#Human Thorax

[marlynnofmany]

It’s back!

If you missed it the first time around, the “human are weird” anthology is back for a second printing. (There’s even a new story included: “Black Box” by Dara Brophy.)

Here’s the blurb:

In science fiction, humans are usually boring compared to other races: small, weak, with no claws or tentacles, and no special abilities to speak of. But what if we were the impressive ones, the unsettling ones, the ones talked about by all the other aliens? What if we're weird?

If you’d like a collection of excellent stories about humans inspiring awe, fear, and utter confusion, it’s available everywhere books are sold!

[justvoidsdumbstuff1]

Heh, old man's

[ywraa]

remember when i say that i might design the bug bro after celestia and luna? here it is!

im not rlly happy with how pharynx's color look but im glad it done

below will be me talking abt some design detail and some hc!

early sketch

i want to keep the ponytail in the new drawing but couldnt figure how to draw without making it awkward since front facing stuff so i just decide that thorax let his hair down when not outside the changeling kingdom.

i originally want thorax's hair to be white since he just look bad with that green color imo but then i realize i could just change the saturation and brightness as long as ppl can still tell that yes this green guy is thorax.

i want to add some elements that reference the old changeling design like the ripped black clothing that you see in the dress to show the main color in the og design. For the hole in the limb, i try to translate it here as the burn scar that look like hole and to ref the comic scene where celestia defeat chrysalis.

i was thinking abt how thorax could pull off anything since his time at the crystal empire influence how he dress in the future cause everyone there just dress all fancy.

for pharynx, he give no fuck since he wear his uniform 90% most of the time and when he done with his duty, he would just pick the first outfit in his closet and call it a day.

[sillydeafpony]

non-lod related doodles :3

[daily-fern]

day 106

(SORRY obsessed with Thorax rn i love drawing him :sob:)

[shatterdome-underscore]

Every time I see a depiction of Scam Likely/Scam Actually with 4 arms I think about how that legally makes him an insect

[randomnameless]

Forget Holoholo bird, that thing was a piece of cake compared to Guillo -

I legit took 2 hours and a half to beat them like what the fresh fuck

Big reveal was the big reveal -

Sagi's growing more and more doubtful and annoyed with you, the player who's supposed to play the navi "hey listen" like entity because plot wise you're supposed to give him super powers, and yet we keep on fighting battles with plot mandated losses lol

+ coupled with flashbacks where Thoraxn and pals pick the worst option available, and Sagi (nor the player, I tried to pick the "no" option when asked if we were ready to sell our souls lol) cannot influence those events eithers since they already happened : he feels useless in the "real timeline" and in the "flashback timeline" and I thought it was nice to have the protag, well, lash out at the so-called omniscient player

(Imagine if Eliwood, just after Elbert's death, lashed out against Mark because for a supposed tactician they failed him and Elbert, and if they had been better maybe they could have arrived faster to the Dread Isle and saved Elbert!)

Remember how I've said Gena and Sagi's bond was important in the plot?

Granted, it's always the "female character who suffers to make the male protag go berserk" trope, and yet, as opposed to a certain manga that makes us want to believe the protag and his "more or less" stalker are in such a relationship that her death means he loses controls, as opposed to the death of his mentor or of ramen guy (tm), here, as I mentionned in another post, Gena always writes letters to Sagi, giving him pocket money, items, asking how he's feeling, encouraging him to do something he wants, etc etc.

Gena is Sagi's world - hell he becomes a soldier/mercenary because he wants to help his mom and her orphanage!

Short story big story : the evil guys tear her wings out (apparently it spells death if not treated), Gena passes out and Sagi rages and transforms in one of the Eldritch Abominations we've been fighting (and losing against).

The plot continues and once Sagi and the player make up, Sagi gets his power-up and can finally start winning some fights!

However, Sagi is driven by revenge - and while Shanath deserves an ass beating for what he did to Gena - Sagi killing him puts Savyna, Shanath's own daughter, on the path of revenge, with the events we know in BKEWLO.

