#atrophy’s eden

[awestruck-atrophy]

i love how the entire jekyll and hyde fandom has just collectively decided that hyde has neon green eyes

it’s a design choice for sure

(I say, as if I was not guilty of the same thing when I made my first hyde design)

[museofthepyre]

Did a fun Q&A thing on insta about my ocs, here are the highlights, lore and shit! For context I am writing this into a horror-ish book as we speak. Brewing my dastardly schemes (gay tragedy).

Q: Is Eden also a cannibal?

A: Eden isn't a cannibal in the way Harlow is. I mean he eats people but only because Harlow's cooking is too good to turn down /hj. Eden's thing is... kinda the opposite.

He's slowly being consumed by the rot that's festering within him, a manifestation of hatred and shame. To him love is consumption, and he is inedible. Insert vulture metaphor here w Harlow. For every rotting corpse there is a very greatful vulture who will look past the decay, and see your worth. Eden is ultimately finished off by something that loves him, a consumptive love, unconditional and indiscriminate.

Q: ABOUT THE ROT, HOW DOES IT WORK? HOW IS IT AFFECTING HIM??

A: This rot is really the only story element that isn't totally grounded in reality. It's an illness that's a manifestation of his self hatred/ repression/ internalized shame- not an actual condition.

It appears at first like it just affects his chest- but it’s been slowly burrowing deep into his body. Its spreading like roots/ mycillium through his flesh and will finish him off in one foul swoop once it's finished spreading.

In the meantime, it manifests like a chronic illness- his muscles are all atrophied and he feels constantly drained of life. It's taking small pieces of flesh to sustain itself while it spreads (the chest cavity is the result of that-though the REAL damage is invisible. It's the ticking time bomb roots beneath the seemingly unaffected surface). It functions like a slow acting Chronic Wasting Disease (aka zombie deer disease, humans can't get it in reality, but it was the inspiration)

Q: What happened when Harlow discovered Eden was a guy

A: Eden is trans, and closeted in his life. Harlow is the first person he ever discusses his truth with.

At first, Harlow was just kinda... confused? Transness is not a concept he was familiar with. At ALL. The idea alone was completely unheard of to him. Again this is the Bible Belt in the 8os, the area so rarely encountered visible transness- trans people existed of course, but so many stayed hidden to survive. The roaring tre of bigotry did not have much tuel in that regard... no trans people to propagandize against. It was not on the public's vitriolic radar. In that way, Harlow hadn't developed the knee-jerk reaction of hatred... he was more fascinated than anything, but it did challenge him to understand at first.

Unlike his journey with accepting homosexuality this was not so much a task of unlearning as it was just... learning.

Also Eden's whole rotting thing adds another layer to this Harlow is stupid and takes everything VERY literally- he thought Eden's condition must be divinely brought.

Harlow saw a gift from God, a rare flower planted in inhospitable soil, wilting before it ever got the chance to bloom. Like the angels sent to Sodom and Gamorrah in human disguises, to test the townspeople's virtue. To present them with something foreign yet beautiful, to judge their inherent goodness based on how they treat it. Like in the biblical story, the townspeople were so vile and inhospitable that it endangered the angels and forced them to leave, burning down the town behind them. Harlow saw this as prophecy. He was eager to get to the “burning down the town” part.

Part of my motivation for incorporating that specific biblical story is SPITE btw since so many people use it to justify homophobia. Reverse uno idiots. I'm putting you in my GAY BOOK as a metaphor for hateful queerphobic societies.HA!

Q: Describe the rot in Eden's chest in sensory detail (texture smell “cause" etc) I want rot details!!

A: I used CWD and necrotizing fasciitis as building blocks for this thing... starts in the brain, spreads like roots through the body, eating away at muscle and skin as it does. Once it's fully spread, it'd rapidly worsten and bring death within a matter of hours.

In the meantime it sustains itself off of non-fatal bits of flesh (his chest here, since it's a manifestation of self hatred and all, and dysphoria is a bitch). It is an open wound so it'd feel scabby and it is perpetually weeping... which is how Harlow finds out about it so quickly (seeps through white nightgown after being left unbandaged for a few nights). He would also have to take care to hide the smell of decay

It advances throughout the story and by the end there's barely any soft tissue left on his chest, nothing alive anyways. The final overtake begins, and his organs enter the early stages of consumption (which happens very rapidly in one foul swoop). That's when they decide it's time for boy dinner!

Q: How smart are they

A: GREAT QUESTION! HARLOW IS FUCKING STUPID. LIKE not only does he lack emotional intelligence entirely, but he's also very impulsive and reckless. The ONLY reason he's getting away with his murders is because the society around him has shot itself in the foot with its homophobia. Noooobody is suspicious of him for the string of missing attractive dudes. They're looking for a "vengeful woman" profile, or possibly a "debt collector with many social connections" or something. Not some solitary redneck who barely shows his face in town and is very polite and quiet when he does. He appears, in all respects, like a normal guy in public.

Once they have mutual blackmail (and also start caring about each other)... Eden realizes that if Harlow gets caught, he's fucked too. So partially for the sake of self-preservation, and... partially out of pity for this stupid stupid man... Eden starts to help him cover up.

