#Scientific experimentation

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt 1

Edited 12/25/23 ~~ Here's Part Two ~~

Part Three Part Four

I devoured the Damian Wayne and Danny Fenton are Twins tags and had to make something of my own to add. This is my first fanfic I've decided to post. I'm much more familiar with the DP side of things but I gave it my best shot. Hope this brings joy anyway. If I decide to post this on A03 I will have it beta'd since I made this in like four parts and then wove them together so the flow may not always be there whoopps.. but for now I just wanted to share this with all you!

TW/CW: Medical experimentation and trauma, parental abuse/neglect, wound description, blood-ectoplasm and human, death (it's danny, he's the culprit lol will apply to Jason too if I add to this), body horror (to be safe), PTSD and flashbacks, childhood trauma and abuse, dehumanization

If I missed a tag/warning please let me know! I've never been an extensive tagger so i tried real hard to get everything, but I am human and could've missed something. Much love, stay safe.

~Ren

He had to keep moving. He could still hear their screams of rage ringing in his ears. Faster, he had to be faster. His blind panic had created an opportunity, a sliver of hope Danyal was determined to twist to his advantage. He was limping forward on uncertain legs. His vision swayed with the movement, and he fought to keep upright. His chest was on fire, Danny pressed his hands tightly to the wound there in a desperate attempt to keep his organs from spilling out like confetti. He kept his arms tucked close and rounded his shoulders to try and keep his torso still while he moved quickly through the empty streets of his once home. His chest was by far injured the worst, but he had paid no mind to the others. If he dared to stop, he would fully die.

Even in his human form, Danny just knows he's leaving a glowing blood trail behind him, the ectoplasm burning into the ground behind him. Whatever side of his transformation his body was currently showing it didn't matter, he was simultaneously both, always. The trail was evidence he transformed due to necessity, he became so durable after dying that it took a lot to hurt him. Danny risked a glance down and paled further. The green he spilled as Phantom mixed with red. A fucked up corrosive bread trail right to him. He was sure he truly was in deep shit. He just had to get to his go bag. Over time with his parent's inventions getting more dangerous the more Danny had to think about putting into motion The Great Escape.

Anything important he had always kept hidden, but Danny had taken everything out of his room once he had died the second time, and Danny was grateful for the convenience to be able to phase things into walls, floors, ceilings. It made his things pretty secure; no human could find it and any ghost that came through was too focused on their obsession or fighting him to go on a treasure hunt for his hidden things.

Danny's willful ignorance of his body as he stumbles farther from FentonWorks doesn’t stop the slight burn of his ectoplasm against the edges of his wounds and the tatters of his hazmat suit pulling on the scabbing blood or the smell. Ancients the smell. It’s rancid, he hasn’t been able to cycle it properly without his normal supply of fresh ectoplasm from the Zone. Only provided in small bursts when his parents wanted to see how his body healed with and without ectoplasm. He can feel the whispers of his terror, anger, grief that’s flowing through his blood.

He had been overconfident way back when he had threatened Vlad with exposing his secret. He had thought they'd love him despite having kept his halfa status from them, he hadn't been prepared for the distrust, the hatred, the way they moved farther and farther from thought out experiments to revenge. Danny knows Maddie and Jack still see him as the quiet, shaken child so desperate to be good, craving acceptance by the eccentric family that took him in when they look at him. If Danny had to guess they had been so blinded in their rage to even realized it was their machine, their failure that made him this way. Now they really did want him dead.

He’s whole somehow, despite their best effort, he just needs time. Ancients, He’s not exactly the monster they pictured, but He's not human... He’s whole.

The thought tastes bitter and Danny strangles it before it can expand. He must be focused. Taking a measured breath Danny turns down a familiar alley, he goes intangible with a slight twinge in his core, slipping into the bathroom of Nasty Burger. He’s done this so many times the familiar path brings comfort, reassurance. Like maybe things will start to turn for the better. Making his way over to the stall Danny debated whether it was worth climbing the toilet or floating up there. No, it was better to grit his teeth and bare it. There were only three containers of ectoplasm in his bag, he needed to preserve what strength he had. He would soon have no way to access the Zone for a refill.

Danny took one hand and placed it on the wall before careful stepping up. Lifting his leg had sent waves of pain across his nerves but with a grunt he leveraged himself up. His vision went black at the edges, he was dizzy, and bile clawed at the back of his throat. Danny took a few breaths, while he might not need to breathe, he’s been human longer than not, and well.. he’s only half ghost so the habit carried over to when he's Phantom. Danny was immensely grateful for his time in the League, the training was brutal, he still has nightmares about dying the first time but.. he did learn how to survive in situations that if he was truly a Fenton, would've killed him many times over. As Danny was Danyal Al Ghul Fenton, he always had back up plans. His Mother had been heavy handed with those lessons.

It was painful to think about Talia. She had been Grandfather’s favored child and the weight of his expectations of his grandsons was enforced by her. Lessons or punishment, very rarely praise was given to Danny by his Mother's hand. Each milestone was meticulously observed and reported back, doubly so for their failures. Tiny bodies with too big of weapons, green and blue eyes, a face mirroring his own but twisted in determination, competition. His older brother, his twin. They were inseparable, until they weren't.