Enter the "Baten Kaitos character sidequests before the final fight" (tm) - and I nearly ragequit'd for the day after the Seginus fight

Sure it doesn't hit as hard as Guillo does, but fuck, fighting two godcrafts in the same day is a hassle lol

More flashback time where we see the events from 1k years ago from someone else's POV, and how Seph'n'Thoraxn's plan to make a deal with the "Dark brethren" fucked everyone over (them included!), because while they supposedly got a super power to defeat their enemy, well, they didn't and created instead a sea of corpses, poisoning the Earth so much that the only solution for people to survive was to send some parts of the land to the sky, effectively creating the setting's floating islands.

I still have some sidequests to continue with but while the plot is interesting, in the sense that you discover the reasons/secrets/origins (lel) of the first game's plot points and lore events...

Well, the playable character are more engaging plot-wise than the ones from the first game, and yet, the battle system becomes kind of stale.

Sagi got his ultra super duper combo that can wipe 1 enemy, Guillo can do AoE stuff, and Milly... well, she can be used for support and MP charging (so Sagi and Guillo will be able to use their combos).

It's not boring at all, but I feel like I was more engaged with the first game banking on each character's deck and their own stats/equipment.

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Human organs by National Library of Medicine Via Flickr: Publication: 1660? Language(s): English Format: Still image Subject(s): Thorax -- anatomy & histology, Viscera -- anatomy & histology Genre(s): Pictorial Works Abstract: The skin of a man and woman's chests flayed to expose organs. Related Title(s): Is part of: Anatomical demostration cards.; See related catalog record: 101520602 Extent: 1 painting on laid paper (1 sheet) : 23 x 16 cm. Technique: gouache, color NLM Unique ID: 101557962 NLM Image ID: C06209 Permanent Link: resource.nlm.nih.gov/101557962

[flowersforbucky]

delirium

bucky barnes x reader (sex pollen trope)

word count: 4.1k

summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you.

warnings/tags: sex pollen, dub con, unprotected sex, oral, masturbation, angst, descriptions of physical pain, language, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, reader is afab, 18+ only

flashbacks are in italics

Sometime in the near future, there would be a case study conducted on how long a human being could burn from the inside without dying.

They would refer to you as exhibit a.

Doctors and scientists would lay your cold corpse on a colder table and use a scalpel to cut you from your thorax to your belly button. They would scribble notes about how your lungs had turned to ash and your esophagus to molten lava.

They wouldn't say it, but they would think it's a shame, because your driver's license states that you were an organ donor.

A harsh gust of wind snaps you out of the twisted fantasy and back to your reality - standing barefoot on the rickety front porch steps of a small cabin in Sitka, Alaska. You've only been outside for a few minutes but the snow is pouring down at a brutal pace, already covering the tops of your exposed feet.

The razor sharp chill of the ground below you and the air that surrounds you are the only things tethering you to what little remains of your sanity.

You never thought that you would be so thankful for your feet to be going numb, but after feeling like every fiber of your being is getting melted with a hot branding iron for - what? Ten? Twelve hours now? You had to resist the temptation to submerge your entire body in the multiple feet of snow that had accumulated since nightfall.

You hear the front door of the cabin creak open from behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that he's standing in the doorway with the same look of pleading desperation that he's been giving you since the two of you had realized what was happening.

“You need to come back inside,” he says delicately. His voice is muffled by the roar of the snowstorm, but right now with heightened senses, you hear him just fine. “You're going to get hypothermia.”

You don't respond. The mere sound of his voice makes you grit your teeth together so hard that you're surprised the tiny bones don't shatter.

He keeps to the doorway, scared that if he takes one step closer, you'll flee into the miles of thick woods that surrounds you in only a pair of old sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He murmurs your name in a tone that begs you to come in from the below freezing temperatures.

“What time is it now?” You barely recognize your own voice - low and strained, it sounds like you haven't had anything to drink in days.

You clear your throat, though you doubt it'll make any difference.

“Just after four o'clock.”

Eleven hours into this hell, then. Best case scenario, another half a day of this. Worst case scenario, close to two.

Either way, you knew that these symptoms had yet to hit their peak. This would undoubtedly get worse before it gets better.

You stare out into the endless thicket of snow covered hemlocks and spruces. The illumination from the full moon makes the white powder on the branches glisten in the darkness.