Harlow is pretty disillusioned as to how society functions as a whole, since he grew up pretty far from it. Eden is the opposite, he was suffocated by it and learned how to be sneaky as a result. Eden is very good at getting people to trust him, he's good at lying, he's good at acting. Thing is, he's overly trusting to his own detriment. He's desperate for genuine connection and easily deceived himself. He's bad at reading people.

Q: What happened to Harlow's mom?

A: Harlow's mother died due to complications during childbirth. He never had a maternal figure in his life, he was raised as an only child by his father, who had become calloused and would never remarry. Harlow dropped out of high school and kept to himself at his house/ in nature after that very isolated from society. Considering all this... he not only lacked a maternal figure, but any female influence... at all. Which manifested as this warped and idolized understanding of women as a whole

He thought of women in a very high and almost mystified regard- like how a child would imagine a mythical creature. One massive blank filled in by a clueless imagination. He respected them greatly, he feared them like gods, and he felt a need to repent to them as such. He never properly processed the guilt he felt over his mothers death-largely thanks to his father's handling of it. This guilt left him feeling indebted, like he owed the world for what he “took", like if he ever so much as inconvenienced another woman it would be an irredeemable sin.

This all sounds like it comes from a good place, but it's really all just deluded naivety this is not a positive trait of Harlow's. It contributed a lot to his toxic masculinity, the pressure he put on himself to "be a man", etc.

He's not a white knight, he's a cowardly dog.

This is why he didn't just kill Eden on the spot after being caught, he needed to make sure...)

MORE TO COME IM SURE I LOVE GETTING QUESTIONS ABOUT THESE FREAKS IF ANYONE HERE HAS ANY

[myreia]

wip wednesday

tagged by @lilas! 💖 tagging @galadae, @coldshrugs, @roguelioness, @tsunael, @hylfystt, @birues, @bearlytolerant, @a-shakespearean-in-paris and anyone else who would like to share a thing they're working on!

slamming down a part of chapter 2 from the thing consuming me, bye.

Shadowbringers, 5.3. and Eden spoilers below the cut:

“How is she?” Thancred asks quietly. He tilts his head, his nose brushing her hair as he kisses the top of her head. Above the grey-purple clouds surge, growing darker by the second. She can taste rain on the air. A shiver of anticipation rolls down her spine; it won’t be long before the storm comes.

Aureia tightens her grip on him, her fingers toying with the fabric of his smock. A long, plain thing, more robe than shirt—the kind Krile insisted they wear during recovery. It’s loose, hanging off his atrophied body like a tent. He must be freezing beneath it. “You’re worried,” she remarks.

“Should I not be? Is that no longer allowed now that I am on the Source?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“…I know.”

She pauses, chewing her lower lip. She has gone back to the Crystarium once since the soul transfer and only for a night. She returned this morning, keen not to leave Thancred on his own for too long. Though she can’t bring herself to voice it—it feels wrong to complain, considering the Scions’ deteriorating states and the desperate lengths G’raha took to ensure safe passage—her heart aches at how her family is separated by parallel dimensions. Ryne on one side, Thancred and Urianger on the other. They had something precious on the First, if only for a few moons. It was never meant to last.

She will hold those memories close to her heart forever.

“She’s well,” Aureia says finally. “Preoccupied with Eden’s restoration. Throwing herself into her work as a distraction—not unlike someone I know.”

His lips twitch. “Please, Aur, must you? I am already wounded.”

“All the more reason to take the shot.” She glances at him and finds him glaring at her. It’s not a real glare—behind the dark look and mock exasperation is a knowing smile. “She’s taken full reign of the apartment. Mess everywhere. Looks like a tempest went through the place.”

“Far too easy to imagine that.”

“I don’t know where she gets it from.”

“Oh, I know for certain. That's the influence of your bad habits, not mine—”

“I—listen here, you ass—”

“Oh, an ass, am I? Bit early to deteriorate to name calling, no?”

She flushes and grimaces, annoyed at the way he turned it around on her. He shoots her a grin and rests his head against hers, an affectionate hum rumbling in the back of his throat.

“Gaia’s with her,” she continues. “Staying at the apartment in our old room. She’s got quite the mouth on her. Complains night and day, but I think it’s a front. She’s enjoying herself more than she lets on.”

He pauses, his brows drawing together. “Hm. Odd girl, that one.”

“I don’t think she’s odd at all.”

“No?”

“I think she’s scared. When you’re accustomed to solitude, the alternative can be terrifying. There is fear in realizing that—for the first time in your life—you are no longer alone.” She catches his eye. “Particularly when a stubborn someone insists on being your friend no matter how many times you tell them no.”

He smiles, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Ryne’s horizons shouldn’t be confined to us gnarly old fools. Nor should Gaia’s, for that matter. It is good they are friends, no?”

“I suspect there may be more to it than that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he says quietly. “Well, then. All this in a single moon?”

She swallows hard. “Thancred… It’s been three for her.”

His face pales, his laughter vanishes. The corners of his mouth tighten and he looks away, running a hand over the rough scruff on his chin. “I… see,” he murmurs.

The weary acceptance in his voice makes her heart pang. Once he would have contested the facts, defiantly pursuing hypotheses and theories until another option was found. He has never been one to accept the truth at face value; there is always something underneath, always another secret. But now those tendencies are changing. He is changing. Perhaps it’s his age, perhaps it’s fatherhood, perhaps it’s his experiences on the First, but where once he would deny the truth, now he accepts and moves on, no matter how much it hurts.  

