#yet somehow my genes have survived

[impybutt]

Sezak had never seen a leather jacket before. What cause would someone ever have to wear another's skin? It struck him as alarming, to say the least.

Exposure risk wasn't something he or many others ever considered: His people were designed for efficiency, just like the rest of the spacefaring races. Or, that's what he assumed. It's common knowledge, isn't it?

Genome mapping is just the norm, and entire civilisations have been curated from raw materials, Sezak's included. It's far more energy and resource efficient than terraforming, in any case. That's what it takes to reach the stars: curated efficiency.

No one ever did it just by trial-and-error, did they?

But here was Suri, a Human, wearing the skin of... what did she call it? Some other kind of mammal, he forgot the name. Something absurdly simple. Anyway, apparently this is just normal for Humans!

"But why?" Sezak asked, incredulous. "What's the point?"

"Well, these days thanks to climate control and artificial atmosphere, it's mostly a style thing. But you know, early humans back on earth, why would you just leave a perfectly good skin to rot when you could wear it for protection?"

"Protection from what!? Under what circumstance are you finding an unused skin?? Wait-- is this another religious thing? I've heard that Humans have a lot of those, and they don't always make sense from the outside."

Suri looked confused (or constipated? Human faces are deceptively complex, it takes a long time to learn how to read them), and seemed to be studying Sezak for a moment. Her eyes darted over his synthetic clothing briefly, with its cultural flairs and decorative adornments, all carrying the signature texture of replicated matter.

Then, with sudden clarity, "Oh! Humans weren't curated, mostly we're organic."

Well, that's just absurd.

Sezak muffled his involuntary 'kek-kek' with a quick apology, covering his mandibles.

"Pardon me, that means your entire lineage came from raw evolution. That takes billions of years, I find it very unlikely."

"Yeah," Suri was nonplussed. "The leather is a throwback to when our ancestors had to survive in the wild. We hunted our meat, then used what was left for tools and clothing. It's actually a pretty proud part of our history; Earth was habitable, but definitely not easy."

Now it was Sezak's turn to look constipated, which never happened because his people weren't curated with such a terrible design flaw.

"So humans just bumbled their way into space on their own, like a larva figuring out how to fly? All... clumsy and inelegant, and... Messy? Without any outside help? Without any climate-matching!? Is that why you have those absurd suits!?"

"Yeah, it's also why our bodies just malfunction in weird ways for no obvious reason," Suri looked a little too amused at Sezak's undisguised horror - not that Humans are essentially raw nebula mobilised by a star's age of convenient mutations, but that they exist in such a state of volatility with no apparent qualms about it.

"Oh great wells," Sezak breathed, reeling from his new perspective. "So many of you wear leather. Hold on, is that why Vikram is always visiting the health centre?"

Suri's eyes crinkled, and she bared her teeth -- in a laugh, okay. Sezak recognised the 'kek-kek' noise humans make in thrill, though theirs is a more glottal 'hach-hach'.

"Yes, Vikram has auto-immune issues. Which means that sometimes, his immune system will attack his own body depending on the irritant. Or weather. Or his cortisol levels."

Sezak stared at Suri for a long time, trying to figure out if she was pranking him.

"I think I have a lot of reading to do," he muttered, incredulous.

"Start with the human eye, it's an absolute mess. Do you know how little it takes to detach a human retina?"

"WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS"

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Birdbox (3/5)

Word count; 3.8k

For the first time, Y/n had the concious thought about whether they could use their ability to see their surroundings. They always thought their blindness was a curse, but in the apolcolypse, it had come in usefully. Whether this was only an ability in their sleep, Y/n had yet to determine, but they hoped it wasn’t — Y/n didn’t see any other way to survive.

Y/n laid their head against the counter. They plugged their phone in, dreading the day when electricity was no longer available and Siri — Y/n’s only friend — was silenced. And then came the issue of food. They were stuck. Y’n couldn’t help but ponder death. They were aware of how generally awful they were as a person, and that kept Y/n with a will to live and a will to die.

Y/n was selfish, rude, and a coward. They were bitter at the world for being unfair and punished the people around them the same. Too selfish and afraid to die, but too hateful toward the world to live. It was a conundrum. Y/n figured, though, that their general confusion would be the death of them, as they were too confused on what to do. Y/n had their talents in a paintbrush, not a weapon. Y/n couldn’t see. Y/n hardly knew the area because their father often shipped groceries to their doorstep so Y/n only left the house for exhibitions, interviews, and art supplies. 

Their father. Y/n sat up, grabbing the phone. 

“Hey, Siri. Call dad.”

The phone began ringing. The screen was slightly cracked, but its not as though Y/n cared. The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. After the tone, please leave a message.”

A wave of sadness and worry washed over Y/n. They recognized that their father was the most important person in their life. Perhaps his phone was dead. Perhaps it was lost. Perhaps he was asleep.

Or perhaps he was dead.

For the first time since hell had descended on earth, Y/n began to cry. They wandered over to the couch to lay down, curling on their side. For the first time in a while, they thought of ‘Last Look’s dreadful day.

“Doctor, why can’t my child see? How can they get their sight back?” their father pleaded.

“Sir, I’m sory, We’ve ran several tests, but sometimes, things like this happen. A hidden gene. A faulty switch in the occipital lobe. Although there is still no noticable differences in their brain development, nerves, or blood work, cases like this happen. It’s unfortunate, and unfair. Sometimes, the eyes shut down entirely overnight from unknown causes. And, currently, we don’t have the technology to do anything about it.”

Their father’s eyebrows furrowed. Although Y/n couldn’t see it, he was losing hope. He wondered if he had somehow failed his only child. 

“I… I did some research. They somehow made a young boy see again —“

“That was a scientific anomaly, sir,” the doctor argued desperately. “And anyway, this clinic is incapable of giving that kind of treatment.”

Y/n’s father began to sob. They are crying, too. The doctor’s words scared them. They clawed and rubbed at their eyes, but their father grabbed their hands, squeezing tightly. He comforted them, whispering sweet words that everything would be alright. That they would make due. That there was nothing wrong with being blind. That it wasn’t the end of the world.

But Y/n was only a child. Their entire future had been robbed. Y/n didn’t know of any blind heros. Anyone out there that made a living or lived independently. Y/n was uneducated. All they knew was that their world had ended, and that they wanted to see again.

And see they now did. Y/n shot up. It was but a blink, but they saw. It was like they physically transcended their body and walked to the door, going right through it. They reached for a canvas, their fingers tracing it like a memory. A man. Middle-aged, beer-bellied, straggling jawline, balding. Pale eyes with a daze. Pounding, over and over. His knuckles bleeding. His clothes torn and bloody. The woman’s corpse beside him, eyes torn open and from her skull, as though his fingers had dug into them to remove them personally. In the woman’s chest, there was an iron rod.

Y/n could still see it clearly. The man was really there, still pounding ruthlessly. Y/n had blocked out the knocking, but with sudden focus, their ears returned to the sound.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They dropped the brush and went over to the kitchen. They pulled a knife from the drawe, removing the blade cover. The wind was still howling outside, pounding at the windows. They went over to the door.

Y/n suddenly found courage and a voice.

“How are you alive? Why are you here? How did you know I was here?”

The knocking stopped suddenly. With its absense, an eerie silence followed. Y/n suddenly regretted speaking up.

A gruff voice, enchanted yet ery, very dry and cracked, answered. “They showed me true beuty. They want me to show you. Let me give you my eyes, Y/n. I want to give you my eyes —“

“Why is everyone else dead but you? What’s doing all this?” Y/n’s voice was shaky yet steady. 

“…Sinners. All of them. They did not want to see. But I do. You do. They want me to show you it all. Open the door, Y/n. Let me give you my eyes.”

“That’s impossible. I am blind. Please, leave me alone —“

“But you have the sight!” the man suddenly boomed. “They gave it to you a long, long time ago. And now, they will show you everything great and beautiful. Open the door. Open the door. Let me give you my eyes.”

Y/n only grew more confused with every sentence. Nothing made sense. 

“How will you give me your eyes?”

Manic, cracked laughter ensued. “I will tear them from my skull and hand them to you. You must see it, Y/n. It is beautiful! Beautiful, I tell you! Open the door!”

“Leave your eyes at the doorstep. I will take them that way.”

“I wish to see you myself. They speak so highly of you. You are the most beautiful landscape of all. I must see you, Y/n. I must see you and hand you my eyes —!”

Shivers rolled down their spine and they took a step away from the door. Y/n was left with more questions than answers. The whole endeavor was pointless. However, Y/n knew that they couldn’t stand the knocking anymore. And they didn’t trust that this man would just die. Something supernatural had consumed the world. The man’s eyes weren’t normal. Perhaps his biology wasn’t, either.

With that, Y/n didn’t let the fear take over. They unlocked the front door and swung it open. The voice was no longer muffled. They aimed to stab, but the man suddenly bellowed and collapsed to his knees. The man was far more vocally gruesome with a door no longer seperating them. The man bowed.

His scarred, bloody hands touched Y/n’s feet. He scrambled and panted. Y/n is left stunned, allowing the man to grovel at their feet. 

Sobs echoed the empty hallway.

