Well!

I endeavored to dissuade them

Placing in their path obstructions

Surely less than cruel misfortunes

Set before them my conditions

If they’d travel with my guidance

They would travel by my schedule

I would call the halts and respites

I would carry all provisions

Thus I handed them frustration

Goaded them to resignation

Alas the doggedness of gods

Was not within my calculations

So, if they’d not be dissuaded

Then ‘twas I must scheme before them

How to meet their whim for action

Without inviting my destruction

Thus I pointed them to pathway

To the door of Utgard-Loki

Once apart I shed illusion

Readied all in preparation

Waited till they came a-hailing

Thunder roaring at my doorway

And ‘twas I that granted entry

Though they did not recognize me

As they came to show their mettle

Prove their might in any challenge

Fain was I to meet their boasting

With my own skill in devising

Thus I placed the end of vessel

From which Odin’s son drank freely

Down upon the dolphin’s doorstep

Thirst could never be so mighty!

Not to drain the fishes’ highway

In this way I meant to thwart him

Meant to tactfully confound him

Meant to make him long for Asgard

Not to linger ‘neath these timbers

Then, said I to ember’s elder,

Let me place on you deception

Garb yourself in Aesir aspect

Shape the hungry tongue within you

Solid where your spark did flicker

That Laufey’s son so sly and able

Might not swiftly recognize you

As he sits down at the table

Thus I spake to Munin’s brother

Of the planned dissimilation:

Wrap yourself in men’s attire

From the ash-wood make your raiment

Lace your boots of supple leather

Then set foot upon the pavement

There to meet Toothgnasher’s wounder

There to race against him striving

Round the path of mead’s lacuna

Thus alike I worked enchantments

On the great snake Midgardsormr

On that serpent world-encircling

One that Thor once snared while sailing

Scales reshaped to furry shoulders

Still he hissed alike I tell you

That one trait you might have noted

Naught else of his essence showing

And then came the last contender

Gracious guest of all the prudent,

Spoils of the years’ survivor

By her leave I did conceal her

Veiled her hair in moonlight’s metal

Bent her back like twisted tree-limb

So Harbard’s son would be no wiser

When she set her hold upon him

In the aftermath of trials

Egos soothed with ale aplenty

I revealed to them my secret

That they would not feel too cheated 

Nor would they feel too affronted

All I wished was their forbearance

Parting then as friendly rivals

So they would crave not for vengeance

For Jotuns have our share of talents

Our own place on World-Tree’s branches

Spells apart from gallows’ knowing

More are we than Aesir’s foemen

There my tale is near completed

But if my tongue’s allowed to waggle 

Somewhat more of gods and giants

And the bitter blood between us

Just a few words I will venture

Fury, I have surely felt it

Anger aching for requital

For accounts all to be settled

Quenched with blood the battle’s metal

But I’ve seen no better ending

Not for bards and not for swordsmen

Than to sit by fire flaming

Telling tales with close companions

Ale in hand and sated, cravings

And all the stars above bright-blazing.

[william-m-lucipher]

RATING A FEW OF MY PUPPETS!

THEY ALL HAVE THEIR UPSIDES AND DOWNSIDES! HERE ARE MY OPINIONS ON A HANDFUL OF 'EM!

SIXER: MASSIVE AMOUNT OF BRAIN SPACE, FILLED WITH COMPLEXITIES! ALSO A GOOD CHUNK OF EMBARRASSING NERD MEMORIES. HIS MIND IS WHERE ALL THE LUXURY WAS!

BODILY EXPERIENCE WAS INTERESTING, HIS EYESIGHT WAS LACKING EVEN WITH THE GLASSES. IT SEEMS HE'D GONE A WHILE WITHOUT RENEWING HIS PRESCRIPTION. SURE, THE GLASSES LESSENED THINGS, BUT YEESH! ONE EYE WAS ALWAYS WORSE THAN THE OTHER, BUT THEY WERE BOTH IN BLURRYTOWN. TALK ABOUT A LACK OF DEPTH PERCEPTION! THE EXTRA FINGERS THOUGH, THEY WERE FUN! AND THAT GUY HAD A DECENT-ISH PAIN TOLERANCE THANKS TO THOSE OLD BOXING LESSONS HE AND HIS BROTHER WERE FORCED TO DO. IT WAS FUN TO TEST THE LIMITS!