And the painful truth is that time is displaced between the Source and the First. Though they mirror each other like partners in a dance, they are never fully in step. Ryne could live the next stages of her life in the blink of an eye. He knew this when he said his goodbyes to her—that it was unlikely they would ever seen each other again, and if they did a decade or more could pass in the interim. She would never again be the daughter he knew.

He has accepted this. He has to. He gains nothing from looking back. It is the bittersweet truth of their lives—parenthood happened so quickly, they had only come to understand what it meant as soon as it was time to lose it.

Aureia does not dare trouble him with her thoughts on the subject, not while he is recovering. Perhaps one day he can return, but for now travel between shards remains an impossibility for anyone besides herself. Though she and Y’shtola are fervent in their decision to research it, they cannot give him false hope. Even if they found the key, there is still the matter of the time displacement. Her first night back, she dreamed it had grown so severe that Ryne was several years their senior by the time Thancred returned. It was an odd dream, the kind formed from unfounded anxieties and fears. But she is not certain it is an impossibility.

She will have to ask G’raha about it.

“I’m sorry,” Thancred says after a moment. “I didn’t intend to be so… well. Morose, one could say.” He sighs deeply, gazing upwards at the clouded sky. “They say fresh air does the invalid some good, but I suspect someone must be lying. I hardly feel improved after that hells of a climb.”

“It’s all right. Rushing yourself will do no good. Take your time.”

“That is the problem, no? I have no time to take, not compared to...” He stops himself, but she hears it on his tongue. The others. He glances at her, his jaw clenching. His frustration is palpable. “There were nights in Norvrandt when I dreamed of nothing but returning to my body. When your being is formed of your soul alone, it changes you. The differences are subtle—I suspect the mind plays a role, filtering out the inconsistencies as a coping mechanism—but they are present. I felt intangible at first. Like a fabrication.”

She presses her lips together, hesitant to interrupt. He needs to tell her this.

“But now, reformed as I am, as I should be… It feels wrong, Aur. There’s a heftiness to my step, an ache in my bones. It is not simply this godsdamned weariness, it is everything that has come along with it. The air is too heavy. The light too bright. The world too unnatural. This time it is the Source that does not feel real. I thought I would feel like myself once again upon our return, but instead I find myself hollow.”

He inhales a shaky breath and closes his eyes. “It is not simply the people I miss, but the land. The cities. The settlements. The flow of the rivers and the breath of the wind. Seven hells, I even miss the taste of the food. It was more vibrant, more…” He trails off. “Well. Such is the way of things. Always yearning for what you can no longer have. I will adjust in due course. I’m certain Raulf and Anzu have cooked up an incomparable feast. Soup, you said it was?”

She rests her head on his shoulder. “Soup, yes.”

Thancred chuckles. “Listen to me. Complaining in my old age. I should be… content, should I not? We accomplished what we set out to do. We said our goodbyes and that is that.”

Aureia shakes her head. “You’re not complaining.”

“I—”

“You’re not. It’s been six years. Any well-adjusted person would grieve what they left behind after that long.”

“Well-adjusted?” He kisses the top of her head again. “And what about those for whom adjustment is on shaky ground on any given day?”

“You’re allowed to grieve. It’s not a bad thing. It’s called homesickness.”

He pauses. “…aye. Yes. I suppose that is what it is, isn’t it?”

[guard-en]

Hi Eden!!!! I hope things are going better for you, I care about you lots and I wish nothing but the best for you! 🫂🫂

THINGS ARE GOING FOR SURE. I'm surviving and definitely getting better at living. Probably. Sometimes I feel my body atrophying and I feel such a paralyzing fear it's hard to move to satiate the bodily need. But that's probably just a thing everyone goes through. WISH THE BEST FOR YOU I'M GIVING IT MY ALL PER USUAL LOVE AND LIGHT THROUGHOUT THE REALM!!!!! 💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡

[roxy206]

Just thinking about Hozier lyrics. (part two)

honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago

babe; there’s something broken about this; but I might be hoping about this; oh, what a sin

I have never known color; like this morning reveals to me

our veins are busy, but my heart’s in atrophy

something isn’t right, babe; I keep catching little words, but the meaning’s thin; I’m somewhere outside my life, babe; I keep scratching, but somehow I can’t get in

when my time comes around; lay me gently in the cold dark earth; no grave can hold my body down; I’ll crawl home to her

in the low lamplight I was free; heaven and hell were words to me

I knew that look, dear; eyes always seeking

I know who I am when I’m alone; I’m something else when I see you; you don’t understand, you should never know how easy you are to need; don’t let me in with no intention to keep me, Jesus Christ; don’t be kind to me; honey, don’t feed me, I will come back

all that I’ve been taught; and every word I’ve got; is foreign to me

calls of guilty thrown at me, all while she stains the sheets of some other

I’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing

when I awoke; the moon still hung; the night so black that the darkness hummed

rushing to shore to meet her; foaming with loneliness

[celira]

3/5+1

Losing time was becoming alarmingly easy. In catatonia, there had been no need to track it; in confinement, without anything to pass the time, there were no means to. Her internal clock, admittedly, was less strong than many people – including the Warden –

stop –

– might have supposed. All you needed to do to note the day, hour, minute was look to the nearest corridor intersection, on the Sixth; meticulously portioned time was crucial to staying oriented within the artificial days of the station. Her timekeeping muscles didn't have far to go to atrophy.