And Y/n was shaking from head to toe.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” he cried. “They were right! The most beautiful thing in creation!”

His praises fell on deaf ears. Rough hands squeezed Y/n’s feet and they felt overwhelming disgust, overpowering the fear. The hands clawe at their calves and then their thighs. Suddenly, he withdrew, falling silent. His face was drenched in sweat. He glistened with salt and oil. Tears continued to fall, and although Y/n did not know, his eyes were glued to their figure in awe.

And then, he began to claw. He dug his thumb and pointer finger into his eyelids. Y/n stumbled back, hearing the squelch. The man released painful gurgles. Slowly and painfully, he removed his eyes. The man sobbed desperately, and yet all he cried was blood.

Y/n felt a spray against their pants. Y/n had enough. Their selfish, angry side kicked in, adrenaline suddenly bursting through their veins. Gritting their teeth, they stabbed the man in the neck, somehow knowing exactly where to aim. The man gurgled out a cry, dropping his eyeballs and collapsing to the welcome mat. Y/n kicked the man away, feeling their socks get drenched with liquids. The man’s thud was the last sound he made. 

Y/n felt around the corpse for the knife, disgusted. They removed it. 

They slammed the door shut and locked it again.

The corpse sat there. The man lay there, decaying and wet. The eyeballs were completely seperated and long cords spun out from his eyes. Despite the pain he and Y/n had caused, the man was smiling.

Y/n was rattled to their core, turning and sliding down the door. Their hands had intense tremors. They knew damn well they couldn’t stay stuck. The wind was howling, harder and harder. The beast was near. And the insane missionary had found them once. Another one surely could. 

Y/n stayed frozen on the floor, cradling the moist knife like a child, for a very, very long time. It was slowly settling on them that they had commited murder. It didn’t feel like self-defense. The man had worshipped them, for christ’s sake. They couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened, had they taken the eyes? What would they have seen?

They decided to think it over in the shower; they knew they had to move while they had the resources. Siri wouldn’t live forever. Their food supply wouldn’t last. They needed to find a grocery store to camp in — one that wouldn’t be too populated with hypothetical looters.

They also needed resolution on what happened to their father.

When they hopped out of the shower, they began to pack the essentials: their charger, phone, cane, clothing, food, and paints. Everything they���d need to survive, but also live. 

Y/n’s first thought of where to go was the corner store down the block. It’s where they often went for an easy snack. Y/n took their cane and turned Siri on to the corner store. They shoved the phone in their pocket after plugging in earbuds. 

They felt their way toward the elevator. Their ears were keen, but the hallway was silent.Usually, their apatment building was full of hustle and bustle, especially at… god, Y/n didn’t even know what time it was. So, they asked while in the elevator.

“Seven-thirty-three.”

The elevator beeped and the doors opened. More silence. Siri repeated directions, but Y/n knew the way to the front entrance. 

They paused. The beast seemed to follow their every move; it was everywhere. It was the air Y/n was breathing. That much they knew. They hovered, afraid to leave. But Y/n’s will to survive and be selfish was the most important part.

And then they hear it: a screaming woman. Y/n dashed out the door, selfishly believing this was their chance. In Y/n’s mind, the wind would divert its attention, even if it was an entire entity. The screams echoed and grew louder. The wind was bustling and squealing in their ears. They could hardly use their cane, relying solely on Siri’s directions.

“Turn left to reach your destination.”

Y/n skidded to a stop, losing their footing. Y/n grunted loudly, knowing they would probably be left with a nasty bruise. They scrambled onto their knees. They dropped the cane, but as the wind whistled and bustled, the cane was the last thing on their mind. In their world of darkness, they crawled forward, finally feeling at a glass panel. Y/n scrambled to their feet, gripping the handle.

They pulled at it desperately, almost falling again as the door swung open. They felt papers adorn the inside, and a wave of relief washed over them as they pulled the door shut. Y/n was shaking in their boots as they held the position, feeling the wind beat against the door. 

Click.

Y/n tensed, turning wildly and reluctantly releasing the doorknob. Their voice came out as a squeak.

“Who’s there?”

“Don’t move. Hands up.”

A man’s voice echoed in the otherwise silent corner store. The man sounds gruff, and Y/n can tell that the man sounds rather redneck. And by the clicking, the man held a gun. Y/n complied.

The man emerged from behind a shelf, crouched slightly, and had a pistol aimed directly at them. Y/n panted, unaware of the man’s exact location. Their head turned every which way, attempting to locate the man. The man wore a dark leather jacket and was somewhat older. He had a peppered beard and a big bald spot on his head. He wore glasses and ripped jeans, giving off the general aesthetic of a retired biker. 

“Now, what’s it like out there? Have you seen it?”

“I - I don’t know. It’s quiet, sir,” Y/n stuttered. “I’m blind — I can’t see the monster —“

“Bullshit.”

“I dropped my cane right outside the door —“

“I know you’re just like the last guy. Trying to fool me, are you —“

“I’m blind! I’m Y/n L/n — I’m famous, haven’t you fucking heard of me, you fucking loser?” Y/n exclaimed, almost insulted. “Just look out, and you’ll see you fucking cane —“

While Y/n had been ranting and tossing insults at the man, he had progressed silently. Y/n stared out blankly, expression angry and unchanging as the man snuck up on them. Y/n paused, breathing heavily. All they saw was darkness, unaware of whether a gunshot would shoot them dead.

“Boo.”

Y/n jumped wildly, flailing to the ground. They burst into tears, which made the man laugh. He glanced out the paper, noticing the cane. “By golly, I guess you are blind. Or one hell of an actor. You don’t got the same eyes as them, either.”

“Jesus, fuck you —“

The man lowered his gun and chuckled gruffly. “Yeah, yeah. If you saw the world we were living in right now, you’d understand. Now, get away from the door and behind this here counter.”

Without asking, the man grabbed and pulled them. Y/n frowned firmly but allowed it to happen. Behind the counter was a small pile of wrapper trash and a torn up sleeping bag. The man beckoned to sit, but they gathered that once they felt the counter. Their movements were still skittery, untrusting of the man before them.

“So, let’s exchange stories.”

“Stories?”

“My name is Mark. I’m the owner of this establishment, although that doesn’t mean much these days,” he explained. “I followed the news religiously, waiting for something like this. Then, I noticed reports of mass hysteria starting in Italy. I shut down shop immediately, and not even an hour or so later, the news turned to shit, and so did the world outside. I learned that whatever’s out there cannot be seen and all that shit, so I’ve got my trusty blindfold around my neck just in case. And finally, I guess it’s safe here for now, but we sure as hell can’t stay here. It’s a fucking corner store. The supplies aren’t endless.”

Y/n listened intently to his ramblings and, deciding to suspend distrust, nodded and replied. “Yeah, okay. So, I’m blind. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. I’m the ‘blind painter.’ I had a gallery that day and was heading home when it all started. Uh, and I was fine until I started having… dreams. Seeing things that were there. Like this cult guy outside my door that wouldn’t leave me alone. I actually saw what he looked like in my head. I killed the guy and he was fucking worshiping me. Something about how he wanted me to see. God, he pulled out his eyes —“ Y/n stopped, replaying that moment in their head and shuddering. “Uh, and I came here… Oh. And I’m Y/n.”

“The fuck?”

“I guess this plague affects everyone differently, but if I’d known that, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you in.”

“It’s a gift,” Y/n insisted anxiously. “A stupid one. But my father always told me god gave me eyes in my dreams. The truth is, I think I’ve seen the monster in my dreams. And when I focused, I could see the man outside my apartment. But only when asleep.”

“Prove it. Show me some of your drawings. You obviously brought the fucking supplies.”

“I haven’t used this notebook in years. It’s only old drafts,” Y/n answered, withdrawing the notebook from their bag. 

“Well, if you’re some fancy painter, it doesn’t really matter.”

Without warning, the man snatched the notebook from their grasp and started going through the pages. He slowly goes through them, ignoring Y/n’s angry expression from the invasion. Inside the notebook was several drafts of pretty locations. Some faces. The occasional animal.

Mark paused at a page, his brows crinkling. “This the monster you saw in your head?”

“What is it?”

Mark described it to them.

“Yes. Although that could have been my imagination.”

Mark continued to stare at the scribbles. It was somehow made of clean yet untidy scribbles. There was a large circle surrounding a large head that had long, spindly tendrils, leaving a cavernous mouth. The thing had slits for eyes, and there was a gleam to the flesh of the beast. It was like a halo over it, and Mark couldn’t help but admire the drawing. 

Then, he turned the page to find another one. He was suspicious, but the drawings were aged and marked with a date from several years ago. This drawing had a clearer face image, showing the tall, slimy forehead. The slits for eyes were open, bulbous, and consumed with black charcoal. The tendrils leaked down the paper like Y/n had switched to paint halfway through.

After that sketch, it returned to an image of a mountain waterfall.

“…Huh. So you’re telling me you saw this shit coming too?”

“Hardly. I thought they were nothing but recurring dreams until now.”

“Well, let me get some food. I think there’s a spare sleeping bag in the back, too.”

Mark rose and weaved around Y/n. Y/n remained still, grabbing their notebook back and getting lost in thought.