A SOLID 8/10, GREAT GUY TO WORK WITH, POSSESSION EXPERIENCE COULD'VE BEEN BETTER THOUGH!

PINE TREE: BRAINWISE, LESS COMPLEXITY, MORE COMEDY, AT LEAST IN MY EYE! HE WAS A SMART KID, SURE, BUT MAN, RERUNS OF HIS LOWLIGHTS WILL KEEP ME ENTERTAINED FOR AGES. IMAGINE AN ACTUALLY FUNNY CRINGE COMPILATION THAT NEVER GETS OLD! THAAAAT'S PINE TREE!

AS FOR THE BODY, BETTER EYESIGHT, BETTER JOINTS, AND THE PAIN TOLERANCE WAS TERRIBLE, WHICH WAS GREAT FOR ME! IT WAS THE FIRST THING I NOTICED WHEN I TOOK THE STRINGS, HAHA! THOUGH BEING SWEATY, SMELLY, AND TICKLISH KINDA RUINED THE DELUXE SUITE FEEL. EH, WHEN DEALING WITH THE HUMAN BODY, THERE'S NO WAY TO HAVE IT ALL, EVER.

7/10, AT LEAST I'VE GOT A LOT TO LAUGH ABOUT.

HIRSCHEY: I THINK IT'S PRETTY OBVIOUS AT THIS POINT THAT I'VE BEEN PULLING THE STRINGS WITH FLANNELBRITCHES FOR A GOOD WHILE NOW. LONG BEFORE HE EVEN SECURED A ROLE WITH THE MOUSE, I'VE BEEN A SUBTLE INFLUENCE!

NOW LISTEN, I'D LOVE TO SPILL EVERYTHING, BUT THIS GUY HAS ALL THE RIGHT CONNECTIONS TO RUIN EVERYTHING IF I MAKE THE WRONG DECISIONS WHILE USING MY OTHER PUPPETS IN THIS REALITY. LET'S JUST SAY, HIS BODY IS MID, BUT HIS MIND ALONE ADDS EXTRA POINTS! I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN, HAHA!

9/10, WHAT A GOOD FRIEND!

BURNSIDES: OH WAIT, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS YET! WINK! HAHA, COME BACK TO THIS POST FOR THE ANSWER ON SMOKEY'S BIGGEST FAN IN A FEW DAYS.

?/10, TO BE ANNOUNCED

EAS-Y: THE ONE I'M CURRENTLY USING! GONE BY SEVERAL DIFFERENT NAMES, BECAUSE THEIR MEAT SUIT IS LITERALLY STUFFED WITH SEVERAL DIFFERENT PEOPLE DUE TO CHILDHOOD TRAUMA, HAHA!! THE HUMAN MIND HAS SOME WEIRD COPING MECHANISMS. E.A.S STANDS FOR THE SILLY NAME FOR THEIR SYSTEM THEY PICKED ONE DAY ON A WHIM.

MY FAVORITE ONE HERE HAS TO BE ZILLARA, WHO I ONCE REFERRED TO AS "T" DURING AN APRIL FOOL'S EVENT ON THE SYSTEM'S ABANDONED ACCOUNT. (IT WAS SHORT FOR THE COLLECTIVE DEADNAME OF THIS VESSEL.) HE'S AN OLD HOST AND AN OLD PAL! Z'S BEEN SO... GENUINELY NICE TO ME FOR ALMOST TEN YEARS NOW. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM?! HAHA!!! Ah... ENOUGH ABOUT JUST ONE GUY, THOUGH, THIS PLACE IS PACKED WITH EM! BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN THEY DON'T HAVE WIGGLE ROOM. THIS MIND IS MORE SPACIOUS THAN PINE TREE AND SIXER'S COMBINED, BUT IT'S ALL BEING USED ON KEEPING FOLKS COMFORTABLE AND GUARDING HARMFUL MEMORIES. LISTEN, I'M NOT SALTY ABOUT THE MEMORY GUARDING. I TOOK A PEEK, AND JEEZ, IT'S DEFINITELY FOR THE BETTER.

ANYWAYS, THIS PLACE IS LAYED OUT LIKE A WHOLE SMALL TOWN! BEST VACATION HOME OUTTA ALL OF 'EM! AS AMAZING AS HIRSCHY'S IS, IT'S BUSY BUSY BUSY EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME. PARTIALLY MY FAULT FOR GETTING HIM INTO THE ANIMATION INDUSTRY. SORRY THERE, BUDDY!

