#permanently fused and conjoined

[koipudding]

frothing at the mouth like a diseased animal OH MY GOD (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾

(danke for the tag :3)

Biting F/O is so awesome, for stress relief, for boredom, for expressing your emotion

If they bite back all the better....

[killhitleragain]

let me tell you about my scifi dream. tw for sexual assault and body horror.

the story takes place 27,000 years in the future. in this future, different organisms are able to permanently merge themselves together into new things. this is more body horror than a simple fusion, more like creatures with lots of heads or arms or that just look weird.

one of the main characters is a man named trevor who is from lincolnshire, england. im not actually sure if england still existed in the future, but lincolnshire does. his favorite food is a pie filled with human fingernails, on top of chips (french fries, but in this future even americans call them chips because france doesn't exist anymore), covered in gravy. he has other organisms stuck to him, most notably a woman named monica attached to his front. monica doesn't do much and spends most of her time sleeping and only wakes up to say something occasionally.

trevor and another main character, a black woman whose name i don't know, are working as police officers. except in this future the police don't police people, but rather the environment. their job is to tend to plants and build public works and the like.

there is a woman in the government who, as a child, was almost forced by her father to merge with her. this is clearly framed as a form of sexual assault. because of this, as an adult she tries to build a machine to forcibly separate people, and wants to institute rules banning merging. i don't quite remember how this story progresses, but it ends with her essentially realizing that forcing people not to merge won't actually help anyone and she allies with the main characters.

another story in the same world involves the main characters finding a time machine/space ship and using it to go back to our time. when they go back in time, trevor and monica end up being rearranged to look more like conjoined twins and the more body horror parts of them disappear so they look less scary. anyway, they find a drowning man, and decide to rescue him and bring him back to the future, assuming it wont matter. but when they get back, they find that the earth is just a bunch of barren lifeless rocks floating in space.

they go back in time again, and they realized that the drowning man they rescued was part of the US military and was supposed to stop the US from accidentally starting a nuclear war with China. they bring him back and take back with them the man's older and more conservative commander, who is the one that started the war and who was actually supposed to die instead.

they bring him to the future and explain what happened and tell him that they can't bring him back to his own time without fucking up the timeline, but he is free to live in the future. he doesn't understand it at first and sort of rejects the more liberal values of this new future, but eventually accepts it and ends up fusing with trevor and monica at the end of the story.

people on tumblr loved making gay fanart of the soldier and the commander even though they hardly interacted in canon. i liked the story because it had a lot of body horror characters who were just normal people

[dr-octavio-kalev]

TW: Child loss themes

ANM №: ANM-600

Identification: Ball Pit for Stillborn Babies

Danger Level: Nightmare 💀 | Contained ⭕️

Lead Researcher: Dr. Öctavio Kalev

Anomaly Type: Location, Haunted, Child-related, Trauma

Containment: ANM-600 must be enclosed within a 2.5-meter high barbed wire fence, surrounded by a 500-meter perimeter around the playground. Motion sensors must be installed along the perimeter, and any unauthorized individuals attempting to enter the site should be detained, interrogated, and amnesticized as necessary. No personnel are allowed to enter ANM-600 between 19:00 and 06:00 hours.

Any personnel showing signs of pregnancy, recent child loss, or a history of miscarriage are strictly prohibited from entering ANM-600 under any circumstances. Psychological evaluations must be conducted bi-weekly for all staff assigned to ANM-600.

A remotely operated robotic drone (DRR) equipped with cameras and audio recording devices must be used for all exploration and documentation purposes within ANM-600. Under no circumstances should personnel physically enter the ball pit area.

Description: ANM-600 is a partially abandoned playground located in Alabama, USA. The playground includes a rusty swing set, a deactivated carousel, several deteriorated benches, and a large central ball pit measuring approximately 5 meters in diameter and an unknown depth. During the day, the pit is 1 meter deep, becoming anomalous along with the site at night. The playground was decommissioned in 19██ after a series of unexplained child deaths were reported in the vicinity.

ANM-600 exhibits a strong anomalous attraction to deceased babies and fetuses, specifically those who died within a 50-kilometer radius of the playground. Regardless of burial location or preservation method, the remains of these children will anomalously manifest within ANM-600. These entities, designated ANM-600-1 to ANM-600-5, appear as partially decomposed or malformed human infants displaying varying degrees of hostility and awareness.

Documented Entities:

ANM-600-1 is a severely disfigured infant with pronounced craniofacial abnormalities and fused limbs, believed to have resulted from complications due to high consanguinity between its progenitors. ANM-600-1 exhibits constant signs of distress, including high-pitched crying and sporadic twitching. It is often seen crawling erratically across the playground, leaving a faint trail of bloody mucus.

ANM-600-2 is an infant with pronounced cases of elephantiasis, its limbs and head grotesquely swollen to unnatural proportions. ANM-600-2 is notably aggressive, displaying superhuman strength and the ability to violently thrash and crush objects within its vicinity. Despite its slow movement, ANM-600-2 has been observed to launch itself at high speeds towards any foreign objects introduced into the playground. The entity is presumed to have gained these abilities as an extension of ANM-600 reality-bending properties.

ANM-600-3 is an unnaturally elongated, skeletal infant presumed to have been aborted in the second trimester. ANM-600-3 stands at approximately 1 meter in height and is covered in a thin layer of taut, semi-translucent skin. Its mouth is permanently gaping, emitting a continuous, faint wailing sound that is particularly distressing to human females. ANM-600-3 is primarily active during night hours, often seen silently pacing around the edges of the playground before disappearing into the slide.

ANM-600-4 is a stillborn infant covered in extensive third-degree burns. The entity's flesh is charred and cracked, 600 smoldering with a faint, acrid smoke. ANM-600-4 has been observed dragging itself across the playground, leaving behind a trail of blackened soot. It emits a low, keening wail interspersed with choking coughs, and is known to react violently to sudden noises.

ANM-600-5 is an amalgamation of numerous stillborn fetuses, their bodies fused together in a grotesque mass of tangled limbs and conjoined skulls. ANM-600-5 is almost entirely immobile, residing within the ball pit and occasionally thrashing when disturbed. Individuals approaching ANM-600-5 have reported hearing disembodied whispers, pleas for help, and unsettling laughter originating from within the mass.

Anomalous Properties:

ANM-600 has a pervasive auditory anomaly that affects all living beings within a 100-meter radius of the playground. Subjects report hearing the cries, laughter, and gibbering of infants, which intensify the closer they get to the playground. Females who have experienced child loss, including miscarriage or abortion, are particularly susceptible to these auditory phenomena, often experiencing severe psychological distress, nausea, and disorientation.

The ball pit itself, designated as ANM-600-A, is the epicenter of the playground’s anomalous activity. When an individual enters the pit, the multicolored plastic balls begin to shift and churn as if stirred by an unseen force. Within moments, dozens of small, decaying limbs and umbilical cords will emerge from beneath the surface, attempting to grasp and pull the intruder downwards. Once an individual is fully submerged, no trace of them has ever been recovered.

Exploration using DRR units has revealed that the ball pit is anomalously deep, extending far beyond the physical dimensions of the playground. At depths exceeding 30 meters, footage becomes heavily distorted, and the drone is inevitably lost due to mechanical failure or signal interference. Audio captured at these depths includes faint crying, distorted lullabies, and, on one occasion, a coherent voice stating, "We are not alone."