Daylight was still hours away, and with it, hope for some means of communication with the rest of your team back in New York. The snowstorm had brought a widespread power outage across the city. Cell phone signal was nonexistent right now.

“Go on back to your room,” you tell him. “I'll come back inside in just a moment.” You continue to watch the blizzard before you, knowing that he's still just a few feet away from you. “I promise,” you add, hoping that he’ll believe you and return to the bedroom you'd been forcing him to keep to.

The drug coursing through your veins had amplified every one of your five senses. Even with him behind the closed door of the bedroom, you could still smell faint traces of the earthy musk of his deodorant and something warm that is uniquely him.

You wouldn't chance coming back into the house until his scent has dissipated from the entrance - not unless you want to feel as though all air is being stripped from your lungs.

Even simply standing here, with him behind you and the wind blowing his scent in the opposite direction, is nearly intolerable.

You hear footsteps retreat into the house, growing quieter and quieter as he makes his way back down the hallway, until you finally hear the click of his bedroom door. You exhale a breath that you weren't aware you had been holding in.

You have no doubt that he'll try to drag you back inside by the ankles if he has to, so you make good on your promise and return to the sweltering interior of the six hundred square foot log cabin.

A sharp, stabbing pain radiates from the center of your body at that thought - the exact kind of thoughts you were actively trying to avoid having. Thoughts of his hands digging into your thighs, his wet mouth on your throat, his bare chest pressed against yours as he fucks you into the likely thirty-something year old couch - those thoughts. Dangerous territory thoughts - the kind you didn't trust yourself not to act on if dwelled upon for too long.

Apparently, the thought of him putting his hands around your ankles and dragging you kicking and screaming falls into that category.

You settle onto the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest in an effort to alleviate the ache in your lower belly. You notice that Bucky has crammed more wood into the fireplace, which currently serves as the main source of light for the cabin, save for a few candles that have been placed sporadically throughout the small space.

Sweat begins to bead across your skin within seconds of sitting down in front of the fire. You know that Bucky is just trying to keep the temperature of the house from dropping below zero while also providing enough light to see during the middle of the night while you are in too much discomfort to sleep, but you feel like you are locked in a sauna after running five miles.

You think back to all of the times that you've given Sam shit for taking ice baths after his workouts. Now nothing sounds better than an ice bath.

Almost nothing, anyway. The only thing that could possibly feel even better is laying down behind a closed door less than twenty feet away.

And he'd offered - begged, actually, to take this pain away from you.

“Please,” he whispers, kneeling on the ground next to the couch, where you sit hunched over in pain. He's so close to you and it's fucking suffocating. He places his hand on your knee and you have to dig your nails into the suede upholstery to keep from whimpering. He notices the reaction and retracts his touch.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says louder, the pet name finally getting you to meet his gaze for the first time since you dropped the glass jar of the firetruck red powder in the former HYDRA warehouse two hours ago.

Big mistake. Looking at him is a big fucking mistake. From the way his blue eyes bore into yours with sincere concern to the way that his plump, pink lips are slightly chapped from the cold weather -

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head into your hands. “I can't ask that of you. I can't make you do that. I would never forgive my–”

“You wouldn't be asking or making me do anything,” he tries to reason with you. There's sincerity in his voice but you're too delirius to hear the truth of his words. “I'm offering. Because I care about you. Because I don't want to see you in any kind of pain if there's anything I can do about it. Because I think you'd do the same for me if the situation were–”

“Bucky,” you cut him off in a strained gasp. “Your voice is making this so much worse right now.”

“Then let me help you. Let me make you feel good.”

His words alone are enough to have you clenching your thighs around nothing but the thick material of your sweatpants. You can feel your cotton panties becoming more drenched with each word he speaks.

“Not like this.” You're on the verge of tears - from pain, from anger at the entire situation, from how goddamn badly you need to feel him inside you. “It can't happen like this. I never wanted it to happen like this.”

His features soften, a look of understanding spreading across his face.

“When we fuck, I want it to be because we want to fuck,” you say as you jump up from your position on the couch, desperately needing to distance yourself from him before you do something you can't take back. “I don't want it to be because we feel like neither of us have a choice in the matter.”