They thought about how long they would be able to stay, especially in the company of Mark. Another person meant the distribution of resources, but Mark could also see and shoot. Y/n figured their thoughts were selfish, but the world would probably be much prettier without fellow humans polluting it. Yn didn’t care much bout life, but cared enough that they refused to commit suicide. Y/n wondered if their father was alive —

Y/n heard a door open and assumed Mark was returning. Mark returned with a box of Frosted Flakes and a rolled-up, far newer sleeping bag. 

A sense of safety and exhaustion reached Y/n as they silently munched on Frosted Flakes. The taste was slightly stale, and despite their typical pickiness, there was a sense of comfort. They came to terms calmly with the fact that the apocalypse was upon them. That meant that stale cereal, a warm sleeping bag, and a man with a gun weren’t the worst things in the world at that moment.

“You sure you aren’t possessed?” Mark yawned, perking up and cradling his pistol.

“He said ‘they’’ wanted to give me my eyes back. To give me true sight. The ma worshipped me as a god,” Y/n recalled with a pause. “I wish I was possessed because whatever they are seeing… it must be incredible.”

~~~

Y/n was awoken from a deep, terrifying slumber with animated shaking. “Wake the fuck up!” Mark bellowed. “What are you seeing?”

Y/n scrambled, sleep in their eyes. Mark was on top of things, scrambling for their paint palette and notebook. Y/n felt at them. Some terrified tears escaped their eyes as they scribbled roughly on the notebook paper. Mark was silent and watched carefully as Y/n drew, their gaze staring up fearfully and unknowingly making direct eye contact with Mark.

Y/n suddenly dropped the paint brush and panted. “This. I saw this.”

Y/n handed the notebook over. Some time had passed; according to Mark, they had rationed well, and a week or so had passed. Trust had formed between the two of them. Sometimes, Y/n dreamt and they drew. But based on the violence in their head, Mark must have known something was especially wrong with this one. Y/n often woke up with the sun, according to Mark, but Y/n had the sense that the sun was not up yet.

“I… hope I drew it right. I saw many, many people. A mob. They were walking down a road, dazed and enchanted. They’ve seen it.”

Mak analyzed the work intensely. He was still amazed at his comrade's ability and figured it would be his demise. But at least it kept him on his toes. It made for conversation, too. 

The image depicted rocky, cold, and dying terrain with stale grass and swamplands in the distance. A few abandoned, rotting cars were on a large, spacious road, which was covered in oddly detailed figures. The mob was walking, dazed, just as Y/n had described. The mob was thick, and despite their harmless and dumb expressions, they yielded weapons — anything from crowbars to hammers to guns. 

“That’s Dale. My coworker,” Mark stated, pointing to one of the figures. “We worked at the same local construction company for a while.”

“Local?”

“Local.”

The realization dawned on the pair. Mark examined the road further. “That same road. It’s the main road leading into town.”

“Fuck.”

“Do you know what that means? Why are they coming here?” Mark inquired carefully, perturbed by the situation.

“They’re… coming for me, I think. It won’t take a genius to realize that I moved. Please, we have to go somewhere else —“

“Jesus, I get it. Let’s pack what we can. We can go out to back. And, Y/n, I want you to wear this blindfold. Just in case.”

[nevesmose]

I don't know anywhere near enough about Sanguinius to metaphorically crochet him into a little finger puppet for my primarch fics but how about a little baseless speculation about him and Fulgrim? Please note that this is all based on how I view them in the universe of my silly little stories and is in no way a claim about knowing how they are in canon / lore.

I would probably a) portray Sanguinius as a genuinely sweet adorable cinnamon roll too precious for this world and b) have Fulgrim utterly loathe him because of this.

I tend to write Fulgrim as being a pleasant and charming person who, deep down, is about 50% a deeply broken overthinking ultra-perfectionist and 50% really jealous and vindictive. Please understand that this isn't me saying he's just evil and always was because it really really isn't. It's entirely possible for someone with these traits to function perfectly well in society and not be a bad person in any meaningful sense.

However.

One of his formative experiences as a primarch was almost losing his entire legion due to the Blight corrupted geneseed that almost wiped them out right at the start.

He had to build them up himself from nothing with the constant threat of annihilation both in the sense that "if I fuck up a war and lose however-many thousand Astartes in a terrible accident on the double-ended dildo planet I have no reserves or replacements" and also "every use of our geneseed is a gamble against the horrific mutation coming back and destroying us all over again". In that context the solution he turns to, and the only one that probably makes sense based on his prior experience on Chemos, is perfection.

Make no mistakes, ever, anywhere, because the cost of failure is incalculable, even if it means committing science-treason so you can purge all weakness from your own space dudes. It's not a desire for perfection based on arrogance, although he is of course immensely arrogant in a lot of ways, but one motivated deep down by fear.

People like to clown on Fulgrim based on Jaghatai's infamous "I hear you do strange things to your warriors 😂👌" sick burn, but to be honest, viewed from his context, what Fulgrim's doing is somewhat understandable.

That is if we assume that the Khan isn't just making a cheap insult but rather is implying he knows a lot more than would be preferable about Fabius dicking around with Astartes genetics in order to detect and eliminate carriers of the corrupted gene-seed so that the III Legion, one of the smallest of all numerically, can still survive. And then a lot of other things too because, like Fabius could believably say in one of the weirder McNeill stories, forbidden science is akin to the ancient Terran delicacy known as Pringles. Once you pop you can't stop.

With that in mind it feels like a lot of Fulgrim's post-heresy actions, not just the snake orgies but the general distance and lack of care for his sons, comes from revelling in just finally being free of that level of stress and pressure weighing down on him at all times. Even Perturabo doesn't withdraw from the Iron Warriors that much and he's a dick.

Anyway, back to pre-heresy days. He has all this going on and then in comes Sanguinius with his giant fucking angel wings who everyone loves and who turned his legion into One Direction (not really but you know... perceptions vs reality and no one in this setting actually communicates with one another since they'd probably have a lot in common regarding fears of being mutants etc)

It's the kind of thing that I think would feel like a dagger in the heart to someone like Fulgrim. Directly highlighting and literally embodying all of his fears about mutation and imperfection and yet somehow appearing to get away with it while he has to exercise constant control and do horrible things simply in order for his legion to exist.

So for that reason I think he would absolutely hate Sangy and do everything he could to undermine him.

"Oh no, brother! I've accidentally spilled this entire Big Gulp cup of bright red Tizcan wine all over your beautiful white wings, and only moments before you were due to make a speech to ten million people about how wonderful the Imperium is! Let me help you clean it up."

And then he pulls out a Looney Tunes sized bottle labelled Fabius's Finest Molt-O-Matic Guaranteed Feather Remover and starts spraying it on him.

[octuscle]

Hey Cronivac Support,

I dont trust myself with the settings so i am asking you. I am Half German and half Moroccan, and I look German af. Brown hair, brown eyes, big smile and a really white skin. I am thinking what would happen if my appearance were based on my Moroccan genes.

Can you help me out?

Brother, chill out! Have a shisha. Just ignore that there's German shit in your body. Your dick is circumcised. You pray at least once or twice a day. Friday you also go to the mosque… It doesn't matter if there are still German genes in you.

Thursday morning. You will survive the last school year at the Gymnasium. What comes after that, you don't know yet. Something with languages might make sense. Your mother tongues are Arabic, German and French. And you are actually quite good in English and Spanish at school. But you also enjoy science. First lesson today is chemistry. Stoichiometry. Actually very interesting. But somehow you have more and more problems to understand your teacher. When he approaches you, you start to stammer. You can't think of the right words. "Youssef, you are welcome to answer in English, if that is easier for you." You sigh in relief. German is really a difficult language. And even though you have a German grandmother, German was never spoken much at home….

During the break, you hang out with your brothers. Talk about soccer, cars, the usual stuff. Smoke an e-cigarette to go with it. And you make an appointment for the afternoon at the gym. Then it's off to the workshop at the vocational school. Metalwork. Hey, you're not training to be a car mechanic so you can mill toys out of metal plates. You want to become a car tuner. And create really hot cars. Your vocational school teacher is from Syria. Fled a few years ago. He speaks much better German than you do. You've only been in Europe for two years. Your mother had the French and the Moroccan passport, so you could immigrate relatively easily. But you didn't understand why you had to move to Germany. Some of your pals now live in Marseille. You would have found that cool, too… But Stuttgart? Just because your father found a good job as an engineer here at Mercedes? Anyway, you're a fighter, you'll survive Swabia.