THE DOWNSIDE TO IT ALL IS THAT EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE PLENTY WHO LIKE ME HERE, I'VE ALSO GOT A FAIR SHARE OF ENEMIES WHO CALL THEMSELVES "PROTECTORS" AND "GATEKEEPERS." NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF AN ANGRY SECRETARY LADY, LET ME TELL YOU!

BODY WISE, IT'S QUITE THE PAIN BUFFET! BAD JOINTS, MIGRAINES, LOW PAIN TOLERANCE, AND MAN, THE TICS AND SEIZURES! YOU'D THINK GIVEN MY EXPERIENCE WITH BODY SPASMS WHILE PUPPETING PINE TREE, I'D HATE THESE, BUT THIS IS DIFFERENT! IT'S SOME OF THE FUNNIEST PAIN, THE PUNCHLINE HITS YOU OUTTA NOWHERE, SEVERAL TIMES, IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT WAYS!

8.5/10, TALK TO YOUR PROTECTORS AND YOU MIGHT EARN THE FIRST 10, OR AT LEAST A 9.8!!!

IN SUMMARY:

- SIXER'S A DECENT PUPPET, BUT A BETTER ALLY. STILL A SHAME HE NEVER JOINED ME

- PINE TREE IS A PERSONAL COMEDY CLUB!

- HIRSCHEY IS A GREAT PUPPET, AND A POWERFUL ALLY WHO COULD EASILY BECOME MY WORST ENEMY

- I'M UNDER NDA ABOUT GUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

- EASY HERE IS, WELL, THE EASIEST ONE!!

MAYBE I'LL RATE A FEW MORE SOMETIME, LIKE CHARLES GUITEAU, OR WITH LUCK, YOU!

[inkher0]

I can’t stop reading about the chapter where Origin meets his cousin the Night Terror! I have lot a million questions about them, they’re so freaking cool!

1. Being the fact that the Night Terrors vessel is Candy Pop and his wife is April Fools, does April Fools still consider the Night Terror to be her husband? It’s a bit confusing being that she was with Candy Pop but now Candy Pop is gone and is now submitted to the Night Terror…so what exactly does April Fools consider the Night Terror as? Cause what I do know is that he is still considered king and she is still queen. But I feel like there’s something more deeper in terms of understanding relationships between them. Like Origins relationships with his friends despite knowing that one day he will be Belobog himself.

2. What does the Night Terror think of Chernabog now that he has become Eyeless Jack? I feel like each Tall One thinks differently when it comes to their siblings especially in cases where Chernabog became Eyeless Jack and Jack is basically wearing him like a meat suit. So I feel like in terms of sibling relationships that hits different. But hey, the Tall Ones are ancient, I can assume what their relationships wirh each of their siblings are like 👀

And that’s pretty much all, I feel like I didn’t exactly tell you a million questions but more like explaining my thoughts on that chapter but I hope you understand and as always love your work! Can’t wait for the next chapter! 😁✨

April Fools is under Night Terror's control. Basically she was "turned evil", or brainwashed to worship The Night Terror. She doesn't see them as two different people, and if she did, she'd consider herself The Night Terror's wife. I've always characterized her as a "woman who was waiting for a reason"

They knew about as much as The Operator did about him, and they relied on him to tell them what he was learning. You'll see lol

Like not to spoil the next chapter, but just to give a sneak peak at some things that are gonna happen (hopefully)

Doby comes back

Tim and Jack meet Candy Pop face to face (and April Fools by consequence)

Jane is introduced

The gang carries out a murder that'd make Tarantino weep with joy

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?

Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~

There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.

The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.

They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.

She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-

She left through the vacant fireplace.

From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.

Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?

The thick smoke filtered through the pines

All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-

~

There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.

Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-

Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –

-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-

She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.

Then, for a short time, she slept with them.

Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.

She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things

Permanently rotting 

Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose

Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?

Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.

~

There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.

Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.

Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.

“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”

She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.  

It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.

Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.

Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting

“Would you like to try it?”

Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-

“You’re quiet…”

Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.

Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-

“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”

 “Anythin’ you wanna share?”

Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.

“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”

Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).

“I don’t dislike it…”

Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.

“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”

She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.

“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”

She doesn’t like to think of that.

The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.

“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”

Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter

“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”

Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.

To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl. 

finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -

the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory- 

She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.

“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”

It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.

“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”

"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea." 

Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it. 

Laudna stares.

"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.

“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.

Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.