Incident Report 600-04:

On ██/██/20██, a P-Subject (P-2983) was instructed to enter ANM-600-A. Upon submersion, P-2983 began to scream incoherently, stating that "they're pulling me apart." Approximately 12 seconds later, all contact with P-2983 was lost. An DRR unit deployed immediately after recorded the appearance of a new entity, designated ANM-600-6, emerging from ANM-600-A. ANM-600-6 is a large, humanoid infant figure approximately 2 meters in height, composed of what appears to be the mangled remains of several fetuses. ANM-600-6 was observed moving towards the perimeter before spontaneously disintegrating into a fine, particulate dust.

Following this incident, all further experimentation with ANM-600-A has been suspended indefinitely.

Addendum 600-B: Audio Log Excerpt

Recorded at 22:47, 13/07/20██, by Site-██ monitoring equipment.

> [Background static. Indistinct whispers.]

> Unidentified Voice: "...come to play..."

> [Sound of faint giggling, overlapping with crying.]

> Unidentified Voice: "Mommy… where are you?"

> [Loud, sharp sound, similar to metal scraping against concrete.]

> Unidentified Voice 2: "They’re here. They never left. They’re waiting for you."

> [Silence for 5 seconds, followed by distant, echoing cries.]

Note: Any personnel found to have entered ANM-600-A without prior authorization are to be considered lost and reclassified as KILLED. No recovery attempts are to be made. ANM-600 remains under observation for further anomalous developments.

[josephseedismyfather]

OCs as tragic love archetypes

Thank you @inafieldofdaisies for tagging me in this uquiz, it was pretty interesting! 🥰

Harley Jane ❤️

FATHER'S SON

Breathe down your own neck, it's the sound of smashing fist against furniture in another room again. The wringing hem of cloth and pattern of an escalating heart. Love is tumultuous to you. There is grief and disguised forgiveness to damp down the yearning. A permanent fear of tender flesh spilling out, still- you must refrain of growing attached to the fear you had installed into you. Let go of the notion that love is still to be cherished with a hole in the head. Scrub crimson ancestry off wooden floors and try again tomorrow when your hands don't shake cold from the blood loss. Love isn't a fist to escape. Fill the hole in your head with cotton and know you are to be adored. You are deserving of an embrace without flinching.

Evangeline Rose 💛

SUB ROSA

Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching a glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.

Austin Randal 💙

MAUDLIN MAGDALENE

An embrace with the shivering figure of a ghost. You cut your hair at 3 a.m. to change it all but it is no use. Love is a war to endure to you. You comfort and hold, kiss pressed to temple and cheek while feeling the numbness filling your nights to brim. What used to feel honorable has now become chore of breathing to sustain another. What else is love, but your disembodied lap to lay another's head into? Your fingers turn blue in the announcing dawn, the cold figure of what you used to know of yourself remains asleep next to them. Another version of you has crept out of your old body, has ripped and eaten itself out of a cast that was fused into the position of nurturing comfort. Remove yourself from your lovers before they become part of you, conjoined with your arms to anothers wailing head you have no life apart of maudlin magdalene. You have given endlessly, but this isn't all there is to you. Acknowledge the good that has been done and let yourself be free. You deserve to feel held as well, you are more than what you can give of yourself before breaking down.

Tagging, with apologies for doubles and no pressure as always, @wrathfulrook, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @trench-rot, @ladyoriza, @cassietrn, @redreart, @hotmessteaparty, @g0dspeeed, @v0idbuggy, @insanityofvaas, @malefiquinn, @strangefable, @noodlecupcakes, @chazz-anova, @aristomal, @ocdemon-747, @evilvvithin, @carlosoliveiraa, and whoever wants to play. Tag me! 😘

[theterribletenno]

Zahhak, the Host of the Murmur Warframe

(based on submissions made by @dapperkobold and @infestedslime). Zahhak might be my personal favorite from this season, or maybe I just like warframes designed to kill legions of enemies with minimal effort. I'm literally pre-emptively baking an anti-afk clause into his shoulder turret so it's DE compliant. Zahhak is another frame associated with the Sanctum Anatomica bounty missions. Zahhak has a chance to appear as a bonus objective for any Sanctum Anatomica bounty as an additional boss encounter. Upon discovering the chamber the boss version of Zahhak is dwelling in he will attack the players with modified versions of his abilities and signature weapon. Zahhak has two stages to his fight which must be repeated three times in total. In phase one Zahhak summons a number of Hurling Fragments on the walls of the chamber he is currently in and becomes invulnerable to damage. Once all Hurling Fragments have been destroyed phase two begins; Zahhak's health becomes vulnerable but only to void damage. Any damage type other than void dealt to his health will be reduced to 1 and trigger a radiation pulse with high status chance, causing players to become vulnerable to friendly fire. When Zahhak's health is reduced by 33% he becomes vulnerable to a parazon finisher for 10 seconds. A successful parazon finisher will trigger the next phase of his fight and make the damage he took permanent. If a parazon finisher is not administered in time he will recover the third of his health he had lost and re-enter phase one. Every time he re-enters phase one the total number of Hurling Fragments summoned increases. On death Zahhak will drop an Entrati Lanthorn and one of his four blueprints, with all having equal probability. Zahhak can also be affected by warframe abilities that trigger extra drops for a chance at a second blueprint or Lanthorn.

Health: 270 (370 at rank 30) Shields: 370 (470 at rank 30) Armor: 300 Energy: 150 (200 at rank 30) Sprint Speed: 1.0

Passive: When Zahhak is in danger the symbiotic murmur fused to his body lash out to protect their host. While Zahhak is staggered, knocked down, or bleeding out the murmur fragments flail their arms, striking any enemy that comes within 5 meters of him with 300 impact damage while ragdolling them and knocking them away.

Ability 1: Conjoined Warden, 25 energy. One of the larger murmur entities now fused with Zahhak, the Conjoined Warden is based on the murmur foe The Severed Warden. Mounted on Zahhak's back the Conjoined Warden's three arms are able to attack foes within range and line of sight with aggressive void gestures without needing Zahhak's activation or direction. To prevent interference while aiming the arm which the void gesture attacks fire from is over the shoulder opposite of the player's camera, however switching camera position does not alter the behavior or targeting of the Conjoined Warden, only which of its arms is animated attacking. Normally the Conjoined Warden will target and attack a single randomly selected enemy within its valid attack range and change targets at 5-15 second intervals, however by tapping the ability key the player can select a target for the Conjoined Warden to target for the next 20 seconds or until the enemy dies or leaves valid targeting range. Manually targeted enemies take 50% bonus void gesture damage. Holding the ability key cycles between the Conjoined Warden's three void gesture attacks. Damage, status chance, critical chance, and critical multiplier for void gestures all scale with ability strength. Fire rate of Void gestures can be affected by ability casting speed but cannot exceed a 25% increase in fire rate.

-ZUR: A void gesture with short range but unavoidable deadly effect. ZUR fires a continuous beam of energy at an enemy within 15 meters dealing 75+X (where X is equal to the enemy's level times 5) radiation damage at a rate of 12 ticks per second with 10% status chance, 25% critical chance and a 2.5x critical multiplier. ZUR can fire for up to 12 seconds continuously before needing a 3 second recharge. -PTAK: A far-reaching void gesture which is very powerful, but slow and innacurate. PTAK has both a maximum and minimum range, only able to fire at enemies that are between 15 and 60 meters away from Zahhak. Once every 10 seconds PTAK fires a large, slow-moving projectile that explodes on contact with any surface dealing 5,000+X (where X is equal to the enemy's level times 10) magnetic damage in a 7.5 meter radius with 100% status chance, 5% critical chance and a 1.5x critical multiplier as well as inflicting a guaranteed stagger. -ORARA: A void gesture which is accurate even at long range but is less lethal. Fires a four-round burst of hitscan projectiles at enemies up to 60 meters away once every three seconds. Each round in the burst deals 100+X (where X is equal to the enemy's level) impact and 100+X (where X is equal to the enemy's level) puncture damage with 50% status chance, 20% critical chance and a 2x critical multiplier.