Lunch is at the snack bar of a former colleague of your father. He has saved up enough money on the assembly line for his own snack bar. And now he makes the best falaffels in town. On weekends, you help out a little. You can always use the extra money. And that way you also get the food cheaper. Since you've been in training, you no longer get pocket money from your parents. You are the eldest son, you now have to do your share to feed the family. And if you are the first to have a vocational qualification here, your chances of getting a permanent right to stay are also the best. If only it weren't for this terrible language…

Gym, auto repair shop, vocational school, Gym…. Your daily routine is somehow always the same. Your boss is also a Muslim, from Turkey, so you have tomorrow afternoon off to go to the mosque. But you also have to work on Saturday. But you are grateful that you have the job. And you can afford your car and the gym. It was not easy to come to Europe. It cost your parents almost all their savings. And now it's your damn duty to succeed and support your family. For that you learn to be a car mechanic, for that you sell falaffel on weekends. That's why you mop the gym floors and clean the toilets at night. You even study German for that. However, this has already brought you a few thousand followers. Your picture from the last workout has 800 likes after just half an hour. Let's see, maybe new opportunities to become rich and famous will develop. You have the right gene pool!

Pic of your latest workout found @tufas

[exchangestudentnova]

I just read your Yandere vampire OM brothers and I was wondering what about yan vampire Lucifer and MC who has a blood clotting problem like they cut their hand or whatever and the blood keeps pouring nothing you dramatic bit still like Woah u good??? (don't feel forced to do this btw, also I love ur writing!!!)

hey anon!! I sorry for being this late to your request, I hope my writing is a fine apology for that.

Haemophilia is one such genetic disorder where the person's blood doesn't clot easily. Although it is a reccessive gene, you were born with one. It did not pose much threat to you due to the advances in medical treatment keeping you alive for so long, so you never worried too much about it.

You did worry about it when you were asked to come to Devildorm for one year. "One whole year?? How am I supposed to survive there!?" You somehow managed to purchase almost months and months of medicines in your little suitcase, but ofc you were bound to run out of supplies in the far future.

Today was one such day. You counted the leafs of medicines left, and all of them were empty. You were being reckless by not keeping an eye on the medicine, and now you have none. Worried, you were trying not to panic in your small cozy room. After taking deep breaths, you came to a conclusion that asking Lucifer to help in this situation would be the best. With that, you went to the kitchen to fulfill Beel's craving of eating your handmade food.

The pot boiling with water and the sound of you cutting the vegetables filled the kitchen. "You called for me? Sorry I was busy with some student council work" you turn your head towards the source of the sound, a soft smile conquring your lips as you meet your eyes with him. He, with a click in his step and his long, black clock hanging from his broad shoulders came up to you and engulfed you in a hug. " how have you been MC?" he spoke in your ear as you continued your chopping. "I am well Lucifer, and yes I did call for you. I need to go back to the human world."

"But why?"

"Because I need to- ouch!"

You took your eyes off of the food to look at Lucifer, which was a bad idea because you now have a cut on your finger from moving the knife wrong. It hurt a bit, but to Lucifer, it seemed as if you have lost half of your body's blood.

"How could you be so careless!? Show me your finger" You could see that his eyes have started to dilate, his fangs have started to appear. Yet he is not even thinking about drinking blood. Instead his eyes, althought appearing to be bloodlustly, are actually filled with concern.

"Did you eat your medicines??"

"Ah, about that...." you told him about not having them, and he sighed. "Well wait here, I have some with me. Don't move from your place and stop cooking" Before he left the kitchen he spoke some words and created magic that collected the blood dripping from your hand. Now you had a small bubble of blood floating in the air that was oozing out.

Lucifer came back within two minutes and handed you the medicine. " Thank you so much Luci, but what will you do with this bubble of blood?" He just gives you a knowing look and brings his tongue near the bubble. You blush slightly as he savours the exotic taste of your blood, the medicine acting fast and stopping the bleeding.

" Why are you blushing MC? Your blood is only for me to taste. Now sit down, grab a dessert from the fridge, and let me finish dinner"

PS: anon you did not mention if Lucifer and MC are in an established relationship or not so I tried to write it in a way that you can insert a romantic/platonic relation between them^^ and also thank you for supporting my writing I appreciate it^^

[spectral-snippets-and-drabbles]

Schrodinger's Human: The Star Child

Halfa's aren't natural by any stretch of the imagination and they certainly were never supposed to come into existence. Yes, you could come come back as a zombie or a revenant, maybe even return as good as new or the complete opposite, but never truly return so... cleanly split.

Despite being the balance of both the living and the dead, Danny Phantom was never truly supposed to come to pass and was a happy accident, a one in an extremely rare umpteenth chance, rather than Danny Fenton dying in the unfortunate lab accident like in all the other timelines and multiverse.

Despite the truly miraculous odds of his survival, the young Halfling realized something was wrong somehow, when he awoke in the hospital. At first he thought it was because of the lab accident causing the scarring on his body and face that made people look away, but that wasn't it. It has been months and yet nobody looks his way.

Not once since the accident has his parents, sister, or his friends (or anyone, really) have looked him in the eyes. He just suspected that they must've felt guilty for getting him hurt...but then even his rouges seem to have always averted their gaze when they fight, so what gives!? Was the damage that severe? He likes to think he healed up pretty nicely with just a few prominent scars.

As Phantom, they weren't even visible! Then one day, he snapped after a particularly rough fight and demanded an answer, pinning the ghost and demanding, screaming, that they look him in his watery eyes.

"We can't! We physically can't look at you without adverting our gaze. Even the humans you call friends and family are unable to so much as look at you. We don't know why!"

It made Danny stop and think. Did...did he get a meta gene awoken from the lab accident? For his sanity, he deduces that it was some form of attention repellant power, that had to be it...right? After confronting his friends and family, they told them the same thing. At least the explanation was there. It made the pain bearable when he was around them.

Then the fight with Pariah Dark happened and everything went down hill from there (he just didn't know it yet).

It made Danny glad that the Ghost King couldn't see him properly (he stuck to the side with the eye patch) and continued his assault on the blind spots with gusto. It took a while but he eventually felled Dark and took the title of King of the Infinite Realms, much to his shock.

With the Ring of Rage and Crown in his possession, he returned to Amity Park exhausted, muttering to himself a desire before he let sleep take over.

"̸̙͐M̷̫̕a̶̯͗ỳ̸̲b̶̙͆e̵̳͋ ̸̹͆n̴̗̏ó̴͙w̸̖͂ ̵̢̀a̶̳͛ş̷̈́ ̴̡̒Ķ̵̊î̷̝n̸̻͌ĝ̷͕,̴̤̈́ ̵͓͗I̴͇͌ ̵̙͑c̸̣̀á̴̮n̷͕͝ ̴̫͐ơ̸̱r̷̮̆d̵̜͗e̷̲̊r̶̞͐ ̸̘̉g̵̖̈́h̵̝͊o̶̦̓s̷͎͂ț̷̂s̶̢̐ ̶̰̚t̵̠̐ỏ̵̺ ̷̘͋g̸̩̕o̷͉͝ ̵̣͋b̶̮͋ā̵̩c̸̨͆ǩ̵͍ ̴͙͘t̴͈͛ǫ̶͊ ̷͇̓ṱ̸̚h̴̞̀e̸̱͋ ̸͖͋R̸̲̀ë̸̪́ả̷̺l̸̙͝m̷̡͘s̶̢͒.̴̮̓.̵̤́.̸͖̈́ȁ̵̡t̸̖͂ ̵̺͐l̵̙͐e̴̢͘a̴͙͆s̶̼̔t̶̢̔ ̷̭̑ú̸͇n̸̗͗ť̷͖ǐ̷͜l̸͇̄ ̸̛̬I̶̺̾ ̶͔͂c̷̫̿a̸̟͊n̶̺̓ ̴̻͝f̶̦̒i̴̥͗ň̶̡i̸̡̊s̷̗̄h̶͖͐ ̵̝̒a̵��̧ĺ̷̮l̷͍͐ ̶̤͠m̵̲̆y̷͎̐ ̸͙͌s̷̘͛c̵̯͋ḣ̵̖o̴͔͂o̶̫͝l̶͕͛ī̴̼n̴̝͋g̵͝ͅ ̷̨̿f̵̤͆ì̸͈r̸̥̆s̸̠̎ť̶̞,̶̧̑ ̸͈̅i̵̠͌n̴̻̉c̵̩̈́l̷̳͌ǘ̷̲d̵̟͂ĩ̸̳n̴͓͌g̴̪̈́ ̸̲̈c̸̗̿o̶̪͆l̴̤͋l̵̹͋ë̶͍́ä̸̼́g̷̼̑ủ̶̝e̷̩̿.̶͕̂.̸͈̾.̵͖͂I̴̞̽ ̵̣͘w̴̙͝i̵̯̚s̸̼̈h̸̦̉ ̸̟̓t̶̡͒h̵̨͊á̷̖t̵̛͕ ̷̨̿ĩ̴̡t̵̳̐.̷̫̄.̷͙̔.̶͎̃w̶̲͊a̶̳͝s̶̨̋ ̷̫̓t̴̜́h̵̢͌a̵̗͌ṯ̷̾.̵̠̕.̶̤́.̷͓̍ḛ̷̈́a̵̙͘s̷̭̔y̴͈͂.̵͉͂"̴̼̍

(Maybe now as King, I can order ghosts to go back to the Realms...at least until I can finish all my schooling first, including colleague...Yeah right...I wish that it...was that...easy.)

And like a true wish upon a star, it overidded all logic in the universe to the Boy King's whimsy. The ghosts left over night and all natural portals sealed themselves shut with no means to open themselves back up anytime soon.

And across the planet it vanished as well, stray pools of fermented ectoplasm, medicines that used it and even machinery powered by the stuff went missing, with the exception of the Fenton Ghost Zone Portal, that sealed it self with no means for anything to enter or exit.

The young Boy King's actions were far from subtle.

Many are now without their precious magic, Gods have llst their powers, the Speed Force had been stripped away, and Lanterns across all the emotional spectrum found themselves on their homeworlds with rings that failed to respond, their lights snuffed out. Two birds are now sound asleep, unable to open their eyes.

But before Nabu had been pulled out of his Helmet, he told his wearer one cruical message.

"The Source has been sealed away by a being powerful enough to possess all Sapient life in Multiverse, The Anti Life Equation has been unleashed."

[psych3-delic]

Hello! I adore your family AU and I'm curious about the events that led to Charlotte's birth? Did Undertaker manage to bring back R!Ciel in this AU but it was a less public appearance? Also, do Sebaciel and their baby eventually leave the spotlight to live their immortal lives on their own terms?

And if this prompt idea interests you: Since Charlotte's lover is Grelle's prodege, how about her making a big scene of her and "Bassy" being in laws now and Sebaciel dreading it?