She hoped they hadn’t thrown out her clockwork. She thought, briefly, indulgently, of her backups – elsewhere; "on the Sixth" was a mental refrain she wanted to remove from circulation.

But the Sixth, for better or worse, was at the forefront of her mind thanks to the Blood of Eden commander named, among other things, We Suffer, who quickly proved herself both charmingly and aptly named when she invoked Camilla's position as a prominent member of the Sixth – her brain gave a stutter as it skirted around her own role – and grabbed her understanding of her House and shook it by the scruff. 

If she had been just about anyone else – anyone who hadn't directly experienced the machinations of a lyctor crazed with grief, rage, and God – or Whoever – knows whatever else, hadn't been in high enough of a role at the Sixth to access classified material before, hadn't read that Lyctoral note that he –

make it stop –

called a love letter – maybe the information would have been less plausible and hit less like a grenade.

As it was, though, We Suffer had paused, and said in a moment of notable humanity: would you like time to process this? 

Camilla had declined. She had time in spades, here, alone with the fragments at her neck and the shrapnel in her mind tunneling inward.

[direwombat]

a kiss while being reunited after a long time for Jakesyb? - fourlittleseedlings

f;alsdfkja;sdflkj please have a version of how their reunion in new dawn goes ;w; also here's the vibes of syb's rabbit judge mask

Jacob stares up at her, unable to believe his eyes. 

Seven years. 

Seven years since the bombs fell and they were forced underground.

Seven years he’s spent in a bunker with the former Deputy Pratt and his Judge as his only companions. 

Seven years since he’s seen the face of the only woman he’s ever truly loved. 

Yet here she is, pinning him down, hissing and snarling and looking every bit as beautiful and deadly as she did when they first met. The familiar creases in her face have been worn deeper by age and streaks of white grow from her crown and temples, peppering her dark hair with salt. 

Jacob’s never been a praying man, but every day he prayed to see her again, even if for just one last time. 

Sybille straddles his chest, pinning his arms to his side with her knees as she leans in to press the blade of her hand-made hunting knife to his throat. The rabbit mask he had knocked from her face in their skirmish lays off to the side. 

But there isn’t even a glimmer of recognition in those green eyes. 

Much like in the times before, she seems completely feral. 

But Jacob is good at taming wild beasts. A skill that has come in handy in the Hellish lands of Joseph’s prophesied New Eden. 

“Syb,” he rasps, and he moves forearm, wanting to touch her thigh, but also not wanting to spook her. “Sybille, it’s me.” 

But all she does is snarl again, pressing her blade harder under his jaw.

He hisses, feeling the blood trickle down his neck. Perhaps he’s changed more than she has. Scars from a mutated bear’s claws rake down his face, an attack that took an eye with it, and he’s not nearly as strong as he used to be. She overpowered him so easily; her reflexes still so quick and sharp while his own have atrophied. 

How could she recognize him?

He’s weak. 

A pale imitation -- a mockery -- of what he used to be. 

But he tries again, because she has to be in there somewhere. Behind the animalistic haze, behind whatever walls in her mind she’s put up to survive, the memory of him has to be somewhere in there. What they shared was way too important to just disappear. 

“C’mon, Jackrabbit,” he says. “You know me.”

She freezes. 

A cloud of confusion passes over her face. Brows once knit together in anger now furrow and she squints down at him. She doesn’t release him, but she pulls the blade away and her breathing calms. Tentatively -- as if she thinks it might be a trick, a dream, some illusion that will fade away if she looks too close -- she strokes his face, mapping each line she remembers and discovering new ones she hadn’t been present to kiss better. 

Her breath hitches and her eyes glimmer wetly.  

“It’s me,” he says. “It’s me.”

Her knees move off his arms and she grabs the collar of his hide armor to haul him so they’re both sitting up. 

She tries to blink the tears away, but they flow down her face, despite her smile. 

His own eyes burn, and for possibly the first time in his life, he doesn’t fight it. 

He reaches forward to cup her cheek and wipe away her tears. She grabs his wrist tight, nuzzling into his rough, calloused hand. She presses her lips to his palm and one of her fingers strokes and taps against the underside of his wrist. 

Tap tap.

I.

Stroke, stroke. Tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Stroke tap tap.

Missed.

Stroke tap stroke stroke. Stroke stroke stroke. Tap tap stroke. 

You.

I missed you. 

His hand moves to cradle her skull and he leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I missed you too, Jackrabbit,” he says thickly. 

Christ, that doesn’t even come close to articulately describing how every day without her was pure agony. 

He shushes her and pulls her close as she sobs and trembles. Gently, he tilts her chin up with a brush of his finger and he kisses her. A careful press of the lips at first, but it quickly devolves into something much more desperate. He’s spent seven years starved of her taste, her body, and judging by how she presses herself closer to him, he’d hazard a guess that she felt the same. 

Her lips part for him, inviting him inside, and she whimpers, something soft and pleading.  

It’s an invitation he’s more than happy to accept. He swipes his tongue against her lower lip before dipping inside. But where he expects her tongue to meet his, to greet him -- welcome home welcome home, welcome home -- he doesn’t find it.