“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.

“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy. 

“And the taste?”

Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.

Imogen clears her throat

"’s’good - kinda familiar."

Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.

Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.

She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.

“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”

Causes her to blush furiously

“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.

“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.

"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?" 

She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…

Focus.

Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember

Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.

She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’

what she does say is

"nostalgic." 

not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.

Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.

[mariacallous]

Parasites take an enormous toll on human and veterinary health. But researchers may have found a way for patients with brain disorders and a common brain parasite to become frenemies.

A new study published in Nature Microbiology has pioneered the use of a single-cell parasite, Toxoplasma gondii, to inject therapeutic proteins into brain cells. The brain is very picky about what it lets in, including many drugs, which limits treatment options for neurological conditions.

As a professor of microbiology, I’ve dedicated my career to finding ways to kill dangerous parasites such as Toxoplasma. I’m fascinated by the prospect that we may be able to use their weaponry to instead treat other maladies.

Microbes as Medicine

Ever since scientists realized that microscopic organisms can cause illness—what’s called the 19th-century germ theory of disease—humanity has been on a quest to keep infectious agents out of our bodies. Many people’s understandable aversion to germs may make the idea of adapting these microbial adversaries for therapeutic purposes seem counterintuitive.

But preventing and treating disease by co-opting the very microbes that threaten us has a history that long predates germ theory. As early as the 1500s, people in the Middle East and Asia noted that those lucky enough to survive smallpox never got infected again. These observations led to the practice of purposefully exposing an uninfected person to the material from an infected person’s pus-filled sores—which unbeknownst to them contained weakened smallpox virus—to protect them from severe disease.

This concept of inoculation has yielded a plethora of vaccines that have saved countless lives.

Viruses, bacteria, and parasites have also evolved many tricks to penetrate organs such as the brain and could be retooled to deliver drugs into the body. Such uses could include viruses for gene therapy and intestinal bacteria to treat a gut infection known as C. diff.

Why Can’t We Just Take a Pill for Brain Diseases?

Pills offer a convenient and effective way to get medicine into the body. Chemical drugs such as aspirin or penicillin are small and easily absorbed from the gut into the bloodstream.

Biologic drugs such as insulin or semaglutide, on the other hand, are large and complex molecules that are vulnerable to breaking down in the stomach before they can be absorbed. They are also too big to pass through the intestinal wall into the bloodstream.

All drugs, especially biologics, have great difficulty penetrating the brain due to the blood-brain barrier. The blood-brain barrier is a layer of cells lining the brain’s blood vessels that acts like a gatekeeper to block germs and other unwanted substances from gaining access to neurons.

Toxoplasma Offers Delivery Service to Brain Cells

Toxoplasma parasites infect all animals, including humans. Infection can occur in multiple ways, including ingesting spores released in the stool of infected cats or consuming contaminated meat or water. Toxoplasmosis in otherwise healthy people produces only mild symptoms but can be serious in immunocompromised people and to gestating fetuses.

Unlike most pathogens, Toxoplasma can cross the blood-brain barrier and invade brain cells. Once inside neurons, the parasite releases a suite of proteins that alter gene expression in its host, which may be a factor in the behavioral changes it causes in infected animals and people.

In a new study, a global team of researchers hijacked the system Toxoplasma uses to secrete proteins into its host cell. The team genetically engineered Toxoplasma to make a hybrid protein, fusing one of its secreted proteins to a protein called MECP2, which regulates gene activity in the brain—in effect, giving the MECP2 a piggyback ride into neurons. Researchers found that the parasites secreted the MECP2 protein hybrid into neurons grown in a petri dish as well as in the brains of infected mice.

A genetic deficiency in MECP2 causes a rare brain development disorder called Rett syndrome. Gene therapy trials using viruses to deliver the MECP2 protein to treat Rett syndrome are underway. If Toxoplasma can deliver a form of MECP2 protein into brain cells, it may provide another option to treat this currently incurable condition. It also may offer another treatment option for other neurological problems that arise from errant proteins, such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease.

The Long Road Ahead

The road from laboratory bench to bedside is long and filled with obstacles, so don’t expect to see engineered Toxoplasma in the clinic anytime soon.

The obvious complication in using Toxoplasma for medical purposes is that it can produce a serious, lifelong infection that is currently incurable. Infecting someone with Toxoplasma can damage critical organ systems, including the brain, eyes, and heart.