To prevent AFK farming the Conjoined Warden will cease fire if Zahhak has not fulfilled at least one of the following for more than 15 seconds -Manually activated an ability -Moved at least 10 meters in any direction -Dealt weapon damage to an enemy Conjoined Warden will resume firing once any of these three conditions has been met.

Ability 2: Engorged Vein, 50 energy. Zahhak is encircled by a docile murmur symbiote based on The Hollow Vein, creating a new layer of protection for himself. Engorged Vein has two effects. First, upon activation Zahhak gains 1,000 points of overguard. Engorged Vein cannot grant overguard if Zahhak's current overguard value exceeds 10,000. Second, for 12 seconds after Engorged Vein is activated he will release a 15 meter pulse of radiation every time he takes damage, up to a maximum of once per second. The pulse deals 50 radiation damage with 75% status chance to enemies not yet affected by radiation status proc, and 200 radiation damage with 25% status chance to irradiated foes.

Ability 3: Atomizer, 75 energy. Zahhak temporarily separates a murmur fragment from himself visually similar to a shrunken down murmur Anatomizer which then becomes stationary and attacks enemies with a copy of the void gesture currently selected by Zahhak's Conjoined Warden ability. The Atomizer lasts for up to 10 seconds. Only one Atomizer can be active at a time. The behavior of the Atomizer's void gesture is identical to the original but there is no way to cause it to prioritize a selected target.

Ability 4: United Horde, 100 energy. Letting indifferent void energy course through him, Zahhak brings the murmur parasites that replaced his flesh to a fervor, causing them to outstretch their opalescent silver arms and begin releasing void gestures for the next 10 seconds at the cost of a 50% penalty to movement speed. A total of 12 extra murmur arms will emerge from Zahhak's body, each one able to use one void gesture. Each arm of the United Horde has behavior identical to one of the Conjoined Warden's void gestures but there is no way to cause them to prioritize a selected target. Ability strength mods will increase the number of arms activated by the United Horde.

Subsumed ability: Engorged Vein

Signature Weapon Empty Embrace: A cruel, imperfect imitation of hands. Zahhak uses these hooked murmur fingers to protect his own hands in combat. Claw-type melee weapon, average per-hit damage and attack speed but slightly above average reach and follow-through, extremely high status chance at the cost of very low critical chance and below average critical multiplier. Deals roughly equal values of impact, puncture, slash, and magnetic damage with a slight bias towards magnetic and puncture and away from impact and slash. As a special unique feature heavy attacks pull in nearby enemies with a pulse of magnetic attraction while channeling. As Zahhak's signature weapon these claws have increased parrying angle in his hands.

Closing Notes: Oh my god like half of this text is for one ability lol. I admit, I made Zahhak using a very old-school formula that is essentially built around using escalating versions of the same ability. It's something you saw a lot of in the first generation warframes. As usual my priority is fun and novelty not meta-enslavement or perfection. If you're worried about the void gestures being overpowered I ran a few calculations along the way and even the strongest of them only does a fraction of a similar primary weapon with good modding. Oh yeah, and Zahhak's name is taken from an evil sorcerer from Persian mythology.

[scalpelsister]

—OCS AND LOVE ARCHETYPES 🩷

@rolangf tagged me to do this uquiz for my ocs- thank you <3 <3 tagging: whoever wants to do this! <3

05. MOTHER'S DAUGHTER

Being her child was akin to a whispered apology, another wailing hug, another day you repent for complaining about the fact that she hasn't said anything nice to you. You bring her flowers and are met with the inconvenience of a vase that has to be found instead. You bake for her and feel the warmth of fresh cut bread fill the kitchen; but the dirty dishes remain. Even if you were to bring in the mail and lay down the knife next to your plate, she'll cradle another. Love is an endless apology to you. Averting eyes to desperate tears and sunken teeth in lower lip at the dinner table. Do not repent for who you are, as it is enough. Gather your courage to love again and reveal the honeydewed structure of a swelling heart once you feel safe to do so instead. Love isn't a confession booth of all you are not, settle down and unclasp your hands. You're all anyone could want already.

01. MAUDLIN MAGDALENE

An embrace with the shivering figure of a ghost. You cut your hair at 3 a.m. to change it all but it is no use. Love is a war to endure to you. You comfort and hold, kiss pressed to temple and cheek while feeling the numbness filling your nights to brim. What used to feel honorable has now become chore of breathing to sustain another. What else is love, but your disembodied lap to lay another's head into? Your fingers turn blue in the announcing dawn, the cold figure of what you used to know of yourself remains asleep next to them. Another version of you has crept out of your old body, has ripped and eaten itself out of a cast that was fused into the position of nurturing comfort. Remove yourself from your lovers before they become part of you, conjoined with your arms to anothers wailing head you have no life apart of maudlin magdalene. You have given endlessly, but this isn't all there is to you. Acknowledge the good that has been done and let yourself be free. You deserve to feel held as well, you are more than what you can give of yourself before breaking down.

07. FATHER'S SON

Breathe down your own neck, it's the sound of smashing fist against furniture in another room again. The wringing hem of cloth and pattern of an escalating heart. Love is tumultous to you. There is grief and disguised forgiveness to damp down the yearning. A permanent fear of tender flesh spilling out, still- you must refrain of growing attached to the fear you had installed into you. Let go of the notion that love is still to be cherished with a hole in the head. Scrub crimson ancestry off wooden floors and try again tomorrow when your hands don't shake cold from the blood loss. Love isn't a fist to escape. Fill the hole in your head with cotton and know you are to be adored. You are deserving of an embrace without flinching.

[idreamoftwilightsparkleroleplay]

She gently smiles

Genie Twilight: Well, as long the both of you are happy. Though I wouldn't be opposed to helping out with a wish in case you've ever felt the need to separate back to your bodies.

Of course, I don't mean to PERMANENTLY split you two if you actually prefer being conjoined. But in case you ever feel like separating every now and then for one reason or another. If you like being conjoined, but want to have the ability to separate too. I'd make sure the wish gives you two the ability to seamlessly go back and forth.

I'll only do it if you want to have that happen some time, though. It may just be me thinking how awkward being fused with somepony at all times would be in my opinion. If for any reason you feel being conjoined is better than being separated, I won't judge.

Solar and twilight: hello genie twilight

Genie Twilight: Why hello ther- wha!

She's taken a bit aback by the 2-headed pony before her.