But maybe she’s just being coy. She’s gone so long without being claimed, perhaps that’s what she’s asking of him. 

So he indulges. 

Slowly, carefully, he maps out the cavern of her mouth, licking along her teeth and palette. She tugs on his hair and he moans, and he swears that this would be the time where she’d finally start kissing him back, fighting against him to stake her own claim to his mouth. 

But then he brushes against a stub towards the back of her mouth, almost at her throat, and he freezes.

Her tongue is missing. 

Someone cut out her fucking tongue.

They part and he stares at her dumbfounded. 

Her face is flushed and she averts her gaze, choosing to stare at the ground rather than him. And that only makes his jaw clench and blood boil. 

“Who?” he grits out between his teeth. “Who did this to you?”

She just shakes her head and looks at him with eyes swimming with what he can only describe as sorrow. Her hand comes to stroke his jaw, her fingers catching playfully in his beard and she leans in to press another chaste kiss to his lips. And then she leans against him, straddling his lap and hugging him close. His arms wrap around hers and she begins to hum a familiar song. 

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, 

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost…

“But now, I’m found,” Jacob rumbles along. “Was blind, but now I see.”

[mellea-art-home]

Mellea Lore rough outline of early life

Mellea- given title: subject 231

was created in Aether lab under the main building of the central hub for inter planetary trade on the world of Veda 5

she was created as a last ditch effort from Aether to populate other worlds beyond their solar system as their star was dying

this lead to the company expanding into theoretical technologies most prominent being MEDC, and gene modding

MEDC a (mass & energy dimensional conduit)

mellea was created as part of the Eden project, the culmination of research and efforts to send populations out to habitable worlds and create colonies safe from the death of their solar system, she was one of 100 eventual subjects that were sent in groups of 4 to various planets

each subject was created differently, leading to them being classed 1-5 on risk of genetic deformities or abnormal developmental cycles that could be a determine to the subject

Mellea was one classed as a catagory 5, likely not expected to survive beyond a few years or if she did that she would have severe issues in function/ deformities occur halting her usefulness as a candidate

she was stored with other subjects that were of class 4-5, many of whom were not fit to take part in the mission or were transferred out because they had fatal mutations that the doctors were trying to keep from disturbing Mellea

One such event that the researchers failed to react to was with Subject 15

subject 15 developed severe muscle weakening causing their lungs to make it much harder to breathe, risking lung collapse, mellea (age 7) trying to help went to get doctors or anyone she could find, this was met with a number of researchers coming into her room and checking Subject 15, then escorting them out to the examination wing, not allowing Mellea to follow along

this prompted her to crawl through the ducts and vents to overhear the conversation of the researchers and the condition of her friend, finding out that the genetic augmentations they went through had caused muscle atrophy and weakening of the lung muscles, and survival was unlikely at best

they sent for Mellea to be fetched so they could reasure her that subject 15 would be fine, so she quickly crawled back through the vents and into her room before a scientist, the lead scientist and her daughter a few years older than Mellea (10) knocked on the door and entered, explaining that everything will be fine, and subject 15 will be transfered to a safer place to get medical attention, in the meantime the daughter will be staying with Mellea, childs name is Alexandra Labrynn, her mother being Reya Labrynn

[oyasuminto]

With the ask where the PC shrank can you do some more headcannons for the School Trio + Remy, Eden, and Bailey. Bonus if you do Leighton and Harper. That ask had me laughing non-stop

Bailey

Honestly, they’re pretty likely to just sell you off to Harper or some weirdo with a lot of money and a very niche fetish, since it’s unlikely you’ll be able to make money in your current state.

If they were to keep you, you’re being thrown in the cheapest enclosure they can find (which will be added to your debt). On the bright side, feeding and clothing you is much cheaper than before.

Bailey probably won’t do anything sexual, with how tiny you are, it’s not like you can bring them any pleasure. They will certainly threaten to split you in half with something far too big for your body, though.

Eden

They’re pissed. What the fuck did you do for this to happen? Was it one of those plants in the forest they told you to never touch!? They’ll care for you, of course, you’re still their spouse, but they want answers.

It’s too dangerous to wander around the cabin, so they build you a simple, miniature version of the cabin. It’s not the most comfortable, but they clearly tried. Just know that Eden wants you to continue your duties.

The least you could do is repay them for all the effort they’ve gone to. C’mon, you could at least rub yourself against their cock/clit, don’t you love them enough to try? What’s the point of being their spouse if you won’t act like it?

Harper

Probably one of the worst people you could be left with. They're determined to study you, to find out just how you ended up being shrunken, to see if there's any comparison between you and naturally small animals.

You spend most of your day in a small, sterile enclosure, feeling like a zoo animal. Harper has taken it upon themself to handle most of your needs; feeding, cleaning, clothing... testing.

Have your sexual or reproductive facilities been affected? That's extremely important to know! Don't worry, all of Harper's tools are sterile, they just need to see if it can fit. It's all in the name of science.

Leighton

The other worst person you could be left with. They buy you a little cage, one too small to even be used as a hamster’s transport cage, and leave you in their desk drawer for most of the day, occasionally checking that you’re still alive.

You get the crumbs of their lunch and a bottlecap of water if you’re well-behaved, otherwise you’re shit out of luck, unless you beg for their cum/slick to sate your thirst, of course.