Danny's core throbs in his chest, he wanted to shy away from the thought, yet the inconsolable part of him screams at the injustice of being the only one to escape their Grandfather. If only Danny could've proven himself, perhaps his brother would've had a chance to leave in his stead, but Danny knows just how much he was lacking in comparison to his brother, and it was their skill, or lack thereof in Danny's case, that sealed their fates. Danny was able to avoid Ra's overseeing eyes when they moved off the failure of a Spare and homed in on his true Heir. The grandson who took to their lessons like a duck in water. Deathly beautiful, Danny used to think as he watched his brother dance and fly through his training. Talia couldn't defy Ra's orders but if she just.. misplaced.. the Spare that was abandoned, well, no one has come for him yet.

Danny knows she loved him, somewhere hidden, deep inside his Grandfather's perfect pet assassin. She loved him enough to send him away when it became clear Ra’s saw no need in the Spare that was no longer needed, she had loved him when she had beaten him and left mortal wounds-their only chance to fool Grandfather, she loved him when she had given him his packed bag and left him outside that orphanage in Chicago with lazarus water raging in his veins, and she loved him when she told him to forget.

Forget about the League her and his brother, his family.

With brief tight squeeze to his small shoulder her she told him if he was in danger to find Bruce Wayne and then Talia Al Ghul was gone and Danyal-just Danyal now- was left truly on his own for the first time ever.

Danny was definitely in danger now; his situation was grave and despite everything the pun brought a small smile to his face. He couldn’t go back home to the Fenton's. He tries to forget how he froze in his surprise when he realized his parents didn’t take his reveal as Phantom as well as they had let on. They had smiled and stalled until they had found a way to contain him. By then it was too late, he had gotten too complacent in his run on a normal life.

Only after Ancients knows how long he had been resisting, pleading, screaming-I’m still Danny, it hurts mom please, I’m still me, Dad I’m alive- did Maddie find his core. Too tired to move it away from her gaze any longer and when her fingers brushed it the wave of mind-numbing terror exploded out of him. Something must've been on her gloves because his core burned. It ripped a wail from his throat while he writhed on the table. Ice responded like it never was taken from him by the anti-ghost restraints.

Danny could still distantly feel the ghostly ice that had trapped them in place and shattered his restraints under the pressure the frozen water bursting into existence. Even trapped in his ghost ice they were steadily working on getting out and would be on the hunt for him again soon. He wouldn't allow them to catch him again.

The mere idea they’d be on their way already spurred Danny back into action. Slipping his hand into the wall he grabbed the strap and pulled his bag out, careful to keep it weightless, and slid off the toilet and back down to the floor. He hasn't seen his dagger in months, it hurt too much to practice without Dami, his other half. Here it is though, innocently tied to his bag and his gaze traced it lovingly, before searching inside the biggest pocket for his first aid kit. He didn't have time for stiches, so he reaches for the butterfly bandages and starts to pull the skin together before securing it. It's really the first proper look he gets, it's... unsettling at the very least, horrifying, to see a wound reserved for autopsies on his chest.

The Y incision is inflamed and still bleeding so he carefully follows its path until he's done. Grabbing gauze, he starts to reinforce pad, wrapping a roll of bandages around to hold everything in place. Danny bites his lip and thinks for a moment, he will need stitches, he's been wounded enough in this half-life to know that. The likelihood for his work to stay in place while he flies is less than he'd like. Making a decision and with a mental shrug he takes an ectoshot from the smaller pocket and stabbed it into his thigh before pressing the depressor. Pure energy zapped through his system hard, angerly surges to settle in his chest. Feeling a bit better but more.. wired Danny takes a second to calm. Steeling himself he tries to nudge his core, it responds in a weak pulse.

Danny's body protests, he can feel his muscles shred and reform, his bones twist like taffy, his organs melt together before settling to form his ectobody. It's all over in a flash of bright light, yet the pain felt endless. Overwhelming in its intensity but gone just as quickly as it came leaving Danny sweaty and panting. Transforming injured was tricky, he had to carefully picture where the bandages were, so he didn't lose all his hard work.

Confusion settled as a fog, clinging to his thoughts, making them murky. His hands were covered in blood, his body hurt, and he couldn't quite remember why, there was a siren coming closer. Everything in him screamed to run, to escape, but his hunters were too close now, freed from his ice to kill him fully. On instinct Danny's nails grew to claws, ripping into space to create a portal. He was weak, always had been, but he was good at running, hiding away in the shadows. Ghost was once a name of his, a proud title, not just what he is now.

Just as the doors burst open in a teal and orange blur Danny dove into the swirling green and hoped Clockwork was watching so at least someone knew things had exploded here in Amity. He hasn't needed to be on his own like this since after Jazz first saw him and demanded that her parents bring Danny home with them. He misses her now as the path out of Nasty Burger closes behind him. Danny's falling, dropping towards the ground too fast for eyes to track but his impact had definitely shaken the room. With a pained whine and a flash Danny was back to being human again, his landing had pulled at whatever scab was able to form in the twentyish minutes it took him to drag himself away from the basement. Danny was going to be sick, the sticky cool liquid that had his clothes clinging to him, was going to be very alarming when he finally could give himself a proper once over. He could feel the new bruises as he tried to roll off the pallets he had crushed.

"Oh! Someone decided to drop by! " A man called out with glee as he sauntered in his direction. "Shall we see who our special guest is?" Danny could feel the rotten soul as he got closer. Too close. Forgoing moving Danny tensed in anticipation. He was hurt, yes, but he would go down fighting. He could do that much to make his brother proud, even if he never realized Danny lived to 15 not 5. Before he could uncurl to swing at the man there was the soft sound of fabric rustling and a blade being drawn. Curling tighter Danny hoped he had enough juice to go intangible.