Genie Twilight: Well, I'm no stranger to meeting other me's... and I've seen my fair share of conjoinment. Just pardon if I didn't expect to see somepony like the two of you, heh heh... ^^'

[gagosiangallery]

Updated release—Theaster Gates at Gagosian New York

October 29, 2020

Revised and expanded press release for THEASTER GATES Black Vessel October 10–December 19, 2020 555 West 24th Street, New York __________ View Installation Images I always find myself returning to the vessel. It is part of the intellectual life force of my practice and it precedes all other forms of making. —Theaster Gates Gagosian is pleased to present Black Vessel, Theaster Gates’s first-ever solo exhibition in New York. Gates’s oeuvre is among the most conceptually and materially rich in contemporary art, anchored equally in the canons of art history, the racial ideology of the Black diaspora, and the artist’s own personal history. Through an art practice predicated on cultural reclamation and social empowerment, Gates exchanges and recharges objects and ideas, proposing the artwork as a communicating vessel or sacred reliquary of recollected histories, critical vitality, and shared experience. Traversing a broad range of formal approaches such as painting, sculpture, sound, and performance, as well as the processes of salvaging, archiving, and place making, he delivers penetrating social commentary on labor, material, spiritual capital, and commodity within a close examination of the urban condition. The Brick Reliquaries (2020) are Gates’s latest sculptural experiments. By firing bricks with a strong manganese content to an excessive 2300°F, the known properties of the materials are transformed into the mysteries of heat-based sculpture. In some instances, the material loses its specificity when pushed to such limits; in others, the carbide shelves inside the kiln fuse with the bricks and other sculptural elements that rest on them, becoming host to material transformation. In 2012 Gates began to formalize his knowledge of roofing techniques into a new territory of experimental painting, working with tar to make the invisible roof legible. In a new suite of paintings completed this year, Gates has intensified his approach, crafting painted torch down into taut conjoined backdrops for the interplay of archaeological tarred fragments. Just as postwar artists set themselves apart from gestural abstraction by utilizing mass-produced industrial materials and techniques in place of paint and canvas, Gates has imbued abstract painting with unprecedented form and meaning—first with the Civil Tapestries (2011–), which charged Minimalist language with the legacies of racial injustice; and now in ruggedly elegant works that employ the signifying materials and skilled labor of roofing to invoke a poignant meditation on urban spirit and its implicit obsolescence. Gates promotes the vessel as a container of the concrete, the symbolic, and the spiritual—a metaphor for embodied existence or a means by which to gather communities together in time and space. For him, the clay vessel is a universal object of ritual significance. In a diverse group of unique large-scale works in glazed and fired clay, his evident formal virtuosity unites ancient traditions with modernist aesthetics, and draws elective affinities between Eastern, Western, and African techne. Switching scales from vessel as object to vessel as architecture, Gates has dramatically transformed the vast west gallery into a resonant place for shared contemplation by lining the walls entirely with Roman bricks customized from reconstituted remainders, blackened with manganese dioxide and dye. (A direct precursor to this gesture is the 2017 permanent commission Black Vessel for a Saint at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, a minimalist cylindrical shrine built from black bricks that contains a life-size statue of St. Laurence, the patron saint of librarians and archivists.) Housed in this awe-inspiring brick sanctuary are two large-scale archive works, both rich repositories of historic Black printed matter. The towering New Egypt (2017) houses the complete bound volumes of Ebony, the Johnson Publishing Company periodical (1945–2016) that promoted and celebrated the realities of Black American middle-class life. The red, black, green, and dark gray covers reference the Black Power movement, while the wooden shelving structure acknowledges various forms of Africanized architecture. The title of the work and its content reflect the teachings of Dr. Maulana Karenga, a founder of Kwanzaa and a prominent figure in early Africana studies, who posited that the Black American experience is adjacent to Nubian and Egyptian experiences of “African kingdoms.” Given that, historically, a key Western tactic to dominate other civilizations was to assassinate scholars and intellectuals and pillage or burn libraries, both New Egypt and its exhibition companion Walking Prayer(2018–20) serve as precious intellectual reliquaries whereby Black knowledge is restored and reconstituted as monuments to the truth of the Black archive and the importance of Black identity in the pursuit of world knowledge. For Walking Prayer, Gates utilized a wide-ranging historical collection of published books on Black experience, rebinding them in black and embossing the spines with language to constitute one long poem or performative score that moves among many modes of address—inchoate, enunciative, interrogatory. Arranged in an original cast-iron Carnegie open-access library shelving unit, a modular design that helped revolutionize modern libraries, Walking Prayer invites the viewer to engage in Gates’s poetic invocation where reading becomes a processional act and the gallery transforms into a latent warehouse of emotional and spiritual devices. A single Leslie speaker amplifies a single chord from a Hammond B3 organ—a pairing synonymous with Black church gospel and jazz—in a minimal sound loop, building to a crescendo to further sacralize the space. Theaster Gates was born in 1973 in Chicago, where he lives and works. Public collections include the Museum of Modern Art, New York; Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; and Tate, London. Solo museum exhibitions and projects include An Epitaph for Civil Rights, Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles (2011–12); Processions, Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, DC (2016–19); True Value, Fondazione Prada, Milan (2016); Black Archive, Kunsthaus Bregenz, Austria (2016); How to Build a House Museum, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto (2016); The Minor Arts, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC (2017); Black Madonna, Kunstmuseum Basel (2018, traveled to Sprengel Museum, Hannover, Germany); Black Image Corporation, Fondazione Prada Osservatorio, Milan (2018–19, traveled to Gropius Bau, Berlin); Amalgam, Palais de Tokyo, Paris (2019, traveled to Tate Liverpool, England); Assembly Hall, Walker Art Center, Minneapolis (2019); and Black Chapel, Haus der Kunst, Munich (2019–20). He participated in the Whitney Biennial, New York (2010); Documenta 13, Kassel, Germany (2012); the 56th Biennale di Venezia (2015); and the Chicago Architecture Biennial (2015 and 2019). Gates is the founder and executive director of Rebuild Foundation, a nonprofit platform for art, cultural development, and neighborhood transformation that supports artists and strengthens communities through free arts programming and innovative cultural amenities in Chicago’s South Side. Rebuild’s work is informed by three core values: Black people matter; Black spaces matter; and Black objects matter. Gates is the recipient of international honors including the Artes Mundi Prize (2015), the Kurt Schwitters Prize (2017), the Nasher Prize (2018), and the Crystal Award (2020). He was artist-in-residence at the Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, in 2018–19 and is currently distinguished visiting artist and director of artist initiatives at the Lunder Institute for American Art, Colby College Museum of Art, Waterville, Maine. Gates is a professor at the University of Chicago in the Department of Visual Arts and the Harris School of Public Policy. _____ Theaster Gates, Walking Prayer, 2018–20, bound embossed books and vintage Carnegie cast iron shelving, 83 × 320 × 19 inches (210.8 × 812.8 × 48.3 cm) © Theaster Gates

[miasmapuddle]

Libra full moon ushers in lessons from the zeta star race

The sun ☉ at 18 aries ♈︎ is conjoined with zeta reticulum epsilon, a star in, you guessed it, the zeta reticulum constellation.

The zeta star race is said to be an alternate timeline future version of humanity and their story is very resonant for our times. Almost too much so.

The zetas began to advance in technology at a high rate, and made the decision to leave the emotional and spiritual aspect of the world on the wayside, opting instead for a rational and materialist perspective. Well, down the evolutionary road they had chosen, due to embracing transhumanism, fusing their own flesh with hard tech, they lost all emotional capability, and their connection to source and their intuitive selves were totally severed. Around the same time, they were plunged into a massive civil war that led to nuclear warfare and the destruction of their viable planets. So the zeta people, who looked a lot like we do at this point in the story, retreated deep underground.

While underground, their skin became extremely pale, and their pupils expanded over their entire eye in order for them to be able to distinguish shapes in the relentless darkness of their planet's interior. Due to their dependence on intellect and restricted movement their heads ballooned and their bodies grew small and slim.

This created the classic ET physique most commonly recognized in what we call Greys, but are better known as Zetas.

The zetas soon realized they had made a mistake. by relying so heavily on technology, their connection to the natural world grew strained to the point that they lost the ability to reproduce. Desperate to continue their race, they began to use some of their technology to try and shift to an alternate timeline in which they had not made their fateful choice.

Long story short, they could not, and instead began looking for a race whose DNA they could harvest. This is how they found earth, back in the 1970s, around the start of abductions.