However, up to one-third of people worldwide currently carry Toxoplasma in their brain, apparently without incident. Emerging studies have correlated infection with increased risk of schizophrenia, rage disorder, and recklessness, hinting that this quiet infection may be predisposing some people to serious neurological problems.

The widespread prevalence of Toxoplasma infections may also be another complication, as it disqualifies many people from using it for treatment. Since the billions of people who already carry the parasite have developed immunity against future infection, therapeutic forms of Toxoplasma would be rapidly destroyed by their immune systems once injected.

In some cases, the benefits of using Toxoplasma as a drug delivery system may outweigh the risks. Engineering benign forms of this parasite could produce the proteins patients need without harming the organ—the brain—that defines who we are.

[screen-universe-official-thingie]

Fictionals' True Form anatomy sheet

Tw: Body horror galore

This has already been done a while back, but I somehow didn't get around to posting it.

I've been considering fixing some things, but eh, I'm now lazy, so here's some artist notes instead as well as some close ups

↓↓Close ups and notes under the cut↓↓

Notes: Yes, I didn't know that the female symbol only has one horizontal line and you'll be seeing this reoccurring mistake all over the sheet. Here, you'll see a familiar art work (assuming you've seen it, if not, here it is) of my adoptive mind children SpongeBob and Lusamine peeling themselves. Everyone looks practically the same regardless of their vessels' assigned sex. What only sets them apart is their "hair" styles or other aspects reflecting their vessels.

Yep, these actor mofos are eldritch entities made entirely out of glowing white nerves and a kind of cancer or at least is based off of a kind of tumor called the teratoma. The typical rl teratoma aren't usually cancerous, but they can be at times. Let's say that these mfs are the cancerous types, I like to jokingly call them magical cancer nerve people who wear meat suits of the characters for our entertainment.

Yes, their true forms are a fuel for their magic/powers and allow them to live for a very long time as long as their game and animated series keep pumping out content and not meet the specific conditions for permanent death

When all or most of their true form is outside their vessel, the only organs that stay intact are the epidermal system and eyeballs. The eyes roll back and hide away the iris and pupils upon the peeling. Other internal organs get disintegrated

Here, we'll use Skinwalkermine's and SkinwalkerBob's skin removal art as reference.

(Yes, I did SpongeBob's stand alone True Form drawing too, he's the first Fictional to have his TF drawn and imagined when the concept was first introduced. It's just that I didn't post it because it's the second or third digital drawing I've drawn and I wasn't very good at it back then)

Do note that removing the meat suit and being outside of it is painful as shit. It's best to stay inside and play the part.

(Ngl, this looks very... Uhhhh... Unfortunate and horrible out of context, please help)

Her eye rolls back and shows some nerve, just as seen in the sheet

TW: Eyes everywhere (They represent the audience)

As you can see here, both of their exterior flesh suits stay intact and just go limp from the lack of support.

This is where the teratoma inspo comes in. When inside their vessels, they create other internal organs to make their vessels fully functional. Then they go organ mode and latch on to the brain stem and somewhere where the limbic system is located. This allows them to show their emotions in extraordinary ways.

Fictionals are very expressive creatures, they use their magic to enhance their expressions as a reflex. This makes it easier to convey their emotions and feelings on the screen. It also gives them a difficult time to lie to both their creators and their fellow actors.

(I want to make sense of why and how animated characters make wacky and exaggerated expressions or how game characters have emote signs above their heads. This is the world building explanation for it)

Nipple privileges removed. Point and laugh.

Note: This is the error I was talking about. The thinner, leaner waist is supposed to represent the male vessel, but my dumbass put "F" for female instead. There's also a typo, whoops.

But yes, both sexes get Barbie dolled. Mainly because of censorship laws and genitals aren't needed to begin with. Fictionals live long lives and the creators would just make more of their kind anyway. It also prevents them from reproducing unneeded extra babies and interfering series production should things like pregnancy, relationship complications, and child birth occur.

This resulted to a majorly aroace normative society and Fictionals see things like sex and marriage as foreign, non existent concepts. An act of fiction and another scene demanded by the director if you will. Though, marriage and romance are possible between Fictionals, but they're very rare and are seen as unnecessary and strange.

Both sexes sharing certain places such as the locker rooms and bathrooms have been normalised. There's nothing else to see between their legs.

The only bottom hole Fictionals have is the cloaca. Yes, they have chicken assholes and that's the only out for bodily waste like feces and urine.