"You will not reach your goal Joker; Do you not get sick of trying?" The voice was smooth, deeper than he remembered but it's been 10 years, it's understandable that puberty changed his brother's voice. Danny would recognize it anywhere. Danny jinxed himself, somehow. How he ended up in the same room as the brother he hadn't seen in a decade, Danny wasn't sure. He was terrified though. Where Damian was the League and their Grandfather wasn't far behind. Damian had carefully hidden away his care as a child but would shower Danny in it in the darkness of their room. After years apart and Grandfather's continued influence Danny was uncertain how much of Damian truly remained.

There was a burst of noise, of movement and a struggle then silence covered the room. Danny's hands were shaking. "Nightwing, first aid is required inside, bring the kit." His brother paused, "No, a civilian, a metahuman if his unusually colored blood is to be taken into account."

Danny could feel his brother's scrutiny, his gaze held weight as it scanned over his collapsed form, he tried to curl more but a hand brushing his shoulder had Danny screaming and scrambling away.

Damian's hands twitched at his side, an aborted motion to draw his sword. He seemed to pause then they flew up empty, placating- it didn't bring Danny any comfort.

An assassin's greatest tool was always their hands. Green eyes tracked him, narrowing at the way Danny was shrinking into the shadows. Dread swam down his spine to settle hard in his gut. Of all the ways to meet his brother again, it had to be when he was dying, for a third time. Danny reached blindly for whatever was next to him to pull himself up, his knees wobbled precariously but he would be standing for this. He had to be. Black spots were now in his vision, but he forced a smirk onto his face. Danny was sure he was a sight to see, torn clothes, skin riddled with bruises, green and red blood splattered all over like a kindergartener's messy painting of Christmas, limp dirty hair.

Danny knows Damian is assessing him, taking in what he can see in front of him to efficiently deal with it as they were trained to do. potential strengths and weaknesses. Behind both the domino mask and his calm exterior Damian is taking in a snapshot. Danny wonders what he sees, if his brother recognizes the boy he’s grown into, Danny’s core thrums wildly and he tries not to fidget. The slight frown that pulls at Damian’s mouth means he caught the aborted motion.

"Damn, green, yellow and red... You look like a traffic light!" He gets one giggle in before he chokes on it. Danny can't breathe. His brother had gone deathly still when Danny spoke. He could see the war of emotions fighting through his brother, suspicion was quickly doused with rage. "How dare she." The Arabic was an unexpected comfort, but Danny felt confusion at the words. He's severely out of practice, he thought he understood but doubt settled in. He wasn't sure.

Damian had always stood firm next to him in the League, calm, driven and decisive, the perfect heir for their Grandfather. He was always warm to Danny though, would allow traces of his true feelings to be visible when Damian would inevitably catch Danny sneaking out of his bed to stargaze. Danny would get scolded, every time. Grandfather would punish him harshly for such indulgences, he knew it. Attachments were weaknesses and Grandfather would not grow weakness in the League, in his heirs. Danny may be weak and the Spare but he was smart. He knows what the looks of distaste meant from his Grandfather. He knew how his failures would catch up to him and how Grandfather disapproved of his influence on Damian. Yet Danny kept going back, hiding in the shadows to gaze at the stars and wait for his brother to come find him.

Danny had braced for Damian to be mad when he realizes Danny didn’t truly die that day and has stayed away from his brother, but Danny couldn’t have expected this.

Pure hatred lights up in Damian’s eyes when he finally realizes what is in front of him. It's Danny’s undoing. Everything else that has happened seemed like a cakewalk compared to being rejected by the person who had always understood him most. Ghosts are the manifestation of their emotions. Frostbite had explained once how injuries can manifest in a ghost's form on their own. Emotional pain could make them unravel down to their cores, until even that disappeared.

For Danny, there was uncertainty, halfas were so rare that there wasn’t much off hand knowledge, but Danny has always known from the second he died. There was no separation between his human and ghost halves. He just was. What fancy wrapping he showed off hardly mattered. Things bleed so easily between them, Danny Fenton and Phantom.

"I'll kill her painfully for this, but you abomination it will be swift." Damian has balanced on his toes, ready for a quick burst of speed. His sword now clenched so tightly in his hands it almost shakes.

An abomination the words looped through Danny's mind. The wounded sob that came forth when he opened his mouth to reply was unexpected. Danny took halting steps back from his twin. The hitching breath brought his attention back to his chest. This wasn't how Danny had pictured this moment, all those years of stolen daydreams. His core felt wrong in his chest. He felt cold, cold and brittle but his chest was on fire-and wet. The surgical cut seeping like its minutes fresh, this was by far Danny’s worst idea, to believe to ever hope, his brother would ever keep a monster by his side Danny was a fool to hope even for a moment-hands hands reaching for him to bring him back, grabbing his arm-

“No! I don't know! No please” Danny gasps as he flails weakly “I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

Damian hesitates again, before his resolve firms, "Danyal-" His name cracks over his brother's tongue. Danny isn't aware enough to unpack the way his brother's face twists in heartbreak the longer he watches Danny bleed. A warm body comes up behind him, blocking him in, he’s crying now, a weakness that he never could smother. "No!" Danny avoids his gaze scrambling to grip onto whatever fabric is in his hands. Danny wants the moment to last but he knows what’s coming. Damian won’t protect him now. His older brother had been steadfast by his side in their childhood, but now… now maybe it was better he’s bleeding out.

Danny vaguely registered the man behind him cutting off his shirt, kit at the ready besides him. Pressure on his wound forces a long high whine from his throat. He wants to shove it away, his hand swatting at it but he missed, and it thuds uselessly on the ground. He doesn't have the energy to try again.