In my head, the whole Undertaker thing was over and done with: o!Ciel proved himself once and for all that he was the one knighted by the Queen, and that he was the one performing all watchdog duty.

It also helps that r!Ciel is already dead. To prove one's alive is easier and it proved also that the dead can be manipulated, thus, can be used as an instrument of lies.

The Phantomhive left the spotlight when they departed from London to America to avoid the Great War in 1914. Afterwards, none really knew where they were, or what happened to them. Funtom continue to grow under regional management, but the owner can only be contacted via mail or telegram. Once, taking advantage of the owner not being around, an executive attempted to funnel company's money into his own pocket. A week later, he's found dead in the office. Reason of death: cannot be determined; his body looked to have suffered no harm. Frozen on his face was an expression of utter terror. On his desk was one single Funtom lollipop.

The Reapers was around when Charlottes was born. The whole dispatch, including Grell, William, Ronald (but not Max though, he hadn't died yet) perched outside the manor on tree branches like vulture, ready to pounce. None had expected Ciel Phantomhive to survive; not even Sebastian. A half-blood child between human and demon had never before existed; her warring natures too might yet not survive the outside world. And seeing as demons drain human life forces, it might very well be that the halfling would kill her mother the moment she was no longer in need of a host body.

But then Sebastian emerged from the manor, in his human form but it looked quite off, beastly even if you looked close enough, followed by his dark tendrils... and a baby girl in his arms.

He showed her off to the prowling death gods:

"She's alive," he said, "and so is her sirer. You are no longer needed here, Grim Reapers."

William adjusted his glasses: "You don't know that, Collapsar. Ciel Phantomhive is not yet out of danger." At this, the demon bares his fang; ill winds picked up; the shadows that enveloped the mansion became impossibly darker:

"He is mine. The boy has been mine ever since our contract. Death hath no claim on his soul."

Will and the Demon exchanged a long look. In the end, Will reluctantly ordered the dispatch to call the mission off. One reaper protested:

“But sir…” “There’s nothing we can do now, or do you fancy being snuffed out of existence by Collapsar?” He spared the speaker a look.

When they all left, Ronald get close and whistled upon seeing the baby, and said: "You sure that adorable babes came from your gene, pop?". And Grell just :)) sighed exasperatedly like when you found out your kpop idol bias is getting married.

I also think the dynamic between the Phantomhive-Michaelis and the Reapers would be like:

Will on a mission in the midst of London > feeling something tugged at his leg > Look down and see Charlotte being tearful mouth quivering: "I lost my papa and dada, Mister. You're their friends right? You're around all the time" > Will reluctantly returned the demon child to her demon parents 🤣

So yes, when they met again in 2020s, there there isn't a lot of animosity left; just a sort of playful annoyance (?)

As I have said before, Max initially hated this grown "Lottie" because of his prejudice against demon and his perception that she deceived him somehow. They had an enemies to lovers arc. The moment it started to shift more toward "lover", Sebastian was horrified. The "Sebas-chan" still makes him shiver even to this day 🤣 meanwhile, Grell is just behind Max giving him (terrible) date gifts ideal and trying to match make.

[loregoddess]

sooo, because I don't have the Unicorn Overlord art book, I've been searching around to see if anyone's posted scans, or copied over character bio stuff, and found this list of ages, which is...hm! interesting. Mildly unsettling. Josef definitely has the "stress makes you go grey and then white real fast" gene or something, bc like, he's one of the oldest-looking characters (aside from Mordan who is? younger than Josef? what?) and yet he's only 52, which isn't as old as I was expecting him to be based on his design. Anywho, I arranged the characters into groups by age from youngest to oldest below, for viewing ease, so you can contemplate the ages too!

15: Yunifi

16: Chloe, Ridiel

17: Alain, Scarlett, Lex

18: Liza, Celeste

19: Travis, Auch, Nina (Millé is Nina's twin if I recall, so we can assume she's 19 as well), Melisandre, Umerus

20: Kitra, Tatiana, Leah, Gilbert, Govil

21: Sharon, Fran, Virginia

22: Ochlys, Primm, Dinah

23: Selvie, Miriam, Berengaria

24: Hilda, Gammel, Amalia

25: Monica, Aramis, Mandrin, Sanatio

26: Berenice, Adel, Gloucester, Raenys

27: Clive, Aubin, Rolf, Magellan

28: Bruno

29: Nigel

32: Fodoquia

33: Jeremy

34: Ramona

35: Morard

38: Bryce, Ilenia

40: Renault

41: Hodrick

42: Rosalinde, Eltolinde

43: Jerome

45: Colm

46: Bertrand, Gailey

47: Mordon

48: Ithilion

52: Josef

63: Railanor

82: Lhinalagos

85: Galadmir

88: Yahna

154: Alcina

Some interesting things here, it seems? that elves age at about 2.5x that of humans (if you divide any of the elves' ages by 2.5, and round to the nearest whole number, the "adjusted" age seems to match most of the characters as compared to the human characters of the same age, i.e. Rosalinde and Eltolinde would be 16.8 or roughly 17 in human years old which matches with Alain's age group fairly well).

But bestrals, despite the lore implying that owl bestrals live a long time and their shared ancestry with elves, don't...really seem to have spectacular age differences from humans, so perhaps something about the bestral anatomy puts them on an aging scale closer to that of humans.

Angels, unsurprisingly, seem to age at the same rate as humans, which makes sense given that they're just. Humans with wings. That most of them were childhood friends with Scarlett is wild though, there's an 8 year age difference between Scarlett and Sanatio and yet she was outrunning him on that bridge like it was no one's business (and yet Raenys was only a year older and serving as Scarlett's lady-in-waiting, I have so many questions about Albion).

Also I'm losing it at the implications that Ilenia had Alain when she was 19, girl what? Like okay, yeah sure, fantasy vaguely medieval setting, people had kids young, but 19? still seems so young...

Alcina though? Like, she looked that young in the prologue, before she teams up w/ local necromancer Baltro, so like? Did she cast an anti-aging spell on herself at some point? We know Yahna un-ages herself, and that this results in her looking young for the rest of her life, but did Alcina do the same spell? If so how did she manage to survive for...so long? Did Alcina somehow lengthen her own life with magic? From the rapports between Yahna and Rosalinde, we can assume that it's rare for even the most powerful of magic-users to live past a typical human lifespan (if Yahna's anything to go by, a healthy human in Fevrith can live well into their 80s, if not 90s, so we can guess healthy elves live about 200-225 years at their oldest). Alcina is an outlier, and her unhealthy obsession with Gerard does not explain anything about her weirdass aging, except maybe that she preserved herself as best she could so she could meet him again as he would remember her.

Anyhow local army is mostly not made of child soldiers which is, uh, nice compared to other srpgs, but the canon ages are...wild. Can't wait to get my hands on the heights and birthdates.

[radicalbears]

Fun fact: I've started reading Star Trek TOS books this year, and they are a TRIP.

I've read six of them so far: The Vulcan Science Academy Murders by Jean Lorrah, Doctor's Orders by Diane Duane, Strangers from the Sky by Margaret Wander Bonanno, Spock's World by Diane Duane, Sarek by A.C. Crispin, and The Motion Picture novelization by Gene Roddenberry (and also Harold Livingston and Alan Dean Foster since they wrote the screenplay)

I have some Thoughts but this may be long so opinions below the cut!

I can't pick an absolute favorite, they're all so much fun for their own reasons. Objectively, Spock's World and Sarek are the two best, with Spock's World being my favorite of the two. I love any story that takes a long look at the Vulcans- either individual characters or them as a group- and these two do a fantastic job.

The Vulcan Science Academy Murders is not objectively good- the mystery is so easily figured out, some of the book is just a little bit insane, and there's way too many exclamation points- but it is a LOT of fun. Also has a very sweet perspective of Vulcans and the way they care for eachother.

Doctor's Orders is literally just this: Kirk, thinking he'd only be gone an hour, makes McCoy acting captain. Kirk proceeds to go missing. Due to Starfleet regulations, McCoy is stuck as acting captain until Kirk or Starfleet relieves him. (It's very funny watching both McCoy and literally every bridge officer be stressed about this)

My least favorite is probably Strangers from the Sky. It's extremely convoluted- there's a plot where Kirk is having nightmares about a suppressed past memory (a memory that, is being remembered because the events of this memory were recently published as a book), and half of this book is us just. Real-time reading this past memory? Either way, the memory is of the Actual first human-Vulcan meeting- when a Vulcan ship crash landed on Earth before the official first contact. The surviving Vulcans were rescued by a couple kelp farmers, and the story surrounding them is actually really sweet. The Enterprise crew has almost nothing to do with this story, they're only there because of a time travel incident. It really just feels more like the author wanted to tell this story, but because it didn't have any known characters in it, they were forced to involve the TOS cast. Still a decent read, just Very convoluted.