"But Sea, how would they make NSFW content?"

Good question...

They have undergarments taking the resemblance of the nipples and genitals should they act out things like hentai. Think of them as stage props, it's like that. They look and act just like the real deal, but they're not functional. They're there for the looks only.

Fictionals' true forms' heads or faces don't have noses, ears, and mouths. All they have are their own eyes and so called "hair". Their hair is not actually made of hair, they're just nerves, tumors, and muscles clumped up together to look like hair.

I'm considering replacing their feet with roots, I think it makes a lot more sense. Their feet aren't functional to begin with. They move around on their long hands should they tear off their vessels. It also adds a certain cryptic vibe when they're on their hands instead of being bipedal. While they can kneel on their legs, they'd struggle having their hands off the ground for a long time.

Bonus stuff in here

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 295, Replies Part 2

(MHA ch 291) 1) “Shigaraki please, you’re missing the big reveal, they are gonna need to explain it to you after you wake up and you’re not gonna believe it!”- Well, he’s awake but….it’s not Tomura in the driver’s seat anymore. There may not even be any “Tomura” left inside by the end of this.

2) “WAIT, ARE YOU IMPLYING THAT HE WILL BE ABLE TO DO THAT LATER, BECAUSE YOU'RE GONNA LET HIM GO, OR THAT THIS WAS SOMETHING BEYOND HIS REACH BECAUSE YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF THE MEAT VESSEL NOW?”- He’s being disingenuous. For all that he’s referred to Tomura as his own man and his “successor”, in actuality, he’s never seen him as somebody separate from himself – rather, merely an incubating vision of the person he’s going to become for the sake of AFO’s ambitions, a new vessel and body that can outlive his old one with greater strength than he can achieve alone, and whose identity and selse of self will become fertiliser to enable AFo to “evolve” into a new vision of the Demon Lord he used to be. For all that Tomura is serving as a hate battery that powers their mental fusion, eventually, whatever comprises his Id and Ego will be subsumed by AFO’s, leaving only the ever-present emotion of hatred powering this new self.

These are not scenes of a master speaking to a pupil, it’s a twisted vision of a “future” AFO speaking to his “younger” self, preparing him to properly fit his mental framework like a human suit. Whenever he says “Tomura” will be doing something, he really means “I will be doing something” once he’s gotten a handle on using Tomura’s rage properly along with this new enhanced body. It’s a sign of AFO’s sheer narcissism that he earnestly cannot perceive people are beings in their own rights, merely tools he can utilise for his own needs. Even outwith Tomura, this shows in how he speaks to his Brother’s vestige.

He speaks of “making him his” whilst looking right at him, but what he really means is taking OFA into his own Quirk. Because of his psychopathic perception of people, he earnestly can’t see the difference between his brother as a living being and his power, and the same outlook applies to Tomura as well. “Tomura” is not a person to AFO, he’s a source of emotional strength created as a weapon to beat his brother’s power into submission with, and by the same token, the whole reason this is possible is that there is no difference between AFO as a person and his Quirk. He is his power, and thus, taking it within Tomura enabled him to start “eating” his mind and identity whilst preserving his heart underneath to empower himself into a god-like being.

3) “OKAY, SO IF I'M GETTING THIS RIGHT THIS ISN'T A FULL TAKEOVER, JUST AN EMERGENCY ONE, TO GET HIM OUT OF TROUBLE. 

OKAY

THERE'S STILL A CHANCE TO HAVE SHIGARAKI BACK”- Well, technically, an emergency takeover to get his new body out of danger now it’s on the verge of actually losing for the first time since the fighting started, but like a kid who loves to hog the game controller, AFO won’t be relinquishing control back to Tomura any time soon. Tomura though he was the player, but he was really the game console itself for AFO, and its finally time for him to start making everyone play by his rules. 4) “WELL FUCK YOU TOO AFO JUST BECAUSE I WAS ABOUT TO KEEP MY HOPE

FUCK YOU AND THAT BOMBER CELL BULLSHIT YOU HAD BEFORE”- And despite what pretentions he layers on it, this showcases AFO’s underlying cowardice and refusal to “fight fair”. Tomura started the fight at a disadvantage due to being ambushed early, and was willing to keep fighting even as his parts were coming off, but when AFO takes command, he checks out the state of Tomura’s injuries that he was willing to ignore, verifies that the heroes are nearly beaten, but still capable of fighting back, and decides it’s more pragmatic to simply high-tail it out of there and wait until his true overwhelming might is ready, so they have no slim chance to take him down whatsoever. 