The shock of a hot hand against his face brings everything into abrupt focus. Danny flinches but can’t move, the body unyielding behind him. He sees the room is covered in his frost and ice. Batman and Red Robin are farther back, their feet trapped in the ghostly ice, they had things in hand to try and hack away at the ice trapping them in place.

“Danyal” The pain in his twin's voice has him turning in that direction; his brother was there. For how well they could read each other in childhood Danny had no clue what his brother was thinking now. His twice dead brother, back to only die again at his feet. “Are you destabilizing? Why were you sent here? What does Mother want?”

“What?” Danny can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, even if it hurts, it seems his ice kept his organs in place while he tumbled through his hastily made portal. He must've lost consciousness at some point though; his ice seems to have melted to leaving him fully exposed. “That bitch- She has nothing to do with this- wait. You think-” Danny laughs even harder until he can’t breathe and he’s hacking and spitting up more ectoplasm. He’s pulled more fully against the warm body behind him, his head lulls-oh it’s Nightwing, the blatant concern radiating from the man stings Danny’s eyes and a few tears scatter down his face.

“I’m not a clone Dami, I didn’t even know you weren’t with the League anymore." Danny's speech slurs more the harder he tries to piece sentences together, "I'm sorry I don't know how I ended up here.” Danny is growing quieter the longer he talks- can feel his life draining onto the floor and there’s panic in the air now, Batman had sprung up next to Damian's side. Seemed to say something to Damian before he retreated slightly. Batman was hovering ready to interfere but unsure in what actions needed to take place.

Damian is staring at him intently, looking to match his scars to the one's he remembers. He taps his fingers insistently on Danny's cheek and Danny doesn't fight looking back at him. The fingers linger against the scar hidden behind his hair next to his ear, traces the edges. Damian was the one to give it to him, a training error. He had looked at Danny similarly to how he was now. Fear, regret, panic. Words are being said, they blend together, warp, so Danny just hums in response. Everything is more distant now. Danny's own fear floating out of reach. He knows death intimately, he's not afraid to greet her a third time.

The words became frantic as he struggles to stay awake, and someone was talking again. “-ood to see you though- no tss okay no pain.. mma be cold soon-" Oh. That's Danny. The face he has ached to see for years fills his vision. The shade of green he could never replace. Danny was picked up and hustled out a door into the by Nightwing while a harsh discussion flew over his head. They were in some sort of vehicle now, the door shutting causes silence to blanket the group. His head is in Damian's lap, and it takes a second, but Danny realizes Damian is carting his fingers through his greasy hair. His other hand was holding Danny's, playing with his fingers like he did as children. Danny's vision fills with tears and spills down his face.

"Danyal? Can you hear me?" Damian calls his attention softly, his sweet, sweet brother tries to keep the concern out of his voice, off his face. Once he sees Danny focus on him a trembling smile makes its home on Damian's face. His domino mask is gone, Danny drinks in the unobscured view of his brother. "We'll be back to the Cave shortly, Alfred will attend to you, then you're going to tell me exactly how this happened so I can make sure it never does again." Danny can tell Damian is scared, the minute tremble in his petting only confirmed it. Danny let a smile tug at his lips too, "It's gonna be okay Dami" Danny slurred, he hears Damian insisting they were almost home.

Home with Damian. That was a fool's dream, just out of reach. Danny never indulged in the idea; he wouldn't put Dami in danger by reappearing. But- Danny was with him now, a twitch of his fingers against Damian's proves it. Danny went limp as the Batmobile skidded into the Cave, Damian was a silent statue watching Alfred take his brother away from him. Batman saddled up next to him- Damian should shower and change, whatever it was that changed his brother was making his skin itch- but he couldn't move. His baby brother was in there, dying, again.

"Damian, chum... what was all that?" Damian ignores his eyes itching as tears built, he clears his throat to report- reporting was vital with their nighttime activities, Father needed information to help Danny. He couldn't take his eyes of the little glowing red 'In Use' sign above the surgery door though.