“But we do have a choice,” he murmurs from where he's still kneeling on the floor next to the couch. “And I'd choose to go back to that HYDRA facility and infect myself with this shit, too, if it means you'd feel a little less guilty about saying yes.”

Your answer to that was, of course, a big, giant absolutely fucking not. The snow started pouring down shortly after, making his irrational proclamation an impossibility, anyway.

Almost half a day later, here you are. Surrounded by miles and miles of snow and ice in a town with no power or semi-functioning cell phone towers, just trying to endure the fire coursing through your veins until the effects of the HYDRA made drug have worked through your system.

You're coming up on the twelve hour mark now, and there's no denying that you're desperate for relief in one way or another.

Worth a fucking shot, you think.

You prop your feet up on the glass coffee table in front where you sit on the couch, spreading your thighs apart by a few inches.

You hesitate for a moment, listening for any kind of indication that Bucky's no longer in the confines of the cabin’s singular bedroom.

Dead silent, except for the crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace.

You snake your hand down the front of your pants, past the waistband of your underwear and to your center that's been aching for hours now.

You stroke your fingers up and down your folds, stopping at the apex of your core to massage your clit in circular motions.

Your head rolls back on the couch at the sensation, immediately feeling the slightest sense of relief. You dig your teeth into your lower lip to keep from moaning - hard enough to draw blood, the taste of iron flooding your mouth.

You slip two fingers past your entrance, not requiring any foreplay to plunge them to the hilt. It feels good - the way you're working yourself with rapid scissoring motions. Really fucking good, actually. Better than fingering yourself has ever felt.

But only a mere minute into the ministrations, you fear that it won't be enough to satiate you in the way that the drug requires.

Still, you try. You yank your t-shirt above your tits, bringing your free hand to paw at your breast as you continue working your pussy with your fingers, the heel of your palm putting pressure against your clit.

“That's not going to work, you know.”

You yank your hand out of your pants, snapping your head to the side to see him leaning against the frame of the small hallway. You had been so immersed in attempting to find some amount of relief that you hadn't heard him exit the bedroom. He's looking at you with sympathy and concern, not judgment - you don't think you'd be able to find it within yourself to feel embarrassed even if he were. Not in your current state of discomfort.

“How do you know that?” Frustration is evident in your voice. You look away from him, back to the fire in front of you as you pull your shirt back down. The floor creaks as he steps out of the hallway and makes his way over to the opposite end of the small couch. He sits a foot away from you, close enough so that his scent and warmth invades your senses, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core.

“Because I've been through what you're going through right now.”

Your eyes break away from the ember that you've been staring at, your gaze snapping to him. You don't know why this comes as a surprise to you. It shouldn't, not with every other form of torment that HYDRA had inflicted upon him for over half a century.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was embarrassed,” he answers with a small half-shrug, breaking your stare. “I didn't.. handle it as well as you are,” he continues, shame in his voice and cheeks rosy. “You’re doing everything you can to fight something that you didn't ask for. That's more than I can say for myself.”

“You were brainwashed, Bucky,” you remind him delicately. It's a risky move that makes your skin burn and belly clench, but you scoot closer to him on the couch - your outermost thigh brushing against his knee. If the two of you weren't both wearing sweatpants, the minimal touch might even aid in bringing you some relief. Instead, you’re left feeling desperate for more of him.

But you push the feeling down, wanting to do what little you can to comfort him - wanting him to know that you don't think poorly of him for what was forced onto him, and what is now being forced onto you, too.

“I would never judge you for anything they made you do,” you assure him.

“I know you wouldn't,” he murmurs, turning to face you again. His blue eyes glow in the low lighting of the fire. The closeness between the two of you is dizzying, and electrifying, and -

“And I want you to know that I would never judge you for giving into this torture,” he adds.

You snort a laugh. “I'm starting to think you want me to give into this.” You mean for the statement to sound light-hearted, but a sharp pang in your gut makes you wince in pain and your voice goes shrill. You clutch your lower belly, hunching over at the pain.