Does it mean abandoning everybody who loyally followed Tomura in a warzone? Yep, but loyalty, despite hard-coding it into the Nomus, is not something AFO has ever really possessed. Even Machia isn’t spared from this, simply because AFO judges it too risky to continue a fight where there’s odds of a fair victory for both sides, instead wanting to stack the deck as much as he can until his own, singular victory is assured. It’s despicable, and yet, you have to admit it is arguably the best choice for him to take if merely looking at the logical outcome of this conflict rather than the emotional one everybody’s invested in my now.

(MHA ch 275)

5) “Yeah but I think that he`ll need to go a bit higher than that against Shigaraki if he wishes to have a shot. Although they won`t kill him here, otherwise it would be some very awkward next 120 chapters, but they need to at least push him back, and that`s definitely gonna be tricky.”- Push him back, or…beat him up enough that he can’t resist the mental attacks of his master, who’s perfectly happy to leave before the heroes could eke out a slim victory. (MHA ch 287)

6) “Oh Midoriya, you know he will. He’s just like you in that aspect

He won’t obey his master, he’ll stay and fight. He won’t leave until all that he hates is destroyed

The End is here for you

and there’s no escaping it”- Actually, as it turns out, AFO doesn’t have the decency to stick to a fight if he’s not completely certain of his victory in the end, unlike Tomura. If he thinks it’ll be more devastating for the heroes to cut and run, despite all the losses his side has incurred, he’ll do that without a second thought, because his eye is on the long-term goal, not this short-term victory everybody’s fighting so hard for, on both sides of the conflict. 7) “YES BUT WE HAVE MORE PRESSING MATTERS RIGHT NOW PEOPLE AFO JUST CAME BACK

AND THERE'S ALSO THE ONE IN TARTARUS. SO THERE'S TWO OF THEM.

NOW IT'S ALL FOR TWO”- Even when Luke faced down both Emperor Palpetine and Darth Vader, he never had to face them down fighting in synch together. Izuku’s odds are not looking good, especially because AFO’s made it clear here that OFA is his priority, and All Might’s victory won’t get repeated again, no matter how much cheating he has to pull off.

8) “DON'T TALK LIKE THAT ABOUT YOUR SON YOU PIECE OF SHIT”- In fitting with his “can only see people as powers” viewpoint, Izuku’s inherently Quirkless nature means he registers as less than worthless to AFO, merely serving as the receptacle for his brother’s power until he’s ready to brutally rip it out of him

9) “MIDORIYA, WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY, SAY IT NOW BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE. DECLARE THAT YOU WILL DEFEAT HIM AND SAVE SHIGARAKI, PLANT THAT SEED OF FEAR IN HIS DARK HEART, LET HIM NOW THERE WON'T BE REST WHILE YOU STILL BREATHS”- At this point, it’s unclear if Tomura’s ears could even pick up on Izuku’s words and relay them to the part of him that’s still “him” inside there. But then again, Izuku’s speaking from his heart, and Tomura’s heart is something that AFO can’t directly utilise himself, not unlike an actual Heartless, so maybe, in some metaphysical way, Izuku doesn’t need to speak for Tomura to get his message here.

10) “AND SO IT SHALL BE

MIDORIYA HAS A MISSION NOW. NOT ONLY WINNING, BUT SAVING THE ONE IN NEED OF SAVING.CLOSE THE CURTAINS IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE END. EVIL WON TODAY, BUT IT SHALL NOT WIN THIS WAR.”- Actually, the only true winner of this war was the Evil AFO. Both the heroes and Villains on either side sacrificed so much to achieve success for their side, with severe, irreplaceable losses being taken by both, yet with this last action of just swooping in to Hijack Tomura before a conclusion can be reached, AFO manages to render all efforts made utterly pointless. The PLF have lost their leadership, their command structure and the soul of the young tyrant they swore loyalty to, the League have fractured and irreversibly lost some members, and what remains is deeply broken over it and the divide in their ideologies and aims made apparent by Dabi, and the heroes failed to stop the unstoppable juggernaut that was Tomura from escaping to become stronger, after both he and Machia caused disasters on a national level with untold casualties from innocent civilians. Everyone who put their maximum effort into scoring a meaningful outcome in this fight had it rendered pointless by AFO’s selfish choice to flee and prioritise himself, and all he had to do was show up and play by his own rules rather than engage in a “fair” confrontation.