Damian cuts a glance at the man next to him, more Bat than Father at the moment. "Once Danyal is stable, I will give you an explanation Father."

~~~~

I thought of a name, added it to the tags, I'll add a link to the next post if I write one, will tag future posts with 'Keeping It Close To The Chest' as well

much love

~Ren

[sachyriel]

gentlemen we stand on the edge of science itself

Sloppy joes at 7:20 am, a night of drinking and then some

We have a few breaded chicken patties. This one was selected for the test.

Load it with sloppy Joe sauce

Our scientific payload is readied with crispy onions.

[blueheartbookclub]

"Duality of Human Nature: A Review of 'The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' by Robert Louis Stevenson"

Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is a timeless classic that delves into the depths of human psychology, exploring the dualities that exist within each individual. Set against the atmospheric backdrop of Victorian London, Stevenson's novella follows the story of Dr. Henry Jekyll, a respected scientist, and his mysterious alter ego, Mr. Edward Hyde. Through the eyes of Mr. Utterson, Jekyll's friend and lawyer, readers are drawn into a tale of suspense, intrigue, and moral ambiguity that continues to captivate audiences over a century after its initial publication.

At the heart of the novella lies the exploration of the duality of human nature—the eternal struggle between good and evil, virtue and vice. Stevenson masterfully depicts Dr. Jekyll's internal conflict as he grapples with the darker aspects of his personality that are embodied by Mr. Hyde. Through Jekyll's scientific experiments and subsequent transformation into Hyde, Stevenson raises profound questions about the nature of identity, morality, and the consequences of unchecked desires. The novella serves as a cautionary tale, warning readers of the dangers of suppressing one's true self and the potential consequences of yielding to temptation.

One of the most striking aspects of "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is Stevenson's skillful use of atmosphere and setting to create a sense of foreboding and unease. The fog-shrouded streets of London, the dimly lit alleys, and the eerie silence of the city at night serve as the perfect backdrop for the unfolding mystery. Stevenson's vivid descriptions evoke a palpable sense of dread, drawing readers into a world where danger lurks around every corner and the boundaries between reality and nightmare blur.

Moreover, the novella is populated by a cast of memorable characters, each representing different facets of human nature. From the upright and respectable Dr. Jekyll to the sinister and malevolent Mr. Hyde, Stevenson's characters are complex and multidimensional, reflecting the inherent contradictions and complexities of the human psyche. Through their interactions, Stevenson explores themes of morality, guilt, and the consequences of sin, inviting readers to confront their own capacity for darkness and self-deception.

As the plot unfolds, Stevenson masterfully builds suspense, leading readers on a journey of discovery as they uncover the truth behind Dr. Jekyll's transformation into Mr. Hyde. With each revelation, the tension mounts, culminating in a shocking climax that leaves readers breathless and questioning the nature of humanity itself. "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is a masterpiece of psychological horror that continues to resonate with readers today, reminding us of the eternal struggle between light and darkness that exists within us all.

Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 17.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 97

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[crashingaward]

Review: Poor Things

Emma Stone was spectacular in Poor Things. I'm glad she won the Oscar for Best Actress.

My review of the movie...

Poor Things is a captivating dark comedy directed by the talented filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos. Set in Victorian-era Scotland, the film offers a twisted and whimsical tale of love, identity, and scientific experimentation, based on the novel by Alasdair Gray.

At the heart of Poor Things is a standout performance by Emma Stone, who shines as Bella Baxter, a young woman brought back to life through a bizarre experiment conducted by the eccentric Dr. Archibald "Archie" McCandless, played with delightful eccentricity by Mark Ruffalo. Stone's portrayal of Bella is both charming and chilling, capturing the character's complex journey from victim to master manipulator with aplomb.

Lanthimos' direction infuses Poor Things with his trademark blend of dark humor and surrealism, creating a uniquely off-kilter atmosphere that keeps viewers on their toes. From the quirky dialogue to the absurd situations Bella finds herself in, every moment is imbued with a sense of absurdity and unpredictability that is as entertaining as it is thought-provoking.

The supporting cast, including Willem Dafoe as the enigmatic Dr. Godwin Baxter and Margaret Qualley as the cunning Lydia, deliver strong performances that complement Stone's central role. Their interactions with Bella add depth and intrigue to the storyline, as alliances shift and secrets are revealed.

What sets Poor Things apart is its biting social commentary and exploration of themes such as power, agency, and the nature of humanity. Through Bella's journey, the film raises provocative questions about autonomy, consent, and the ethics of scientific advancement, challenging viewers to confront their own assumptions and beliefs.

The production design and cinematography in Poor Things are stunning, transporting viewers to the atmospheric streets of Victorian Scotland with immersive detail and authenticity. From opulent mansions to fog-shrouded alleyways, each setting is meticulously crafted to enhance the film's darkly comedic tone and macabre aesthetic.

Overall, Poor Things is a wickedly entertaining and thought-provoking film that pushes the boundaries of genre and storytelling. With its stellar performances, inventive direction, and biting wit, it's a must-watch for fans of dark comedy and unconventional cinema.

[blueheartbooks]

"Duality of Human Nature: A Review of 'The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' by Robert Louis Stevenson"

Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is a timeless classic that delves into the depths of human psychology, exploring the dualities that exist within each individual. Set against the atmospheric backdrop of Victorian London, Stevenson's novella follows the story of Dr. Henry Jekyll, a respected scientist, and his mysterious alter ego, Mr. Edward Hyde. Through the eyes of Mr. Utterson, Jekyll's friend and lawyer, readers are drawn into a tale of suspense, intrigue, and moral ambiguity that continues to captivate audiences over a century after its initial publication.