Zetas began abducting humans in order to obtain our DNA, which holds within it a vast range of emotion and potential for deep feeling and intuition, the exact qualities the Zetas once had. Their experiments were successful, and they began to create hybrid children who had the zeta intellectual capacity paired with the emotional depth of earth humanity. But the DNA they had harvested came from humans who were terrified, and this traumatic distortion was mirrored in the emotional state of the hybrid children. They were not happy, and were full of fear. The zeta realized that because of the interconnectedness of our reality, in order to heal their children, they had to heal their now broken relationship with humanity.

So the zeta began to work on a more spiritual path, and while they were not able to regain their lost capabilities right away, after generations of hybridization with other races, namely humans, a new kind of Zeta being emerged, one whose intellect renders them non judgemental and capable of clear seeing.

With zeta conjunct the sun, opposing the full moon in libra, we are receiving evidence of these lessons now in the form of deep divisive polarity, urging us to choose a side and stand with it absolutely. This is not the answer, and will only lead to further polarity. Tapping into the zeta energy can help us to see things objectively and to feel a deep compassion for our fellow human, understanding that pain and fear only breed more pain and fear, and likewise, healing only breeds more healing.

As an effort to aid humanity, the Zeta race has seeded many souls on earth, also hoping that the subtle encryption of their dark history will unconsciously aid us in making different decisions while we still can.

Zeta starseeds are very otherworldly, often appearing aloof or hypersensitive, and have a strongly eccentric space cadet vibe, a bit removed from everything around them. Zeta starseeds are equipped with brilliant minds, especially when it comes to rational thought and sciences, and they bring this mathematical flair to their spiritual ventures as well, looking at things from a uniquely dualistic yet united perspective.

At this time, the zetas are one of the most prominent races working with earth, especially the zeta-human hybrid, known as the essassani. ( for example, prominent channeled entity bashar is an essassani being)

Unfortunately many still see the zetas, commonly called the greys, as a negative race. And yes, negative factions still exist, many of which live on the orion empire controlled system of planets known as the unholy six, or in the orion star system itself. But this race as a whole has largely taken a miraculous turn for the best.

The zeta, using the holofractal nature of our universe to heal and transmute across the timelines.

Zeta message -

" in upcoming months, humanity will stand at a crossroads. You will be in a position much like one where we once were. you will be under the impression that you do not have a choice in which road you will walk. You will feel that the pull of the many is too vast and that you, the singular, are best off letting yourself be swept along in the flow rather than resisting the tides and risking a storm. This is your choice, but we urge you to take your unique personal perspective and autonomy as a gift at this time. We zeta, would like to add since this was not mentioned in the article, that we are a hive mind, and that when we moved into this state, we lived in division, in a deluded type of unity, until we collectively chose to move into what you call the light. Humans are walking the path of collective awakening at this time and will presently move into a type of consciousness more alike our own. But this connection of the hive, the collective mind, will first be a struggle. Your feelings, your thoughts, your experiences, will all be heightened. Know that this potent period is not permanent, it is a destabilizing influence, but one that is a natural consequence of deep change within your dimension. Allowing this new influx of awareness to breed anxiety and the desire to control, to force, to separate from, will only lead you to a darker horizon. The definitions of your world, mundane and metaphysical, are about to be flipped, shifted into a new paradigm. Allow it to occur and do not attempt to grasp to any one truth or absolute understanding in this time, no matter how wrong or right something seems to your new mind. Focus on cultivating your ability to move with and within this collective awareness, instead of resisting it. We are all in a dynamic timeline, and are all hoping for the best, and though we may appear to be some type of authority, we are, in many ways, as powerless to the ebb and flow of Great Nature as you. To call upon us, simply state a simple invocation, saying that you would like to connect to us, the Zetas. While you may not receive immediate impressions of our presence, you will have initiated a channel of interplay through which we can begin to connect. Thank you.

I'd like to note that the crossroads the Zetas are talking about is almost certainly the fusion of humanity and technology. 5g is just the first step in a forced transhumanism that will descend over society. This is the wave that will be so hard to push back against. They will say it is the wave of the future, astrologers may claim that it is the dawn of the age of aquarius after all, a sign associated with humanity itself, as well as technology. But this approaching singularity is not something to take lightly. Infusing our natural beings with such a high degree of electromagnetic influence will create changes in the quantum field and will reduce the number of probabilistic futures that we hold in our palm as natural humans. Once technology comes into the picture, our consciousness will become more fixed.

Writing this has been bringing up an extreme path of synchronous happenings, and I hope reading this will do the same for all of you.

[robbyrobinson]

IN HEAVEN - A Horror story 

Being a reverend of our local congregation was a family tradition. My father was a reverend. His father was a reverend. His father was one. You get the picture. Sure, I might have had some doubts about the profession, and in life, I had tried to stave it off by furthering my education at some far-away university, but one way or another, the position called for me. I devoted most of my time at the university studying theology and religion. I was at the top of my class.

Soon came when my father passed the task of reverend to me. I recall that before he died, he seemed to be slightly darker in his mannerisms. He was always an optimistic man, even in the face of anyone who criticized his livelihood. But in his final years, he changed immensely. Anywhere he went, he carried grimness with him. He acted as though a rain cloud were over his head. He had grown despondent at his time of death, refusing to accept any prayers that his immortal soul be taken to a place of rest. But just before he succumbed and left the mortal coil, there were reports that he was deeply horrified and hyperventilated rapidly. His heart rate skyrocketed to abnormal leaps, and he died, a look of sheer horror being permanently glued on his face.

My first year as reverend didn't go as well as you'd imagine. For one, there were many young people who were the epitome of smart alecks. They always loved to bring up the supposed contradictions in the scriptures or how God was an immoral being who for all accounts was a tyrannical, mass murderer who was offended that mankind worshiped other gods or that He was simply unfair. This was always something that I was raised to believe: God had his reasons for what he does. What may seem to be bad for us is mere because we view things from our own perspective rather than his. Sure, descriptions of God's firing down burning sulfur and brimstone onto Sodom and Gomorrah were terrible, or God's slaughtering of the Egyptian children in the tenth and final plague that befell Egypt as stated in Exodus sounded horrific, but ultimately, I was convinced that God ultimately saw it as being for the Israelites' good, or how whenever bad things happened in my life, I held onto my faith.

Just last month, I lost my youngest son, Theodore to childhood leukemia. Yes, we prayed fervently for his recovery until he took his last breath. But still, maybe God wanted his precious, precious soul to be with him immediately. My one regret, however, was that he was never baptized. I remember my daughter looked at me with the most frightful expression of concern. That her brother was in Hell because he was too young to understand the notion of turning his life over to Christ. I tried to console my daughter that he was in Heaven, but she only compounded my frustrations by asking then why man was considered wicked the moment they were born.

But with all my trials, I prevailed. I continued to preach God's Word to the masses, saving countless souls. Some didn't accept the word, but if the seeds were sown, I was content. For sixty years I taught the same lesson of God's love for us and how he sent his son to act on our behalf. I also challenged countless atheist and agnostic debaters. To my congregation, I had - in their words - royally schooled them on my knowledge of the scriptures. By the time I retired, my eldest son Samuel took up the mantle. He started out kind of like how I did. He wasn't as bold in what he was saying, but within three months, he was becoming more convicted in the word.