They take periodic breaks to use you; making you rub yourself against their sex, threatening to ‘forget’ you at school if you don’t make them cum quick enough. Leighton may even try shoving a finger inside, just to test your limits.

Remy

Another person who’s pretty likely to just sell you off to Harper. It’s not like they can get any milk from you, nor can they breed you. The only way you’re staying is if you’ve somehow gotten into their good graces.

In that case, you certainly can’t stay with the other livestock, those beasts could crush you, they’ll have to let you stay in their estate for now, just until someone can figure out how to reverse your shrinkage and get you back into the field.

Any sexual stimulation is done under the guise of keeping your milk production from atrophying. Remy’s gentle, of course, they wouldn’t want to damage their prized cow, not if you’re being obedient.

[awestruck-atrophy]

it is an ACTUAL CRIME that I cannot have young Jude Law play Dorian Gray in Atrophy’s EDEN.

LOOK AT HIM. it’s LITERALLY DORIAN.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

What can I do about recurrent UTIs?

Bit of female-focused health advice for you all.

Linda Cardozo

Professor of urogynaecology at King’s College Hospital, London
Recurrent urinary tract infections (UTIs), defined as more than three proven infections in a year, or two in six months, plague women of all ages but are particularly prevalent in sexually active women. Hygienic measures can reduce the number of UTIs. These include washing carefully with unperfumed soap and water, wiping from front to back after passing urine or bowel movements, voiding as soon as possible after penetrative sexual intercourse. Other precautions include the avoidance of anal intercourse and constipation, because most UTIs are caused by bowel organisms. Tight underwear and thongs should be avoided. Natural fibres such as cotton are less likely to be associated with infection than synthetic materials.

Prophylactic measures can be taken; one low-dose antibiotic tablet within two hours of sexual intercourse may avoid a UTI. D-mannose is found to be helpful by some women and Hiprex (methenamine hippurate) taken twice daily as a prophylactic measure reduces the Ph of the urine and makes women less susceptible to UTIs. Postmenopausal women, especially those with vulvovaginal atrophy (genitourinary syndrome of the menopause), benefit from the regular use of a low-dose vaginal oestrogen.

For a symptomatic proven UTI it is usual, but not always necessary, to take a course of antibiotics and it has now been shown that a five or seven-day course is more effective than a three-day course. Long-term antibiotic use should be avoided because resistances do occur, so if necessary rotating antibiotics is preferable to the use of the same one for a long period of time. There are other products available such as immunotherapy (vaccine), of which two can be used in the UK, Uro-Vaxom and Uromune, or bladder instillations. It is not always possible to avoid UTIs completely and for those women who have regular problems and are not always sure if they have an infection, it is worth investing in urine dipsticks to check the urine and take self-start antibiotics if the dipsticks are positive.

Dr Roger Henderson

GP
A UTI is the invasion of your urinary tract (urethra, bladder and kidneys) with bacteria, which can cause symptoms such as a need to frequently pass urine, a feeling of burning or stinging when peeing, or your urine becoming cloudy, smelly or even stained with blood. Some people are prone to recurrent UTIs, so to help to prevent this occurring, drink plenty of water every day, and don’t delay urination – when you have the urge to pass urine do it. Avoid sprays and douches that may irritate the urethra. Cranberry juice is a well-known natural remedy to help to fight urine infections — drink plenty of it if you have a UTI (though not if you are on the blood-thinning medication warfarin), or take cranberry extract capsules daily.

Shower rather than use a bath and if you’re a woman, using a diaphragm for contraception can increase the risk of getting a UTI because the diaphragm may press on your bladder and prevent it from emptying completely when you urinate. If you use a diaphragm and have recurring UTIs, consider changing to another method of contraception. If you get recurring UTIs and you use condoms, try using condoms that don’t have a spermicidal lubricant on them — it will say whether it does on the packet. Spermicidal lubricant can cause irritation and make it more likely that you’ll get a UTI. There are lots of condoms that have non-spermicidal lubricant, so use these instead.

Professor Christopher Eden

Consultant urological surgeon 
Recurrent UTIs ought to be investigated to exclude an obstructed kidney (not always painful), a urinary tract stone or a bladder that empties poorly. In the absence of a predisposing cause, UTIs are usually caused by the bacteria that colonise the genital skin ascending the urethra, and this explains why women, whose urethra is only 3cm long, tend to get more UTIs than men.

The simplest and most effective way to prevent UTIs is to drink plenty of fluids — it doesn’t matter what you drink, it’s the volume that counts — as this flushes bacteria out of the urethra. Alcohol isn’t a good choice because after the initial diuretic (peeing a lot) phase, it causes dehydration. The best guide as to how much to drink is the colour of your urine: if it’s dark, you are dehydrated and need to keep drinking until it looks either a pale yellow or, better still, colourless. For women, wearing cotton underwear, wiping from the front backwards after a pee and passing urine after sex are good habits to get into as they will guard against UTIs. For those who get frequent UTIs, acidifying the urine by taking 1g of vitamin C a day or by drinking cranberry juice is worth trying.