Finally, the Motion Picture novelization. Boy, this really reminded me that there really is not much that happens in this movie, though somehow it's more interesting than the movie. This is not to completely dump on said movie- I don't hate it, but it certainly is my least favorite. The novelization is really cool though because it adds a LOT of context for what Spock is dealing with. We get more of his inner monologue- something I actually wish we could witness better in the movie. V'ger is a really good character foil for Spock- the way V'ger is was Spock's end goal, yet Spock realizes that V'ger nothing like how he actually wants to be.

The word T'hyla is also just. Casually invented in this novelization, with the explicit purpose of describing the relationship between Kirk and Spock. This book ALSO acknowledges rumors of Kirk and Spock dating in a footnote, and has Kirk "address" these rumors (aka make some weird statement that doesn't actually clarify anything). Beginning of this book is a Wild time for Spirk fans.

Anyway I'm waiting on my library to get in the novelization for Wrath of Khan and Search for Spock. I also just picked up the first two volumes of the Year Five comics. Idk how deep I'm gonna get into Star Trek novels, but I'm at the very least still going strong.

Oh yeah I also tend to take photos of passages/lines I enjoyed from these books, lmk if any of y'all want a deeper look into any of these books- I can post the photos of my favorite bits!

[parakaryote]

The Weird Microorganism Iceberg

I basically made this on an impulse, please don’t take it too seriously. Feel free to suggest more organisms!

Explanations under the cut.

Tardigrades: You probably all know this one. Commonly said to be polyextremophiles, but this isn’t actually true; while they can survive extreme conditions, they don’t thrive in them. Something you might not know about them is that all of their body segment genes are equivalent to arthropod head genes — meaning they are basically walking heads.

Demodex: Eyelash mites.

Diatoms: Geometric silicon shell creatures.

Nylon-eating bacteria (Paenarthrobacter ureafaciens KI72): Exactly what it says on the tin.

Myxozoa: Single-celled parasitic cnidarians. Lack digestive systems, circulatory systems, gonads, and even muscles in some species. Also may or may not be autonomous cancer cells.

Thiomargarita: The only macroscopic bacteria. Honorary microorganisms for the purposes of this image.

Wolbachia: Parasitic / mutualistic bacteria genus that has created numerous insect species through their effects on reproduction. (Infected females can become capable of parthenogenesis, while infected males are either killed, turned into females, or limited to reproducing only with females infected by the same strain.)

Deinococcus radiodurans: A bacterium which unofficially holds the title of “most extreme extremophile”. Can survive incredibly high doses of radiation, as well as high acidity and very low temperatures.

Dicyemida: Symbiotic (once mistakenly thought to be parasitic) animals that live in cephalopod kidneys. Have alternation of generations and used to be known as “Rhombozoa” (“rhombus animals”).

Facetotectans: Parasitic crustaceans with an unknown adult form. Attempts to artificially induce metamorphosis only produce another juvenile stage, as far as anyone can tell.

Metal-breathing bacteria: Bacteria which use nanowires to accept electrons from metals.

Limnognathia: One of the smallest animals, and has 15-part extensible jaws.

Disulforudis audaxviator: The only known organism to comprise a single-species ecosystem. Lives over a mile underground and feeds off the byproducts of radioactive decay.

Salinella salve: Possibly nonexistent simple animal, allegedly cultured by Johannes Frenzel in 1892 but never found by anyone else.

Warnowiids (Warnowiaceae): A family of dinoflagellates which have modified some of their organelles into an eye… which somehow works well enough for them to aim their stingers at prey, despite them having no brain (or even other cells) to process the images.

Haloquadratum walsbyi: A square that lives in salt.

Dicopomorpha echmepterygis: The smallest known insect, a parasitoid wasp smaller than a Paramecium.

Hemimastigophora: A group of organisms recently discovered to be an early-splitting branch of the eukaryotes.

Monocercomonoides: A genus of “excavate” “protists” (both terms are polyphyletic, lol) that lack mitochondria… or even the genes for them.

Parakaryon myojinensis: The only complete incertae sedis, for which not even the domain is known. Has an odd mix of eukaryote and prokaryote-like features, leading to speculation that they represent a second incidence of endosymbiosis (aka Eukaryota 2.0). Also my blog’s namesake.

Collodictyon: Considered unclassifiable for a long time. Not really that weird in and of itself, tbh.

Kamera lens: Continuing the theme, this is an alga that has proven weirdly difficult to classify despite having been known for centuries (though it’s been narrowed down to the Ochrophyta). Its funny name makes it a pain to look up.

Jeongeupia sacculi: Recently-discovered multicellular(!) bacterium. Unlike everything else on here, it doesn’t have a Wikipedia page (yet).

Meteora sporadica: “Protist” which moves by rowing with a pair of arm-like appendages. Another difficult-to-classify organism, although a study from earlier this year suggests they are related to the Hemimastigophora.

Kakabekia barghoorniana: Apparent Paleoproterozoic living fossil that looks like an umbrella.

Magosphaera planula: A sphere which splits apart into amoeba-like cells, observed by Ernst Haeckel in 1869. Also possibly nonexistent / misidentified.

[seat-safety-switch]

A lot of people ask me: just how many foreign bearded ladies did your dad fuck when he was travelling the world, hoping for any circus that would take him? The answer seems to always be: “one more.” Thanksgiving is busy. My half-brother, Saito Safety-Switch, grew up in a deprived environment. His childhood was spent in opulent comfort, wanting for nothing… except what his genes demanded. His body and mind screamed out for a shitty American car, yet none were available to him in the xenophobic and closed-minded world of Japanese so-called “high society.”

One morning, he was riding his 24-speed race bicycle (affixed with homemade “HUFFY” and “BURGER KING” stickers) past a dingy three-car dealership, shoved into the corner of two pachinko parlours and a restaurant where you could make out with a girl pretending to be a train station ticket dispensing robot for ¥350/hr. That’s when he saw it.

Now, things were worse back then. We didn’t have the Hunter-Killers. The Japanese had not invented the New Atmospheric Miracle. Human nerves were slower than light speed. All he had was a lot of worthless fiat currency in search of Fiats. Or, as he found it, a Dodge Michigan.

The Dodge Michigan is a product of Chrysler Corporation becoming delaminated even more than usual during the Cocaine Era. They thought: Japanese people love front-wheel drive cars. They thought: Japanese people love foreign luxury cars. They thought: we should sell them a 1986 Dodge Aries with fancy tail lights. They were wrong.

It took several months for Saito to convince the shaken inspectors that it was even a real car, ultimately choosing to purchase the inspection corporation through a shell company and having the former executives forcibly uploaded to the Heavens.

Friends: the 2.2 litre iron block shit-stirrer sitting comfortably inside the Michigan as it left its depressing American hometown for the promised land of the Pacific Rim did not last long. “Inefficient,” the tax authorities claimed, and penalized Saito. Here’s the thing about being the adopted child of Japan’s richest bearded-lady fetishist: you’ve had enough “original” for your entire life. It came out. The 13B Mazda rotary from a Roadpacer went in. And just to stick it in Uncle Nippon’s eye, a couple turbochargers. American, of course, built in one of the last surviving sentient manufactories before the Exultation.

By the time the authorities had recovered from their database failure and machine-mind emotional cascade collapse, I was on the ground in Haneda to meet my step-bro for some extremely complicated coffee. I didn’t expect what I’d be getting picked up in.

Somehow, he’d managed to hire folks to Sawzall actual subway hanger straps from the Chicago e-line, complete with the internal structure to retain the rails. It was pasted from stem to stern with imported industrial grit, ground into the carbon fibre’s centimetre thick bass boat clear in lieu of mica flake. And the tires were wide enough, secured in tripled-up Trans Am (the series, not the model) box overfenders, that two members of the Highway Code committee resigned in protest rather than be pushed into making an exception for what Saito’s humourless and unpredictably violent lobby group described as “experimental aircraft.”

[powderblueblood]

GETTING TO KNOW YOUR EDDIE

— the 411 on the loser playboy of the midwestern world

Tagged by @jo-harrington & @deathbecomesthem who got this stunning prompt on the road, love this love youse

let’s talk MUNSON!

What story is he from? What kind of story is it (Fix-it fic, Older!Eddie, Rockstar!Eddie etc)? The Eddie darling that takes up prime real estate in my brain is of course Hellfire & Ice Eddie, which is a teen romantic-dramadey with sprinkles of crime capers on top. We meet him at 18 years of age, drug dealin’, Dungeon wheelin’, at the absolute top of his bottom of the food chain game. He’s all raw nerve and engine sputter, our consummate not ready for prime time player. He is brassy, ballsy, funny, terrified.

What inspired you to write this Eddie? Flight of Icarus, actually! It reignited my initial love for him by basically confirming what I had already known to be true—he’s a little bitch that’ll take any opportunity to be struck down lovesick and he’s doomed by his bloodline.

What are your favorite headcanons about him/share something you never shared in your story? Eddie runs on a full tank of defiance, just burning rubber against what’s expected of kids his age—but to zoom in? Eddie sometimes wonders what it would be like if he was different. Tried harder. Cut his hair, joined the basketball team, really pulled himself up by his bootstraps and divorced himself from his stain of a last name. Folded in and blended, made all the right moves. Why couldn’t I do that? he thinks, Just pretend. I’m good at making shit up. But that’s selling out. And Eddie Munson is no sell out—rap sheet or no, his life is his own.