At the age of 64, everything changed. During a monthly checkup with my doctor, I received the news that a tumor was detected forming in my frontal lobe. I had earlier endured severe headaches and I felt more tired than usual. I went to chemotherapy for weeks; anything that the doctors tried to implement simply did not work. On my death bed, my family gathered around. My church congregation had since ceased their prayers for me. Dying never really bothered me. Since I didn’t remember what it was like to be born, this would then mean that dying would be painless. My vital signs started to fade, and after two minutes, I let myself slip away.

A beam of light gently grazed upon my eyes, forcing them open. My eyes beheld the Pearly Gates. Past that was the streets paved with gold and the many mansions that Christ discussed with his followers. As my eyes beheld several of the sights, I noticed that there was something strangely odd about it all. No one was present. I expected to at the very least see old faces once I woke up in Heaven. Instead, the streets were empty. Rather than hearing angelic singing, everything was bereft of the slightest murmur. I walked around the barren streets for quite some time. Right when I turned to head back, a low audible sound crept into my ears.

My legs tightened. Without a second thought, I sprinted towards the site of the audible noises. It took me to the very heart of the city. Right when I was about to make a right turn, my eyes locked onto something. In the middle of the square was the throne of God. The exact White Throne that was attributed to God and the exact one where it was held that he would judge the living and the dead. It was awe-inspiring. It was everything that I was taught to believe. The throne glowed with pure, white light. But with all that breathtaking majesty aside, something felt horribly wrong about it. The throne flickered feverishly. The sounds became more audible. Curiosity crept into me, and I slowly made for the throne.

What I saw made me question everything.

The throne itself throbbed as if it were a nightcrawler thrashing on a fishing hook. Upon closer inspection, I saw the faintest of humanoid attributes on the throne. The throne of God pulsated rapidly, the screaming nearly deafening me. Before my eyes, faces emerged from the throne. Each one bore the same look of terror. Their eyes were wide, almost as if they were observing something, but at a long distance. I could feel the heat of their glares on me, as though they were trying to telepathically beg me to put them out of their misery. They screamed in unison, their shrieks sounding like legions of malfunctioning sirens. I looked further at the throne, seeing that it had a fleshy appearance. It was as though the throne itself was one living creature. The tortured beings frothed at the mouth, making inhuman noises, the sounds of absolute hell.

I could make out that an innumerable number of bodies that comprised the Great White Throne of Judgment. Limbs littered the throne in different places. The light began to fade revealing the throne to be nothing more than a putrid-smelling mass of red meat. Whoever these people were, they had been conjoined. Something must have broken them down and put them back together with gallons of glue. I felt myself nearly vomiting if it were not for a voice.

“Welcome to Heaven.”

I looked up at the throne of God and saw a gargantuan figure sitting in the chair, as though it were completely unaware of the horrid screaming coming from its throne. The voice wasn’t as loud as I’d imagine it to be. It sounded as soft as the wind, but it didn’t comfort me in the slightest. This being was submerged in blinding light. I searched for a semblance of a face on the large entity, but I couldn’t. The further I looked on this creature, I felt a terror bubble from the deepest parts of my stomach. Somehow, I managed to choke a word out.

“Are, are you God?”

While I couldn’t see it, I could tell that the being before me had a wide smile across its face.

“I have many names,” it stated in the same eerie giddiness. “I am YHWH, Jehovah.”

What he said shocked me the most.

“I am also Zeus. Thor. I am Shiva. I am all of the gods that humanity had willfully believed in.”

I stood there, my jaw agape. “But, but, God, what about my life work?”

God chuckled. “You humans never cease to amaze me with the utter ridiculousness of what you’d be willing to believe.”

God had a good chuckle over it as if I had told him one of the funniest jokes in over a thousand years. The joke being my former life. After laughing fervently, God paused to feel the texture of the throne.

“It is a fine throne, isn’t it?” God asked.

My hopes of God somehow being ignorant of the deathly screeches of its throne died at that moment. This god almost got ecstasy from hearing millions – maybe trillions – of souls being melded together as a large blob of disharmony. The urge to vomit arose again.

“Do you know what this throne is made of?” God asked.

I shook my head, not wanting to know. But God was, of course, going to disclose the texture of it regardless of whether it intrigued me or not.

“Years ago, I created the angels,” God shuffled in its chair before continuing, “they were always meant to worship me, but after eons of feeding off their praise, it wasn’t enough for me.”

I flinched as I expected more vivid descriptions from God.

“When I created man in my own image, the angels didn’t want them to suffer as they had.” God sounded noticeably angered, its voice raising an octave to emphasize it. “So, one leader rose up to rebel against me.”

“Satan,” I said.

God scoffed. “Because of their betrayal, I decided the best way to punish them is to condemn them to a life of endless suffering, one of which would make them regret being birthed from the fires.”

I nearly fell backward at the realization. God’s throne was comprised of the fused bodies of nearly a third of the angels who rebelled against him and failed. Now they were being made to be eternally tortured. I tried to rationalize God’s justifications for this disproportionate retribution, but no logical answer would suffice. There were no excuses for what God had done. But the one thing that made me more curious was what became of the human souls of those who had died. If what God had said was true, then the afterlife as we know is just one inescapable nightmare. God apparently read my thoughts, and before my eyes, God conjured up legions of souls. Each soul lacked pupils in their eyes and their skins were a pale grey. They reminded me of the many zombie-related movies in olden times. But they were all people I knew in life.

The one that caught my eyes the most was a small figure. It tilted back and forth; its mouth open as though it were inciting a chant. I could tell that short stature from anywhere; it was Theodore. I ran to my son and hugged him tightly. I opened my eyes fully expecting the hug to be reciprocated, but instead, I felt the slight nibble on my neck. I looked at my son, to my horror, he started to bite down into my neck in a blind frenzy. I pried him off, tossing him to the ground, only for him to emotionlessly pick himself up and stand with the other souls.

I turned to look at God in anger. “That’s not my son.”

God giggled. He merely looked at the souls before him, as though he were an artist marveling at their work.

“No, he isn’t. And he never was.”

Each human soul was a former shell of themselves lacking even the slightest characteristic that made them lively. They had instead become inhuman slaves without their free will. At the time of death, God stripped each soul of their individuality, making them worship him forevermore. This would be the fate of untold many people who either followed the Christian faith or any religion for that matter. It seemed to not even matter if you chose to not pursue a religion because I saw many of my former atheist and agnostic debaters in the masses. It all made sense for why God would masquerade as different gods: the more people he got to believe him, he would bathe in their worship until their time of death when they would be made into the perfect followers by being removed from anything that made them human. This was the fate of my son, my father, and my grandfather. Even if I chose against the profession of a reverend, it wouldn’t have mattered much to God because he’d convert me the moment, I stepped foot in his kingdom.

I felt myself getting lifted into the air against my will. I levitated over the masses of souls and I was back to God and his revolting throne. While again I couldn’t see a discernible expression on his face, something told me that it was smirking.

“Well, time for you to join the heavenly choir, shall we?”

Not expecting an answer, I felt a surge of God’s power penetrate my body and consume me. I screamed in excruciating pain as my world suddenly started to grow dark. I tried to fight against the conversion with all my might, but my rationalization was starting to melt away. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think a cognitive thought. I used the last of my consciousness to curse God’s name before sudden darkness filled my sights.

[shimano-futoshi]

I want to know the lore behind Stumpmano

Stumpmano was Shimano Futoshi’s twin brother, who fused to him during their mother’s, Shiwomano Futoshi’s, pregnancy. Upon their birth it was clear that Stumpmano was the “evil twin” of the two. He contained the raw malice, seen now within Shimano, in his tiny, stumpy body. Shimano was actually quite a nice guy back in the day. He even donated regularly to Dog’s Trust until he was twenty five years old; the year in which everything changed.