At the heart of the novella lies the exploration of the duality of human nature—the eternal struggle between good and evil, virtue and vice. Stevenson masterfully depicts Dr. Jekyll's internal conflict as he grapples with the darker aspects of his personality that are embodied by Mr. Hyde. Through Jekyll's scientific experiments and subsequent transformation into Hyde, Stevenson raises profound questions about the nature of identity, morality, and the consequences of unchecked desires. The novella serves as a cautionary tale, warning readers of the dangers of suppressing one's true self and the potential consequences of yielding to temptation.

One of the most striking aspects of "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is Stevenson's skillful use of atmosphere and setting to create a sense of foreboding and unease. The fog-shrouded streets of London, the dimly lit alleys, and the eerie silence of the city at night serve as the perfect backdrop for the unfolding mystery. Stevenson's vivid descriptions evoke a palpable sense of dread, drawing readers into a world where danger lurks around every corner and the boundaries between reality and nightmare blur.

Moreover, the novella is populated by a cast of memorable characters, each representing different facets of human nature. From the upright and respectable Dr. Jekyll to the sinister and malevolent Mr. Hyde, Stevenson's characters are complex and multidimensional, reflecting the inherent contradictions and complexities of the human psyche. Through their interactions, Stevenson explores themes of morality, guilt, and the consequences of sin, inviting readers to confront their own capacity for darkness and self-deception.

As the plot unfolds, Stevenson masterfully builds suspense, leading readers on a journey of discovery as they uncover the truth behind Dr. Jekyll's transformation into Mr. Hyde. With each revelation, the tension mounts, culminating in a shocking climax that leaves readers breathless and questioning the nature of humanity itself. "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is a masterpiece of psychological horror that continues to resonate with readers today, reminding us of the eternal struggle between light and darkness that exists within us all.

Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 17.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 97

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[prokopetz]

The Victor Ninov situation is one of my favourite cases of scientific fraud because it's rare to see so straightforward an example of someone being brought low by their own hubris.

Like, okay, faking the synthesis of a previously unobserved element: it's one of the few varieties of scientific fraud that actually has a clear gameplan for getting away with it. The physical properties of unobserved elements are, in principle, predictable, and there are only so many ways to go about synthesising them. If you do your homework, it's not outside the realm of possibility that your claimed results will end up being at least mostly consistent with the results of subsequent legitimate efforts to synthesise that element, and any minor discrepancies will end up being dismissed as statistical anomalies and/or the product of sloppy experimental design. It's by no means an easy game to play, but it's a game you can conceivably win.

And Victor Ninov did it. He rolled the dice and he won – twice. His fabricated results for elements 110 and 112 were corroborated by later work, and nobody noticed that his actual data was a crock of shit. He got away with it as cleanly as he could have hoped. It was only the third time he tried it, with element 118, that he biffed it and claimed results which nobody could replicate, and this is the only reason his earlier frauds were discovered. If he'd quit while he was ahead, it's likely the first two incidents never would have come to light.

Like, they say the third time's the charm, and buddy here learned the hard way that sometimes, the opposite also holds true.

[greenpitbullzombie]

Mr. Whitmore having an aquarium of coelacanth in the year 1914 is hilarious. 😅

[ofbakerst]

that up all night on cocaine look

[pratchettquotes]

Ridcully flailed at a passing shark. "They won't attack you if you make a lot of noise and splash around," he said.

"I thought that's when they will attack you, sir," Ponder called out.

"Ah, an interesting practical experiment," said the Dean, craning to watch.

Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

[pollyannawog]

Fuck it. I love my deer son

[g1deonthefirst]

wasn't alfred a hedge fund manager? i get where ur coming from re: the class divide post otherwise btw but am somewhat stumped ab this bc he was definitely the one making the most money and likely highly educated as well, and ended up a cav. ig it is STEM/nonSTEM divide?

hi! yes, alfred was a hedge fund manager — he was also augustine's brother and so comes from a similar (presumably very wealthy) background. this exception doesn't really disprove the rule to me: either way, john was disproportionately likely to make people who were highly educated necromancers and people who were not cavaliers. i want to walk through a couple possible reasons for this.

the first possibility is that john (1) believed that people who were more "intelligent" were more likely to be able to understand necromancy and (2) implicitly believed that people who were academically high-achieving like scientists, lawyers, doctors, etc. were more "intelligent." clearly, john and the lyctors all seem to think pretty highly of their own intelligence. john in particular went from being a poor māori kid to being an accomplished scientist, and i don't think it's a stretch to say he probably believed he deserved it on the basis of intelligence.

in contrast, both alfred and cristabel have their own talents and intelligence disparaged — john describes alfred as "useless, but a darling" and augustine describes cristabel as "not hav[ing] the intellect you'd ordinarily find in a sandwich or an orange." additionally, necromancy is talked about in scientific terms, which lends itself to the idea that you might need some scientific understanding to be good at it. i think it's entirely possible that john consciously decided that some people wouldn't be intelligent enough to hack it and made them the cavaliers, a problematic assumption chiefly in that it equates academic achievement with innate intelligence.

the second possibility, and to me the more likely one, is that john simply made the people closest to him necromancers while making people he wasn't as close to (essentially his friends' friends) non-necromancers. it's pretty clear that the people john made necromancers were people who directly worked on john's original cryogenics project with him, while the cavaliers were all people who got dragged into his cult by those original project members. alfred is a perfect example of this — he's there because he's augustine's brother. other people have made posts about the possibility that john did this to intentionally separate his friends from the people they loved.