What does he wear on a casual day? On a dressier day? What does he wear to bed? Casual day, it’s your cartoon character stock costume of insert band t-shirt here, ripped jeans there, doubled up battle vest and leather cut to top it all off. There might be a variant in jean shade but that’s it. He likes to stick to a look. The dressiest he’ll go (he does not own dressy clothes) is a black cable knit sweater, very old, with the thumb holes worried through the cuffs. To bed, preferably nothing, but boxers of absolutely necessary and a very old, ratty pair of flannel PJ bottoms and an old t-shirt or a faded sweatshirt of Wayne’s if it’s freezing.

Favorite foods? This FUCK loves a pizza with the most fuckass toppings. Anchovy, black olive, pepperoni, sweetcorn (for the vitamins!), pineapple (for the jizz thing!) all on the one pie. But he can cook, to an extent, and we unfortunately have to hand this to ex-line cook Al who taught him how to grill a cheese and make a bitchin’ spaghetti with honeyed tomato gravy and lots of oregano. Eddie also loves a snack he can gesticulate with, see: Twizzler, corn dog, ice pop. Bordering on phallic foods.

Tell Us About His Family/Friends: Immediately in the gene pool—Al, the absent and up-to-no-good father who somehow still has a knife in Eddie’s side and will twist it with the simple words, “C’mon, that’s my boy!” Wayne, uncle and father figure, silent but loving and the only real pillar Eddie could ever lean against, and he feels like such a burden for it sometimes. Elizabeth, mommy dearest and dead, canonised like a saint in Eddie’s mind, and might have been but also might not have been. The root of his love of music and his need to tell stories to survive. The found-by-the-hand-of fate family— Ronnie Ecker, the Stalter to his Waldorf, the Bonham to his Page, the only person he’d ever follow into battle because you wouldn’t think it but Ronnie, who is secretly rage akimbo, would accidentally lead that charge. He loves her like a sister, she loves him like a dog. Just kidding. Maybe. He wants to be Ronnie Ecker when he grows up. Granny Ecker comes as part of this deal, one of the people credited with whooping Eddie into shape. We don’t quite know what shape yet, it’s Picassoan in nature. Then, the extension again that is the great Corroded Coffin/Hellfire crossover event—Jeff, Cyrus, Dougie and Gareth. He’s not quite as close with the boys, but they’re good boys. They love and fear him, except for Cyrus who is a true enigma which pisses Eddie off because he’s supposed to be the fucking enigma here, dammit.

Yeah Yeah, he's a Metalhead. Tell Us MORE About His Taste in Music in your story: We are working off Flight of Icarus rules so he’s got a taste in the mouth for Howlin’ Wolf style blues, real down and dirty Detroit shit. He also loves a sleazeball, so enter Tom Waits and when he’s feeling REALLY sentimental, Leonard Cohen. Eddie loves to bite a thumb so he has some punk spinning too—Richard Hell, MC5, The Cramps, and reluctantly Iggy and the Stooges. They’re Al’s favourite so kind of tainted. Last but not least, I think that Johnny Cash’s Live From Folsom Prison album gets a lot of play. Particularly Cocaine Blues and Dark in the Dungeon, which he’s definitely incorporated into some campaign. He does NOT listen to CHICK MUSIC because he’s a loser boy (Wayne has a Linda Ronstadt record that makes him cry).

What are his views on romance? On sex? Eddie Munson falls in love fourteen times a day because at the be all and end all, he’s an artist and he’s sensitive as shit. Let’s get one thing straight—he can flirt to beat the band, once anyone gives him the time of day. Which they don’t. But in his mind? He’s a silver tongued Casanova. It’s just easier to use on people he hates. Once he has a crush, he has an obsession, even if he’s oftentimes too chickenshit to act on it. Cue pulling pigtails in the playground routine. He wants so badly to worship someone and be worshipped in return, okay, it’s reciprocal worshipping—give him mutual pathological obsession or give him DEATH. He wants to build a shrine, and will, to the right person. He’ll preoccupy his mind with every detail about them to the point where, yeah, it is borderline kind of stalkery but he’s still 18 years old. Speaking of, sex? Yeah, he’s done it. Badly. He’s like to do it again, goodly. He’d like to do it with someone that wasn’t treating it like an experiment, someone who’d let him slobber all over them and rut and keen and whine like the hound in heat he fucking feels like. He has no goddamn control! He experiences pleasure in a total headrush, never been able to stay cool and sexy and commanding a day in his life. He just wants, wants, wants and he burns so hot. Eddie wants so clumsily that it comes out at the most inappropriate times, like the nurse’s office after he gets his fist busted. He’s not some sex god, just some dick with an overeager cock. But he sure is willing to put in the work.

Is he optimistic or pessimistic? Pessimistic on the surface, the life is shit and then you die so might as well do some whippits poster boy but so so secretly, Eddie holds the tiniest flame of hope that someday, somehow, things will get better. At the very least easier. That he’ll grow into his bones somehow, or someone will help soothe him into them. That he’ll feel some kind of belonging. Because he does want that, really. Some soft place to land.

Where or with whom is he most comfortable? Those pockets of alchemy at Hellfire Club when he’s got a rapt audience. With Ronnie, sitting on the sagging couch outside his trailer. Playing chauffeur to a certain princess across-the-way.

What are his views of his future? What are his hopes/dreams? Pie in the sky? Cover of Circus with his cheeks out, duh. A Grammy or two, his own metal club, a published fantasy author, shit. He’s not askin’ for the world, here! But honestly, Eddie’s view of his future is 18 year old misanthropist bleak. He hasn’t even considered college as an option, not that he’d get there with his grades. He figures he might just start selling full time for Rick once (if) he graduates then hopefully have the good enough sense to take his money and split to Chicago or someplace. Might hit it lucky when he’s played in a couple more iterations of Corroded Coffin and con someone into letting him be a session guitarist—which wouldn’t be the cover of Circus, but would still be a huge deal! But as much as an ego game as he likes to talk, he’s got this terrible, looming feeling that he’ll never leave Hawkins alive.

What do you imagine his future looks like? (If your story is incomplete or if this would be a spoiler you're not willing to share, you can skip this question.) I’ll give you a couple details, because I am writing a sequel about this. Picture a brief stint in Indianapolis. Meaner, grizzlier, bartender-ier, going on a decade of heartbreak, performing at his sexual best but nearing burnout and about to turn 30 with some side dealings at home that are edging out of the side and into the forefront. Heavy is the hand that wears the ring. You look so much like your father!

Anything else you'd like us to know about your Eddie/your story? He is so full of love and piss and vinegar. He is going to end up cherished. Like, violently so.

Optional Vulnerable Question: Why do you write fics for Eddie Munson? I love a tragedy touched smartass who folds at the first sign of affection. I want to nourish him and eat him up like the witch from Hansel and Gretel. Or have Lacy do it for me, whatever.

tagging: YOU. READING THIS. Not KIDDING IF YOURE READING THIS GET TO WORK

[gonedreaminggg]

This post is relating to the thoughts that @laurencezvahlslefteyebrow, @xerith-42 and I have been discussing. Somehow the brain rot has progressed to me completely losing my shit.

okayokayokay

We were talking about what would happen to Shadow Knights if Shad were defeated and he died. And I have sososo many thoughts.

But this ones a bit hard to explain.

Shad's presence is necessary for Shadow Knights to exist. His being is what keeps them in motion, so in turn, you'd think the Shadow Knights would die once Shad does.

I know @xerith-42 was thinking the difference would be between Premature SKs and Full ones. However, I think it's more dependent on how the SK was formed.

I think Shad's control is necessary for undead shadow knights. His spirit has to be around for Undead SKs to be "alive," seeing as he literally has to revive them. If Shad dies; and his spirit is gone, the undead shadow knights finally get to pass on. I think it would be more of a relief, even to those like Gene. Especially to those like Gene. He barely has any autonomy left, so once Shad is gone, he can finally think for himself, even if it's in some world beyond.

This is all different for transformed/living SKs. They are still alive, and still have life energy. Shad is only a part of them, not their entire being. So, once Shad is gone, they aren't shadow knights anymore. However, they aren't human. They are... something else. Something more empty. To be transformed, something is ripped from their soul, and replaced with something from Shad. So, when Shad is gone, that part of them is gone, and it's not replaced with anything.

So, Living SKs survive once Shad is gone, but they almost transform into something else. Something we haven't seen before. I'm not sure what that is yet. I really want opinions on what this would look like, especially in Laurance.

Council, your thoughts?

[originalcharactersexyman]

I present my creature;

"The Sickened"

(they/it/he)

It lived peacefully in a small village, when some wretched day they became infected by a misterious illness.

Their genes changed, rapidly mutating them into a corvid hybrid. Feathers emerged from all over its body, irritating the skin, sharp talons having replaced what once were hands and feet. Its skin, sickly and cold contrasts the deep black plumage, wich glimmers misteriously with blue and green shine.