Shim- and Stumpmano were young yakuza, but were already making waves in Sotenbori. Their first patriarch, Mr. Libido (known at that point as Mr. Yakuza), was jealous of them. They were able to utilise their combined consciousness together in one body to take out far more men than one ever could. Two men in one body, with the capabilities of such (Of course, Stumpmano didn’t have arms, legs, neck, etc, but he did have Teeth! Which he used to horrifying degrees). So, Mr. Yakuza sought to take them out, as he thought in his paranoia; that the two were planning to overthrow him and take control of the Mr. Yakuza Family for themselves. Then, one day, as the radiant sun beamed overhead, the unthinkable happened; Stumpmano was killed. As the two walked down to Komian for a delicious meal prepared and cooked by Komian’s master chefs! Come down now and use the code Shimano-Futoshi for a massive 5% off your next order!*, they were set upon by Mr. Yakuza goons, who drove by the two and opened fire. Because they were walking to the left, and Stumpmano had fused onto Shimano’s left shoulder, he took the brunt of the force, being killed on the spot, but saving Shimano. Mr. Yakuza was pleased that Stumpmano was slain, as he was considered the brains of the two due to his uninhibited capacity for malice and violence. Little did Mr. Yakuza know, however, that Stumpmano’s death led his corruption to seep into Shimano, forging him into the ruthless, bloodthirsty patriarch that we know him as today. 

And as revenge for slaying his conjoined brother, Shimano took to the streets with his super cool mecha robo arm that he replaced Stumpmano with, and killed all the Yakuza Family goons he could find, eventually facing Mr. Yakuza himself. It was a fierce battle, and Shimano emerged victorious after the booming clashes of steel and sharp rings of lead fell silent, but, with the final ounce of compassion he found within himself, Shimano could not find it in his blackened heart to kill his former patriarch. So, in an act of mercy(?) he bought five kilograms of viagra and forced it down into Mr. Yakuza, pacifying him by causing his libido to skyrocket irreversibly to the highest level ever seen in not only Japan, but the world. Now Mr Yakuza’s bloodlust had been erased and permanently replaced with, well. just lust, and Mr. Yakuza soon became known as none other than Mr. Libido (Sotenbori). With Mr. Yakuza now gone, Shimano rounded up the remaining members of the Yakuza Family and created his own with the remnants of the group. His first act as Patriarch? Well, let’s just say that Dog’s Trust is 300 Yen poorer every month now. 

*This post sponsored by Komian, home of the most delicious meals in Sotenbori!

[innocentpower]

[Well..."if a Kai is involved, Potara fusion is permanent" XD ]

Incorrect, Goku Black and Zamasu tried to separate, the only reason they couldn’t was because of the immortality that Zamasu had, that was what resulted in the deformation of half of his body as it tried to separate and couldn’t because of the wish.

A quote about that - In the manga, when Fused Zamasu's time ran out, Fused Zamasu began taking on the form of his fusees. As his fused body became an unbalanced mix, with Future Zamasu's immortality struggling to "repair" his body as a single being, resulting in a splitting image of his fusees. On the left, Fused Zamasu resembled Future Zamasu, with his mohawk cut off by his right side. The right side of his body had a resemblance to Super Saiyan Rosé Goku Black. Both were conjoined by a gooey substance, his immortality struggling to keep the components intact.

[quiveringdeer]

I was trying to locate some gifs before responding to this but cant find them and dont wanna forget later.

So. In some scene where Vincent has his mask off I recall being able to see at least a couple of his upper teeth, since his whole cheek never formed. Which I think would also impact or mean the lack of facial nerve formations from the brain on that side. And researching a bit into that here are some tidbits.

"Facial nerve disorders can cause weakness on one or both sides of your face. You might lose your facial expressions, and find it difficult to eat, drink and speak clearly. It can also become difficult to close your eye and blink, which can lead to damage to your cornea."

"A traumatic injury to your head or face is one of the most common causes of severe permanent facial paralysis. In particular, fractures through the temporal bone of your skull are commonly associated with injury to the facial nerve, as well as injury to the labyrinth leading to hearing loss and vertigo. We can use electrophysiological testing and imaging to find out how severe your injury is. We'll sometimes need to surgically decompress or graft the facial nerve. Soft tissue injuries, such as lacerations, can also damage the facial nerve. It's important to have these injuries seen and repaired correctly to give you the best chance of recovering."

"Iatrogenic injury can occur during surgery on your head or face. The type of treatment you need will depend on the degree of injury to your facial nerve. In severe cases, we might need to repair the nerve. If this isn't possible, we'll look at other surgical options to restore movement or symmetry to your face"

So there could definitely be issues with his speech. (And I hc that Vincent doesnt really bother and would instead mostly use sign language) It makes me wonder if Victor performed even more surgeries on baby/young Vincent in hopes of trying to give him develop those nerves (if that's even possible) I also am not gonna look up skin grafting now cause I really should be applying this work ethic to my actual job duties right now, but if that were an available avenue I feel like trying to apply a skin graft to heal over the wound would be some alternative. (Again it might ruin the "horror" aesthetics tho and i'm sure the writers werent thinking or caring about any of the biology behind the capabilities of how this would affect the character beyond having him not talk.)

From the way they were conjoined in the baby pics I doubt there would be any possible way for them to be separated and Vincent survive, as I feel like they were conjoined where even more of Vince's face should be missing, but movie and plot points, eh.

Anyway.

Looking at a brain diagram. Seems like the frontal lobe, I dunno if it would go so far to impact the temporal lobe. And I guess we're assuming if his skull was able to form completely/contains all the bones baby skulls have that it would be able to fuse more or less in tact after the separation. So maybe that prevented any damage to the brain? (i didnt do well in my neuroscience class so couldnt speak much on what all that'd mean anyway. I think another anon mentioned it in response to this?)

@slasher-brainrot Feel free to add on if you have any thoughts. @pisscallyirresponsible any input from the neuroscience knowledge? Since you two have been so wonderful helping me talk through this current hyperfixation lol

I hope you don’t mind my asking but how do you feel the extent of Vincent’s scars are? We see them pretty clearly in the movie and especially behind the scenes with the CG model they show off and he’s missing quite a lot of his face, do you think he would he be able to talk like that, or eat easily, or even be able to breathe well? I just feel so bad for him everytime I watch.

This is a great question! I wish I had some medical records or something for him so I could truly know the extent of the damage.

I want to think it would be hard for him to speak and eat, mostly because it fits the horror aesthetic better (lol) but also because the scarring looked so severe in the movie. It seems like he would have, at least, some difficulties.

Poor Vinny!

[the-pupillary-sphincter-blog]

Streetlights

7:44 pm. Darkness had just fallen and the streets were illuminated again by a pool of orange light. These thoroughfares, usually occupied by many people at this period of time, were stark silent and empty. I could nearly hear nothing except the dull hum of the universe. But perhaps these streets were not that different from me. Gloomy. Empty.

I found myself walking through the sidewalks of this avenue we used to frequent. Remember when I told you how much I like the streetlights? These fixed and sturdy spheres of light reflecting unto the sky's faded stars and igniting the darkness after nightfall, provide the best guide for every shadow on its way home. Without them, nighttime wanderers will be swallowed by the twilight and the envisaged monsters in the dark. But despite their best intentions to illuminate our nights, they remain endlessly unnoticed and unappreciated. Somehow, it replicates the remnants of everything that we've had in these pavements.

Hmm.