[calder]

The Flame Deluge Canticle A sheaf of yellowing papers lined with musical staffs and handwritten notation with lyrics. We are the centuries... We have your eoliths and your mesoliths and your neoliths. We have your Babylons and your Pompeiis, your Caesars and your chromium-plated (vital-ingredient impregnated) artifacts. We have your bloody hatchets and your Hiroshimas. We march in spite of Hell, we do – Atrophy, Entropy, and Proteus vulgaris, telling bawdy jokes about a farm girl name of Eve and a traveling salesman called Lucifer. We bury your dead and their reputations. We bury you. We are the centuries. Be born then, gasp wind, screech at the surgeon’s slap, seek manhood, taste a little godhood, feel pain, give birth, struggle a little while, succumb: (Dying, leave quietly by the rear exit, please.) Generation, regeneration, again, again, as in a ritual, with blood-stained vestments and nail-torn hands, children of Merlin, chasing a gleam. Children, too, of Eve, forever building Edens – and kicking them apart in berserk fury because somehow it isn’t the same. (AGH! AGH! AGH! – an idiot screams his mindless anguish amid the rubble. But quickly! let it be inundated by the choir, chanting Alleluias at ninety decibels.) Location: Temple of Titan: Found in a toaster that appears after resolving the ICBM quest arc. Can be traded to Isaac Leibowitz.

hi this is the most anachorite thing ive ever seen

[angrelysimpping]

Hello. We already know that Kylar would absolutely adore a kid of their own, but what about the other LIs? Also, do you think Whitney would abuse their kid (not neccesarily in a sexual sense) like how they abuse the PC? Please ignore the latter half of the ask if it makes you uncomfortable.

(DoL relationships, some talk of child abuse though nothing explicit)

Alex

From a big family and knows how to take care of kids.

Has lullabies and bedtime stories from their childhood that they’ll tell their child.

Will expect their kid to help on the farm when they're old enough.

Incredibly protective of their kid. Alex is never too far away from them.

One of the first things Alex will teach their kid is how to call for the dogs, just in case Remy shows up unexpectedly.

Avery

Avery's the one you'd have to watch out for.

They’re not physically abusive, but the expectations they’ll hold their kid to are not healthy.

Avery is image-obsessed, they will try to have their kid be a 'model child.'

It's a lot of pressure for a kid. You’re going to have to talk Avery into relaxing how much they try to control their kid.

They're not intentionally trying to hurt their kid. If you don't step in, that kid is going to have some issues to work through when they get older.

That said, Avery has some knowledge on how to care for a child but not much practical experience.

Eden

It’s hard raising a kid in the woods and it's dangerous.

They don't have a lot of experience with kids. They try hard but you’re going to have to show Eden how to do things like change a diaper or how to burp a baby.

They might have a few child care skills but they've long atrophied due to their self-isolation.

The first thing Eden will teach their kid is how to forage for food safely. You’ll walk out of the cabin one day to find Eden going into detail on how to tell the difference between mushrooms. Your child has yet to say their first word.

Robin

Robin has been dealing with kids their whole life.

Taking on the Older Sibling role at the orphanage has prepared Robin for just about anything.

They'd try so hard to make sure their kids feel safe all the time.

Borderline helicopter parent. They know kids need room to grow and be their own person, but they're so worried about their kid getting hurt.

Whitney

Not the best parent but not terrible either.

Whitney wouldn’t abuse their kid. They can be very protective of what they consider 'theirs.' A child they helped create definitely earns that distinction.

I like to think that Whitney is oddly good with children. They have almost no idea what they're doing half the time, yet everything always works out.

They're going to accidentally teach their kid that your name is 'slut.' They find it hysterical.

Unfortunately, Whitney is the type of parent to tell their kid to toughen up instead of letting them cry when hurt. That said, if someone hurts their kid, Whitney's out for blood.

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

It takes a little while for the BOE members tasked with watching over Gideon to realize that the incorruptible daughter of Wake is just an exhausted teenage girl. It takes even longer for the girl herself to accept that she’s been ordered to rest.

Gideon doesn’t know what to do with rest. Even back on the Ninth, when she was bored out of her mind and miserable with loneliness, she was always doing something. She always had some purpose -  some extra bit of training to do, some escape plan to plot, some shadowy, desolate corner to map out. And now there’s - what? Nothing? The uncertainty settles uncomfortably on her skin, a prickling, ill-fitting cloak. 

She spends most of the first few weeks after her grand awakening in something called the “rehabilitation wing” - an airy canvas tent pitched on a stretch of scrub grass more vibrantly green than the gardens of Canaan House. Her world narrows down to a creaky cot layered with threadbare sheets, a pinned-up blanket for a privacy barrier, a team of medics who all seem vaguely nervous around her and Camilla Hect of all people, staring her down with piercing gray eyes until she puts on her damn knee brace.

Her busted knee has more or less healed - creepy demigod powers being what they are - but it didn’t set quite right in the time that she was “asleep.” It twinges spitefully every time she puts weight on it, and she spends a good hour or so wobbling around and swearing under her breath before finding a semi-comfortable way to stand.

The least jittery of the medics - a kind-eyed older woman called Sun - tells her that this is normal. That she’s been through a lot, and while there’s a lot of work to be done, she can afford to take some time to get back on her feet. She doesn’t have to force herself through the pain all the time.

(She sits with that thought for a while.)

Even unflappable Sun winces at the sight of what Gideon’s come to think of as The Scar. It’s an ugly thing to look at. The skin twisted and warped as it healed into a blanched, ragged sunburst that almost spans the width of her chest. When she brushes her hand over it, she can feel the ridges of thickened scar tissue beneath her fingertips, then the searing bolt of phantom pain, the screaming chorus in her mind - you useless, worthless fucking failure, you had one purpose and you cocked it up, you can’t even die right. 