Fearfull of the creature he had now become, the villagers banished him, beliveing his ailment to be a curse from the gods. Stories of this "murderous creature" spread like wildfires. Nowadays the sickened is only met with hostility and ignorance.

Rejected from society, he wonders the outskirts of villages, but preffers the comfort it finds in the woods. They find company in crows and magpies, scavenging what they may need.

The sickened is kind of heart, honest and caring, despite their past. He was an outsider and socially inept, perhaps that scared the other villagers, perhaps that is the reason they reject him, him? who is he?

It doesnt know, it lost itself long ago, memories twisted and obscured, like roots at the bottom of a pond. Without a sense of self, not even a name to call its own.

It is the monster the villagers fear. They are the friend the ravens hold dear. He is the child that illness must beare.

They are weak, often infected and fatigued. They suffer from mental ailments that are not yet known to scholars. Disabled. But, somehow, they continue fighting, and surviving.

If it is threatened it will use its claws as knives, with agile movements and a unnatural form, similar to martial arts. Cuts and wounds inflicted with its talons often get infected and bleed profusely, making them very dangerous. Ocassionally, it may call for the crows, who will help stun the atacker. The sickened quickly loses stamina and might faint, so they rely on adrenaline to get away from danger. They are very weak and thus will dodge all atacks if possible.

Perhaps, someday, somehow, someway, the sickened might find the empathy, love, and care he so desperately cant attain.

This is my OC, i tryed to explain the lore, i apollogize for the very long text, i feel every word is important and cant make it shorter :")

I hope they are good enough. Thank you for making this cool tournament!

THEY ARE IN!

seats taken: 18/24

[goddamnwebcomics]

Hoo boy, lots to unpack here.

Let’s start with the designs, because that’s the easiest one. As a furry myself, I can confirm that yes, they are in fact ugly. It’s something about the eyes and the MASSIVE teeth that turns me off, but I honestly wonder at points if they are meant to be ugly. Duran is depicted as overweight with a small penis, how is that meant to be appealing? Or hell, just look at Django, who can find a character like that attractive? The characters from Roommates had more sex appeal than this!

Now, the whole situation with Misty. It’s frustrating. I love the topic of escapism, “character revels in their new transformation” is one of my favorite tropes in fiction for that reason. I can even tolerate this page fine, the feeling of wanting to get lost in the fantasy without assessing the consequences first, regardless of how cringe the actual execution may be. I can even forgive this being out-of-character for them, the comic does give a sufficiently good explanation for it.

But no, it sucks. This is not a character arc, it’s just another excuse to shit on capitalism. It’s “housing market” again with a fresh coat of paint. Or is this meant to be an allegory for suicide? Throwing everything you care about away just to escape the pain? That’d make it really uncomfortable if Misty actually does end up turning into a werewolf.

But this takes me to the last thing I wanted to mention: you mentioned that this comic can’t juggle genres, but I’d take it further: this comic can’t tell a story. Now that we’re on the last chapter, what even is the general plot to this comic? Is it about a man learning to deal with being a werewolf? Is it about surviving in a cyberpunk dystopia? Is it about fighting Django? The comic just seems to drop all semblance of conflict just to introduce new ones, and it feels like it’s constantly moving the goalposts ahead. It gets tiring fast.

Hell, I’d argue if this was a full-on porn comic, it’d be better. It wouldn’t make me dislike B.B. for turning Duran into a werewolf because I wouldn’t be supposed to empathize with her. I wouldn’t mind Misty wanting to be a werewolf, since they wouldn’t get as much character development. It’d even excuse the lack of plot.

As-is, do I hate this more than Carry On? No, I think I’ll stand by what I said a week or so ago. The things this comic depicts may be worse (thank you for the censor bars), but at least this comic is fairly brief. At least this comic isn’t trying to make me laugh every single page with its shitty boomer-tier comedy. At least this comic has a plot, bad as it may be, instead of endless meandering (check back with me on this when we finally get to the Rackenroon arc).

Oh also, as a BlueSky user myself, I’m happy that the site got enough attention that even you are making jokes about it.

Yeah you hit the nail on the head with a lot of points buddy. Misty’s arc really isn’t as much of an arc as it is a vent.

As for your claims this comic can’t tell a story? I used to think the opposite but now I agree with that, yet while this comic doesn’t really have a general plot, I also don’t think it’s incompetent. It actually might be the opposite case from a lot of other comics I have riffed. Like Gene Catlow and Dominic Deegan both have a plot but they take agonizing amount of detours. Ask the Werewolves never takes detours but I didn’t really notice it because there is no general plot. It isn’t as bad as Console Girl though, not only it doesn’t have a general plot, it somehow STILL manages to take detours!

If this were a porn comic, yeah I can see why it could be better. I am kind of glad the porn comic aspect got dropped early on though, because last thing we need are Warmage-style “put the plot on hold to have a sex scene” moments.

Also, I didn’t even notice the problem of teeth before, even if they are extremely noticeable. Maybe it’s because it seems to be a post-2010′s thing to give some furry sonas massive teeth. I genuinely think the teeth might be the worst part about the design,

[chickenpeep77kirbyau]

Fecto Elfilis

Elfilin's natural species, Idrelian, lives in a high magic world and fly around with levitation. This allows the males of the species to have absurdly big and fancy display features, since weight isn't as much of an issue. The females (lower left) are more plain, with smaller ears, lack of horns and side of face structures, and reduced caruncles, along with lack of neck floof and a more faded belly marking. Since it wouldn't be good for a species to laser blast rivals to death constantly(too risky for both combatants), the males settle for display features and posturing to compete with each other.

I believe Facto Forgo is some version of a zeroid ish lifeform. Elfilin/Elfilis(?) (Was that even his original name?) seeked power and made an alliance with it, increasing his power. This life form fused with Elfilin. Its then wanting to consume everything leads me to believe that its method of power increase is similar to Marx's, using absorbed energy to stabilize and increase magic amount pulled in from micro rifts. Their journey began a relatively short time ago, and, coming from a low tech planet, he saw a low magic planet and assumed it would be an easy first conquest, but did not yet understand the power of advanced technology. How else would you explain how the Forgotten Land civilization was able to capture it at their apparent technological level? ("Ultimate Life Form". "The Great One". Lmao settle down buddy you're nothing in the grand scheme of things.) If not stopped, they presumably would have eventually returned to the Idrelian home world and absorbed them all after it became strong enough to fight them all.

Forgotten Land's civilization (It's Earth, but a parallel universe version of it), due to the nature of magic and their low to none magic world, are unable to actually learn its worm hole magic, but by studying its effects, are eventually able to duplicate it with technology. This time at Lab Discovera fractured his mind, resulting in the separation of Elfilin and Fecto Forgo/April I I'd old self. Elfilin manifested as a form resembling a juvenile Idrelian(ears are on the big side for his apparent age). Fecto Forgo is unable to remain stable for long without a host soul and began reverting to its base physical form. They put it in stasis somehow. Idk. At their technological level and not knowing much about magic I'm not sure how they figured it out. Or maybe in my au it was just a blob in the tank. They believed the wormholes could take them to higher realms, so they all left for this supposed realm. Where they went and what happened to them is unknown. Elfilin had a hard time after his magic ran out(no Forgo so no magic generation), so its a miracle he survived. Luckily the cities were pretty safe and well stocked with food.

The Forgotten Lands world actually fluctuates in magic amount over time, and if the civilization had waited a while longer, they would have seen the reoccurrence of a higher magic period. Many lifeforms were able to rapidly readapt due to old hidden genes reactivated(there's a scientific term for the reactivation of old ancestral genes but I don't remember what it is). Elfilin was able to levitate again. He has kept some of the abilities he had during his time possessed by Forgo. Also that spear is still around.

Forgo escapes into a pocket dimension. It seems to have features of both physical reality and mind reality. Its also technically part of Forgo, as a semi physical manifestation of Forgo's mind. It is spreading out Leongar's soul to make him a suitable host. Kirby stops that. Forgo, in a weakened state, is predated upon by a type of soul absorbing entity. It tries to carry out Forgo's last wish to destroy Kirby. Its defeated, allowing Forgo to turn the tables on who's absorbing who and reassert control, becoming Chaos Elfilis. Kirby wins again, and Forgo is destroyed once and for all.

I'm thinking after he reunited with the small portion of his old self that wanted forgiveness, he started growing again, in age and in power as he ages. Maybe he can relocate his home world, though how would they react to this child so advanced in skill at his apparent age?

He can still GET you