Remember when I told you about the story of the movie that you missed in our class, and asked you if I was a good storyteller? I was about to tell you another story after it, but you told me my storytelling was a one vague notion after another, so I decided not to. Also, the story was a bit philosophical and I thought you might get easily bored listening to it but I really wanted to tell you about it. Not that I have a particular attachment to it, I just found it interesting though it sounded half-incomprehensible. The truth is, it was a story about the mythological exegesis on the origin of love.

It was in Plato's Symposium, when Aristophanes told a strange tale, instead of an intellectual discourse about the origin of love. He set the story in the ancient times, when human beings were still of three sexes: the descendants of the sun, who were like two males fused together; the descendants of the earth, who were like two conjoined females; and the descendants of the moon, who were a male and a female.

These creatures who were gifted with terrible strength and enormous power, started to scale the heavens and seek war against the gods. But Zeus, the god of the gods, decided not to put them to death and that those humans just needed to be humbled. He then launched his thunderbolts which halved and separated them into two. The outer wound that never healed, which is the navel, remained in their bodies to remind them of their disloyalty. And so, they were scattered around the earth, roaming the dominions with a deep feeling of void and nothingness, until they find their other half.

And when they already find their other half, the original part of themselves, they finally become whole again. We call it love.

A few months ago, I found you. And I felt whole.

The wholeness which unimpeachably filled in the cracks of my vessel. The wholeness, which according to Aristophanes, was the single and ultimate aspiration common to all people. The wholeness, which I mistakenly thought would be permanent and lasting. By then, I thought I have already recovered the genuine wholeness, and that the pursuit of the inner healing for a very old outer wound was already part of my existence.

I found myself falling for you. Apparently, the silly, little crush I had on you became greater than what I have thought. People say it only happens in movies. But for me, the crinkling of your smile into a star burst, the slow motion movements of the world around us, and the techno drum-beat thump just beneath my rib cage everytime I look at you with idle fascination, were all true.

I was able to find myself writing again, with everything of you as my theme; your beamy and guileful smile in which I couldn't help but believe, your elegant eyes which adores me even in the cracked darkness, and your quicksilver character – cool and clingy at one moment, and then perfectly enigmatic the next. Yet my feelings for you didn't wane even if I didn't fully understand your ambiguities. And believe me, I'm still searching for the words that describe those things that attached me to you the most.

We were able to get closer together. Aside from being my classmate in almost every class I had, we were able to go beyond that – to a threshold of feelings which, now that I think about it, I perhaps misunderstood. Even if we were both busy students; me as a student-volunteer and you as a student-athlete, we would exchange messages almost every hour of the day. Ofttimes, we would pass by the same avenue and eat lunch or dinner together in our favorite carenderia. And then we would walk back to your dormitory together while telling me how bad or optimistic your day was, or how you were annoyed by one of our professors, or how you achieved a new stunt with the help of your purportedly lucky socks. Those moments, wherein we let our miseries hang in the air for the instant, were the ones I so damn wanted to last for a lifetime.

But everything changed when time, I reckon, the thing I wanted to kill the most, slowly shattered what we had into broken pieces until nothing was left. I was hoping there was still a light at the end of the tunnel and that we could piece everything back. And yet, your words pierced my very existence. All of them, the thumping of my heart, the slow motion of the world, were taken away.

“I think it's not yet the right time for both of us.”

Emptiness.

It felt like I was in a dying delirium. I felt so empty like gravity will let go of me and everything will be screwed as my body floats in the galaxies. The emptiness haunted me eternally and I didn't even have the slightest idea of what to say anymore. I probably ran out of words because I lost you.

I hated every single hour I was awake. I hated myself for compromising everything that we had and what we could have been. I hated the times I didn't care enough to notice how much you made me whole. I was full of shit. I knew I could have been better and stronger.

Everyday I would stare at my phone, hoping that my fingers would type the right words which never came out. Then I would find new ways to distract myself from myself, but wouldn't be able to find any forgetting. At night, I would stare at the unknown, stilled by the coffee we both love. Yet all the thoughts I avoid by day, would come to my mind by night; the thoughts that would keep me more awake than the coffee. And then I would sleep, with the thought that I would only be just a memory for you. A memory that would be more faded everyday.

Then I wake up again and curse myself, curse the poems I made for you, curse the coffee we both love, curse my ignorance and insensitivity, curse the obscurity of the ceiling above my bunk, and curse the world and my very existence.

Perhaps Aristophanes was wrong with his metaphor on how love works. There are times when love makes you feel empty, even when you finally found your other half.

The orange glow and warmth of the streetlights brought me to this avenue. It was just at almost night, but the avenue was desolated enough to let the brightness sting into my thoughts again. Remember when I told you how much I like the streetlights? It makes me feel gold and safe in the dark, being able to burn and uplift the sullen shadow of mine. It's just sad I could never look at these man-made moons again with you by my side. But I guess I'll just settle for this night, amidst the pavements and the hazy streetlights that I love, the only witnesses of everything that we've had.

Do I have some final words? I don't know. I miss you.

I'm fading.

And I thought my life would flash ahead of me before I meet my own demise. But the only thing I see is your face. Your smile frozen in time as we pass through the alley's monotonous lullaby. And your eyes fixed upon me as we walk under the star-drunk sky.

I'm fading.

Into the darkness.

Into oblivion.

//

[soulwitch]

quantum-magician-michiko​:

Michiko’s eyes were closed tight, her hands clasped together at her chest as if she wanted to sink into herself to hide from everything. You can’t ‘beat’ the void. It wasn’t some monster like Jeanne to be defeated. It wasn’t anything at all.

However, it was a very good thing Zen was there to ground her. Hearing a voice and feeling a hand on her shoulder reminded her that she still existed, and Zen’s advice reminded her that she had a reason to exist. The people that made her feel warm.

If she didn’t get a hold of herself, there wouldn’t be anymore relaxing conversations with friends like Alice and Komachi. She wouldn’t be able to show Kokoro the wonders of space anymore. And of course there was the mansion; like playful and optimistic Meiling, or enthusiastic and shy Koakuma, the surprisingly gentle Remilia, and of course her loyal and diligent mother. That was the family she had lost to the void before, and she didn’t want to lose them again. Finally there was Rinnosuke, courageous, gentle and kind, even if he denied it. She may of not been sure if her feelings for him could ever be reciprocated, but she would never know unless she pulled through.

The magician then took a deep inhale in through her nose, and then released a big sigh. Keeping her eyes closed, she began to to breath deeply, calming her and allowing her to focus on her surroundings and the underlying foundations that created this reality.

Michiko’s eyes then opened, a radiant white light illuminating from her sockets. The quantum magician then extended her arm in front of her, before slowly closing her fingers into a fist, as if something was holding them back. As she did, and the separated tectonic fragments began to pull into one another, conjoining together, but were too far gone to permanently fuse. Still, Michiko was able to put the building, along with the pat to it, close enough together that it was traversable.

“You’re doing it!” Zen cheered, she could see a path between them and the lodge forming, though unstable, it was something. Zen watched as Michiko’s efforts seemed to be paying off, watching almost as light was being shined on a bit of hope, that things could be fixed later.

“Only a little more.. and I’ll rush in, I’ll find what we need so we don’t need to stay long. I know its there, her book of memories..” Zen walked forward a bit, still near enough to keep a hand on Michiko’s shoulder, not wanting to let her go until Michiko gave her any signal to rush forward. For now she just wanted to comfort the other as they pulled off this amazing feat.

“I can see the inside of both rooms now, since they’re closer together.. its in her personal room. Focus on that half, and we’ll get it and get out...” Zen clenched her fist, “Don’t worry Harune-sama.. Sezja-san, I’ll save you..”