but either way, i think this demonstrates who john as a character cared about. john, as a successful scientist, surrounded himself by people who were highly educated and successful, predominantly (as you note anon) people in STEM. people who are disproportionately likely to be white, neurotypical, and cis, or at least disproportionately likely to be able to conform to white/european, neurotypical, cis standards. not only is john not as close to people in his project-turned-cult that aren't as highly educated, but poor people aren't present at all. there are no janitors, no retail workers, no manual laborers, no farmworkers. i don't get the sense that john ever really unpacked his internalized biases or questioned why he primarily values people who are highly educated.

"but," i imagine my hypothetical reader who's somehow made it this far protesting, "of course he's surrounded by highly educated people. he's working on a cryogenics project!" well...precisely. tumblr user sophelstien's scratch a liberal and a fascist bleeds essay touches on how this project demonstrates that john is not as progressive as some people assume he is, but what i'll say here is simply that john didn't have to make the people in his cryogenics project the leaders of his new society. and by installing the very people who our society rewards into positions of power, john — consciously or not — shapes the new society he's creating with the old society's inequalities.

[starleska]

He's no Mad Mod, but I was suddenly reminded that The Superman Animated Series iteration of Metallo is also played by Malcolm McDowell and felt like sharing with the class 🥰

IRISOOOOO you are ALWAYS coming in clutch with the amazing villains to get obsessed with omfggg????? i know absolutely nothing about the Superman Animated Series but watching a few seconds of Metallo and i'm like 👀👀👀 Malcolm has a voice like melted butter...that laugh, my god!!!! 😳😳😳 lord though, reading up Metallo's backstory, i feel for the poor guy 😭 it's reminding me of that old creepypasta (content warnings for body horror, scientific experimentation, torture, mental illness and more...do heed the tags on the page and exercise caution!!!) Gateway of the Mind . i think anyone would struggle with the loss of so many sensations at once - that has to do a number on your psyche 💔 i'm gonna have to go away and watch his episodes now!! gosh, thank you as always for the excellent suggestion 🥰🥰

[triflesandparsnips]

Ahahahaha whaaaaat @gardenharuspex? Me? Researching and recreating household and medicinal recipes within the very narrow timeframe of the Western Scientific Revolution with a hard cutoff of 1718 purely because that's apparently my very niche way of engaging with my current gay pirate fandom?

...it's been a little under 1 and a half years since I made Stede Bonnet's lip balm, cmon now, I am the definition of reasonable.

[rohirric-hunter]

I used to watch Anne Reardon videos religiously but now I think she hates fun

[nomsfaultau]

SBI Whumptober prompt 3) Dehumanization and 26) Shock (but only as a pun)

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, specifically prior to Part 1. Explanation of AU; tldr. 

(Wilbur)

[Exposure to object: ████’s voice may result in physical harm to ear drums. In extreme cases, it causes severe psychological distress that necessitates the termination of Foundation personnel. The objective of this treatment is to reduce the lives and sanities lost containing this anomaly, as its escape would cause countless casualties. 

As it is dangerous to check the content of auditory recordings, success will be measured based on the audio level in room 15021. Report attached below. For further information contact the archives division, but proceed with caution. 

(Legend: 60 dB is normal speaking range; 90 dB is a human scream; at 150 dB ear drums rupture.) 

Treatment introduced at 8:57 AM. No injuries were sustained. Post 9:23, object ████ did not produce volume above that of the 30 dB threshold. Treatment was suspended to permit sustenance intake. Early results are promising.]

— — —

The calming song he’d been humming pooled into the air. Velvety low notes, meaningless lyrics. Wilbur found it soothing. For all that he’d grown up with nothing to his name, music was always his if only because no one could rip it out of his hands like they did everything else. A small rebellion, but it was Wilbur’s, and it was a well-honed act of honey-sweet spite. 

It was a song to forever remain unfinished as footsteps echoed closer. A faint sound, but his gut was well-tuned to it by now. He backed away from the entrance as employees poured into his cell. “Stay still and make this easy or you’ll wish you had, ████.” 

Wilbur bristled at the moniker. “My name is Wilbur,” he snarled, jaw ripping apart into a horrendous, seething mass of teeth. He refused to let them steal his name, too. He wasn’t an object, or an it. For all that the Foundation refused to admit it, Wilbur was a person. 

“Unless you’d like to be tased again, cease the threat display.” The voice was bored for all the fear their words stabbed in Wilbur’s guts. Scowling, he wrenched his jaw back into place, shoving the mandibles to proper alignment with the rest of his skull. 

“So what’s up? Want to stab more needles in? Or, oo, you’re going to send more criminals in to see what happens? You humans really are eager to sacrifice your own,” he said conversationally even as he retreated from the sprawl of guards. Hands seemed to grab him from every direction and Wilbur just had to grit his teeth and bear it. “Come on fellas, there’s really enough of me for everyone, no need to get handsy-” He was scruffed, head shoved down. He suppressed the instinct to rip every one of them to shreds. Unfortunately, by now Wilbur was incredibly familiar with just how extreme Foundation punishments were, and he wasn’t eager to taste them. He’d been behaving, even, which was a tall order for him. All he’d been doing for days now was lay in his cell and hum stupid little songs to himself. Not jeopardizing people or devouring the world whole or anything! It made everything inside him howl, but even Wilbur could learn to submit to authority if the repercussions were extreme enough. 

So when they ordered him to shut up, Wilbur did, even if he had to bite his tongue to manage. Something snapped shut around his throat and he managed to make zero (0) snarky remarks. Phil would be proud. 

Almost immediately, the employees fled. Huh. That was a weirdly short experiment. Wilbur sighed in relief. Eventually, he prodded curiously at the thing around his neck. It was oddly bulky, tight enough to make him conscious of his pulse. What the hell?

A…collar? 

“What th—!?!” the world dissolved into pure agony. A horrific scream tore from his throat as electricity poured through it.

— — —

Legend: Asterix indicates when treatment was applied. Shaded areas average periods where object: ████ was in an inactive state and treatment was deactivated. 

Notes:

Day 1 offers a baseline for audio levels prior to treatment.

Treatment was introduced Day 2. 