She doesn’t touch it again.

Day by day, she grows stronger. Her muscles are still weak - atrophied, Cam tells her - but she doesn’t wobble quite as much anymore. The pain ebbs to a background hum, present but manageable. On the day that she’s finally cleared to leave, Cam and Coronabeth are waiting just outside. The erstwhile princess of Ida pulls her in for an exuberant hug and presses a kiss to the crown of her head as she stutters and blushes. If her knees go a little weak at the sight of sun-burnished skin and long golden curls and roguishly rumpled military jacket, she can blame it on her injury. 

The wider Blood of Eden camp is ... overwhelming, at first. Gideon read plenty of comics about bustling cities and army camps as a kid, but she’s never seen so many people in her life. There are people everywhere. Older, careworn people around Sun’s age who give her distractedly polite nods when she passes. Very excited small people who run past her on stumpy little legs, giggling away. People closer to her own age kitted out in military gear who talk with Cam and Corona in urgent voices.

She needs to take a moment to breathe more than once on that first day out of the rehabilitation wing. The sensory input of so many people - so many overlapping voices and footsteps - crashes over her in a wave, threatening to drown her. Cam holds her hand with a look of grim sympathy and helps her to count her breaths until the wave recedes. 

(”Happened to me too,” the older girl says, brisk and clipped but not unkind. “You get used to it.”)

And, in time, she does. It becomes almost like the sun at Canaan House as the days wear on - painfully overwhelming at first, but mellowing into warm familiarity. She falls steadily in love with the community of the camp - says hello to the kids who stare up in awe at the sword slung across her back, chats with the scouts and soldiers she’ll be fighting alongside one day, has her first kiss behind the barracks with a girl with long brown braids and a spray of freckles across her cheeks. 

Under the hot light of the thalergetic stars, she remakes herself. Sifts through the wreckage of her life and fits the jagged pieces together. There’s more to her, now, than just Wake’s Bomb. Just Gaius’s mistake. Just a cavalier, or a Ninth House thrall. She’s the girl who taught Of The Valley’s kids to fence with sticks (and maybe got them in trouble for saying a few naughty words). She’s the one who’s strong enough to cart around crates of supplies by herself and volunteers to restock the medics’ stores every month. She’s the one who’s bright and loud and talks too much but makes the nervous new recruits laugh.

She’s Gideon.

And when Harrowhark takes her first shaky steps into the camp, Gideon meets her on her own terms.

[gatheringbones]

[“Neural Darwinism means that our genetic potential for brain development can find its full expression only if circumstances are favorable. To understand this, we need only imagine an infant kept in a dark room, held, physically cared for and fed, but never spoken to. After a year of such deprivation, the brain of this infant would not be comparable to those of other infants, no matter what her inherited potential. Despite perfectly good eyes at birth and healthy nerves to conduct visual images to the brain, the thirty or so neurological units that together make up visual sense would not develop. Even the neurological components of vision present at birth would atrophy and become useless if this child never saw light for about five years. Irreversible blindness would be the result. If we surrounded the child with silence for the first ten years, he would never be able to learn human speech.

Attention deficit disorder is also an example of how the neural circuitry and biochemistry of the brain may be held back from developing optimally when appropriate input from the environment is interfered with. What, then, are the optimal conditions for full brain development? The three conditions without which healthy growth does not take place can be taken for granted in the matrix of the womb: nutrition, a physically secure environment and the unbroken relationship with a safe, ever-present maternal organism. The word matrix is derived from the Latin for “womb,” itself derived from the word for “mother.” The womb is mother, and in many respects the mother remains the womb, even following birth. In the womb environment, no action or reaction on the developing infant’s part is required for the provision of any of his needs. Life in the womb is surely the prototype of life in the Garden of Eden where nothing can possibly be lacking, nothing has to be worked for. If there is no consciousness—we have not yet eaten of the Tree of Knowledge—there is also no deprivation or anxiety. Except in conditions of extreme poverty unusual in the industrialized world, although not unknown, the nutritional needs and shelter requirements of infants are more or less satisfied.

The third prime requirement, a secure, safe and not overly stressed emotional atmosphere, is the one most likely to be disrupted in Western societies. The human infant lacks the capacity to follow or cling to the parent soon after being born, and is neurologically and biochemically underdeveloped in many other ways. The first nine months or so of extrauterine life seem to have been intended by nature as the second part of gestation. The anthropologist Ashley Montagu has called this phase exterogestation, gestation outside the maternal body. During this period, the security of the womb must be provided by the parenting environment.”]

Gabor Maté, Scattered Minds: The Origins and Healing of Attention Deficit Disorder

[and-stir-the-stars]

Thinking about if angels were able to eat from the Garden of Eden, but after Adsm and Eve committed the first sin they stopped, either because they were ordered to or because they didn't want to associate with such a human, sinful place.

Maybe angel taste buds got atrophied after they stopped visiting the Garden? Or maybe certain angels were made AFTER the Garden was made forbidden, which is why Cas can't taste things (he was still too young before the ban and couldn't leave Heaven and never had the opportunity to develop taste buds) while Gabriel (one of the eldest angels) can.