He leans in closer, putting one hand on your lower back and one on your thigh. You whimper at the pressure of his fingers against your spine and inner thigh. Even through your clothes, the contact feels like heaven compared to hell you've been enduring for the last twelve hours.

You lean into his touch - you don't even think about it, you just do it. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your forehead nuzzling the warm skin of his throat.

You take a deep inhale, attempting to steady your breathing, and you realize quickly that is a mistake - his scent is so euphoric, it feels like inhaling flames.

“Would it make it easier for you if I said that I do want you to give in?” His voice is low, his breath fanning across your face from his position above you.

“Fuck, Bucky, you can't say that to me right now,” you whine. You fist your hands into the fabric of his t-shirt, your eyes squint shut.

“Look at me,” he commands. You force your eyes open, pulling your head back enough to look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I want it to be your choice.” He brings a hand up to cup your jawline. His thumb skims the outline of your bottom lip. “But I would be lying if I said that I'm not relieved that I'm the one here with you, or that I wouldn't enjoy every second of helping you feel better.”

He brings his hands to yours, pulling them away from where they still clutch his shirt. You release your grip, allowing him to hold you by your wrists. He pulls your right hand up to his face, stopping just under his nose. Your brows furrow in confusion, until it dawns on you what it is he's doing.

He inhales deeply, then lowers your hand to his parted mouth. He slips the tips of your index and middle fingers past his lips, and then swirls his tongue around the two digits.

The exact two that had been inside your pussy not even five minutes ago.

Right now, you think you could come from him sucking on your fingers and nothing else.

You don't even try to stop the groan that slips past your lips as you shove your fingers deeper into his mouth. He moans around them as he finishes cleaning them off, the sound sending vibrations up your arm and throughout your body.

You pull your fingers from between his lips and immediately crush your own lips to his in their place. You feel the drug surging through your veins, but this time it's less excruciating - it now feels like pure adrenaline bubbling under your skin, spurring you on.

He opens his mouth to you, your lips and tongue moving with his in synchronicity. It's hurried and messy, and maybe not as romantic as you had imagined it in your head before this night - but it's exactly what you need right now.

He maneuvers you so that you're laying down on the couch, and nestles himself between your thighs. You can feel the hard outline of his erection through the thin material of his sweatpants. He ruts against you, dragging the bulge across your clothed center as he yanks your t-shirt up and over your head. He tosses it somewhere behind the couch before attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and palming the other with the cool metal of his left hand.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling the full weight of his body down against you. You stick your hands up the back of his t-shirt, scratching your nails down the skin of his back.

“I need more,” you gasp out as he pinches your nipple between his teeth, rolling it in his lips. The clothing that separates the two of you feels like a prison. “I need to feel you.”

He pulls away, leaning back to perch on his knees between your legs. Your eyes roam down the chiseled planes of his chest until they land on the defined “V” shape that disappears into the waistband of his low-hanging pants.

He hooks his fingers into your sweatpants and underwear and tugging them both down past your ankles, then throwing them somewhere across the room with both of your long-forgotten shirts.

His eyes trail your body from your breasts to your thighs, his pupils dilating in the firelight. He splays his hands across the meat of your inner thighs, pinning your legs open wide for him. He lowers himself back down on the couch, belly down so his face hovers just above your pussy.

“Bucky, I swear if you don't put your mouth–”

He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle before his tongue slips between his lips. It darts to your hole, licking a soft strip up to your clit. You exhale a sharp hiss of pleasure, your hands shooting to lace your fingers through tendrils of his hair. You arch into his touch, meeting the thrusts of his tongue with thrusts of your hips. He eats like you're the best thing he's ever tasted - like he's wanted this for way longer than this drug has been in your system.

You're coming on his face in an embarrassing amount of time, really. Thanks to the influence of the pollen, you currently have the stamina and endurance of a teenager losing their virginity. Your thighs are clenched around either side of his head, writhing above him as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

The relief that you feel as you come down from your high feels like years of pent up frustration leaving your body all at once.