Day 2: Volume spike at 21:41. If object: ████ is presumed to have a REM cycle akin to that of a human’s, it is hypothesized the initial increase in decibels was the result of a nightmare. This was an irregularity not accounted for when planning the procedure and thereafter was rectified by discontinuing treatment applications when it slept. 

Object: ████ is not given an artificial night block for obvious reasons and has an irregular sleep schedule. It tends to sleep whenever it collapses from exhaustion. Post 22:00 it was monitored for consciousness.

Day 3: At 3:20 AM it screamed in its sleep again. It did not immediately resume sleeping, instead staying up and continuing to produce sounds. Researcher █████ ███████ bravely volunteered to check the audio in case it was a security risk. Fortunately, researcher █████ ███████ was unharmed and reported it was mimicking vocal sounds ranging from soft humming to crying. It would not cease. At 4:10 treatment was applied to disincentivize exploiting the choice to leave the treatment device inactive during periods of unconsciousness. 

Conclusion: Object: ████ self-regulates volume to levels below 30 dB threshold, which drastically reduces the chance of harm for personnel. 

This Special Containment Procedure has been deemed a success.]

— — —

Wilbur rubbed his aching throat. It hurt, but it felt good to have the shock collar off his neck. Unfortunately, he reckoned the respite would only last the duration of the coming visit with Philza.

The Foundation hated the visits for their security risk. But the threat to humanity was far greater if Philza went unchained, and so they lured him in with promised glimpses of his stolen children. Wilbur hated to be a pawn, but there was nothing any of them could do. Still, he was grateful for the visits. He wouldn’t have lasted this long without them. 

He needed this to be normal. Jokes and quips and jabs and everything he needed to say before his voice was locked up again. Wilbur smiled brightly the moment the door opened and revealed Philza. 

And yet one look and concern spooled in his features. “Are you okay?” 

Yes. But the word never fell from his tongue. It should’ve been an easy lie, but Wilbur’s throat constricted, expecting punishment. Panic set in, this was supposed to be the one time Wilbur was safe and yet he couldn’t speak. His fingers jolted to his throat as if anticipating a shock simply for thinking of trying. 

Philza surged forward, wrapping him in a warm hug. “Hey, hey, I got you. What happened?” Wilbur tried to force out an answer, choking on it. Nothing came out. He tried over and over to speak only for his vocal cords to lock on him. It grew tight to the point of pain as his distress spiked. Philza ran a comforting hand down his back even as Wilbur clawed into him desperately. “You don’t have to tell me, that’s perfectly alright mate. Here, I saved some extra food for you…” 

He curled up with Philza the rest of the visit, sheltered in his arms. It was the closest he’d had to anything resembling safety in weeks. Philza’s heartbeat thumped comfortably from where Wilbur rested on his chest. Quiet, not loud enough to risk a shock. That was safe then. A low, sweet rumble began to vibrate in Philza’s chest, an ancient lullaby spilling over its gentle aegis. 

Wilbur shoved Philza away, terrified the current pouring through his body would be shared. It took a beat to realize there was no voltage forthcoming. Phantom electricity trickled down his spine, but it was all in his head. 

The lullaby stilled on Philza’s tongue. How often had Wilbur heard it as a child, the familiar tune used to lure him to peaceful slumber. It felt like a betrayal that a song that had soothed him so many times before now kindled only fear. Wilbur swallowed roughly, unable to look at Philza. 

“Sorry,” Philza murmured, confused. “I can be quiet?” 

Wilbur shook his head. He didn’t want the Foundation to win like this. Wilbur buried himself in Philza’s embrace, shoving the panic down and forcing himself to feel safe. Claws stroked through his tangled hair, lyrics half tumbled into gentle assurances. Slowly, the vice on his throat eased. Tentatively, he joined the song, so quiet it hurt. His throat ached from all the abuse poured into it, hoarse from disuse. Too far above the echo of a whisper and the fear returned, seizing his voice once more. Still, it got a little easier as the hour spent itself. 

But then the visit was over, and the panic spiked, knowing this might be the last chance he got to speak for the rest of the month. Wilbur pressed his mouth to Philza’s cheek in a parody of a farewell kiss. His words came out ragged and husky and so, so scared.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dad.”

[prettysuper]

@1mpulsee continued

The skinnier man's hands and feet were held in cuffs working as power dampeners, effectively restraining him to an examination table in the middle of the Legion of Doom's laboratory. Kon had only been able to find him in time due to a tip off from Lex - thanks, dad - or maybe that had been a lure - either way, he couldn't risk just leaving Bart there. So of course Kon had heeded the call; zooming like a bullet to the location he'd been given; heart breaking the moment he saw his friend in such distress. "Hang on, I'm getting you out of here!" Kon's voice was all serious, no nonsense as he flipped up his shades and used his laser vision to cut the other free. "Now there's the biggest lie I've ever heard." He retorted to Bart's adamance that he was fine; he didn't need to use his x-ray vision to know that one of Bart's lungs had been punctured - he was coughing up blood for god's sake. Gathering the broken boy in his arms, cradle style, Kon didn't bother looking for the nearest exit, utilising his heat vision once more to tear a hole through the roof. The next minute they were soaring in the air. "Bart, what happened?" Watery eyes were visible without his shades to conceal them; the glasses stuck up firmly in his hair. He held that fragile body closer, but knowing that Bart would now heal outside of the power dampeners was little comfort to the knowledge that Bart was currently in pain and had been for fuck knows how long. "I can't turn your pain receptors off." Kon frowned - the most he could ever do was implant thoughts within the speedster's head; his brain ran too fast for even Kon to keep up. "But I can take you somewhere safe to recover."

He was already flying to Titans Tower, an awkward lump forming in his throat as he realised Bart was barely talking. "Did they-" Lips frowned in a soft crease. Dissect you. Were the words left unsaid. The man in his arms might still be breathing but who knows how long they'd kept him trapped there. Memories of his own scientific experimentations began to form in his mind and the thought of anyone doing that to his best friend had an anger flaring in his chest to the likes that Kon had never felt before. Kon landed on the balcony and headed towards the inner living area of the Tower. Laying Bart ever so gently down on the sofa, Kon wiped off some of the blood sticking to his lips with his thumb, mumbling "Is there anything I can get you?"