From: Doodlelotl

@thelreads

[abcdefghijklmnopqqr]

Explaining an oc!

His name is Reinald but prefer to be called "Rein" and he's a devil (more like a leech)

He prefers to target women as he finds their beauty very pleasing to the eye

But! He himself is actually very beautiful!

He's a devil that roams earth but doesn't really have any objective in his mind other than to find an entertainment.

He had collected many women for himself and he makes them do his dirty works

But reminder they are not his harem!! He finds no interest in romantic stuffs

That mentioned, he's actually asexual AND aromantic

He doesn't even have genitals

But he finds toying with humans fragile feelings fun

He will manipulate people to get what he wants even willing to play a certain role for a long time

Time is meaningless to him, he's immortal after all!

He had established a name for himself including the underworld and made his own companies and booming businesses (legal and illegal)

Fun fact! He's actually my favorite oc! Yet I barely draw him☹️

Images here now! Contains bare bodies (nakey nakey but not sexual!!) And disturbing image!

He have shoulder length brown hair that he puts up in a bouncy little braid with overgrown bangs framing his face

He also have a delicate face with eyes always crinkled close when he smiles with long eyelashes, bushy thick eyebrows, sculpted nose, wide lips that are meant for smiling, and a mole below his lips

His abilities contains:

Possession

Mutilation

Regeneration

And more disturbing shit!

He is often seen wearing a black and white suit with a red tie (he likes being fancy)

And he likes hiding inside women

.

.

.

Like literally he turns into a black goo/slush and go inside them!

And once his poor little vessel dies he will move on to a new one

Like a hermit crab!

This is Tahlia! She's his current vessel and on the right side you can see what things he can do while inside a vessel!

He can communicate with them through mind but if the vessel wishes to communicate back they need to say their words aloud or else he won't be able to hear it! Mind control/reading isn't one of his power after all!

The top left drawing shows how crazy a vessel looks like when talking to him.

He can sprout his limbs out any hole of his vessel! He also eats human meat so the vessel will have no choice but to feed him if he's hungy ☹️☹️☹️

(In tahlia's way she will just shoved the meat down her throat so it won't land on her tongue and she won't be able to taste it! Then she will wait for Rein to grab it)

The bottom right one shows how it looks like to be mildly possessed!

And Rein is a devil affiliated with sheeps so he attracts them and if he's inside a vessel the sheep will think that he's trap inside her! Oh no! and so they will try to bite/chew their way through the vessels body! Quite painful right!

Tahlia had experienced this but thankfully Rein patched her up real good!

And once he's in a vessel the vessel and other people won't be able to see the vessels reflection on mirrors, instead a distorted image of Rein is what they will see

His height is also 6'4!

That's all thank you if you had made this far down on my nonsense babbling about this silly goofy oc!

And the art I used are all wips so they look like shit

[pizzapasta23045]

Hi, I know you're mostly a Kaeya person but I saw your posts on the Shogun puppet and I had to say something because oh man do i have feelings about her. Like, first of all she was created to serve as a vessel for Ei, not even as her own person but it's also established that she has her own consciousness and people may say that "oh, she can't be truly conscious, she doesn't have her own personality" well no shit, she doesn't have her own personality, she was never given a chance to develop one because her creator used her as a meat suit essentially and really she's just fulfilling her purpose to exist as best as she can. It isn't her fault that her creator is a barely competent jock. Don't get me wrong I love Ei, but good lord is she an awful mother. Just. I want her and the Wanderer to meet up and bond over the shared trauma of having Ei as a mother and heal from it as siblings. Maybe they can even give each other names, seeing as their mother didn't bother. Honestly it would probably be good for Scaramoche too.

But in all realness, I am this close to snapping and writing my own fanfiction where the Shogun puppet was created after Sasyuri died so she at least gets a chance to develop as a person and meet Makoto, who would be the best aunt ever I swear.

Anyway, sorry for both rambling in your inbox and my english, the Shogun puppet does not get the love she deserves and thanks for running this blog. Also formatting cause I'm on mobile.

No fr like people will go like. Clearly she's not conscious because she doesn't have her own personality when she has the exact personality I'd expect for someone who was forced to pretend to be their mother for 500 years and wasn't allowed to develop their own personal consciousness or sense of self. Like. What was Ei expecting?