You don't quite feel entirely like yourself - there's still a dull ache in your core, and your skin’s still feverish - though that could be due to the fire that the two of you are just feet away from. But you're now able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Come here,” you whisper, your voice low and honeyed. He crawls over you, his chest brushing against yours as he centers himself above you. His skin shines with a thin layer of sweat that mingles with your own. You reach a hand between your two bodies, palming his erection through the sweatpants that he has yet to shed. You keep your eyes locked on his face, watching as his eyes roll back into his head and his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip as you massage him through the fabric. Your other hand juts down to the waistband of his pants and you tug them downwards, far enough to help him shimmy them down to his knees.

His cock springs forward and he takes himself in his flesh hand, pumping his length several times before teasing your folds with his tip. He collects your slick along his length, lubricating himself before nudging his head just past your entrance.

You're more than ready for him - hours of desperation in addition to already having come on his face leaves you needing no further preparation before he's filling you up with his impressive length and girth. There's a slight burn at the sheer fullness of it, but there's also a wave of relief that your body has been craving for hours.

He pulls out halfway, then rocks back into you. He starts slow - trying to hold back for his own sake or for yours, you're unsure. Gradually, he increases his speed, hitting your cervix at that sweet angle that not everyone knows how to work. You lean forward, raising your head enough to capture his lips in yours once more.

You taste yourself on him - a dichotomy of sweet and salty mixed with something entirely unique. He brings his flesh hand in between your bodies, lowering his fingers to your clit where he begins rubbing pressured circles. You moan his name into his mouth and he responds by biting your lip between his teeth, his movements becoming messier.

“You gonna come on my cock?” he asks in a low growl when he feels your pussy clenching around him. “Gonna fill you up and make you feel all better.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge for the second time - that telltale warm coil in your belly bursting at the same time that he begins spilling his warmth into you.

He collapses, pinning you between his body and the couch beneath you. Starting at your shoulder, he peppers kisses along your collarbones and up your neck until he’s finally eye-level with you.

“We can do that again,” he says in a breathy voice, still inside you. “If you need to, that is. Or if you just want you.” There's a mischievous grin spread across his face and a twinkle in his eyes. It's the most carefree you've seen him since the two of you left New York to come here for this mission. You put your hands on his chest, jokingly attempting to shove him away from you.

“Oh, I don't think I need to,” you jab at him. “I'm feeling pretty great now, but thank you for your services.” He laughs, pulling out of you and sitting back against the couch. He pulls you up with him, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist and tucking you into his side. “But I think I might want to again. You know, now that I'm no longer in excruciating pain.” He hums in agreement, stroking his flesh fingers across the side of your stomach.

“I'm glad you were the one here with me too, Bucky."

thank you for reading! i know sooo many people have done this trope, especially for bucky, but it's truly one of my all time favorites and i just needed to get this out of my system so i hope you all enjoyed

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

other works by me: oil & water • down bad • acquainted •

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Supermarkets

Alien: What makes this place “Super”? Human: It has all the food you can want. Alien: Does it serve human? Human: …….. Human: It has almost all the food you can want. ---------------------------

Alien: And you call these things “Spices”? Human: Yup. Human: From all over the world and you put them on food to make them tastier. Alien: They don’t seem that noteworthy. Human: Don’t tell the british that; they fought several wars over them. Alien: And yet their food still tastes terrible. Alien: *Stops and turns to see human friend smiling Alien: What? Human: I am just so proud of you right now. --------------------------

Human: *Watches alien friend debating between two different brands of milk. Alien: *Becoming increasingly angry wondering where the rest of the 98% of the cow is. ------------------------

Human: What are you doing? Alien: *Unwrapping candy and measuring it Alien: I am ensuring it really is by the foot. ------------------------

Alien: I now understand why your species is so random. Human: Really? Human: Why? Alien: *Points to liquor aisle. -----------------------

Alien: Why do you put your young in tiny containment chairs? Human: Have you ever seen a child free in a supermarket? Human: They are like terrorists hopped on Colombian snow. Alien: None of what you said makes any sense to me. ----------------------

Alien: You have been debating between those rectangles for the last ten minutes. Alien: Please pick one as I wish to see the crustacean torture box once more. Human: Please do not call the fish tank a crustacean torture box. Alien: Do you not make them watch as their comrades are taken away one by one to be devoured. Human: Well, yes, but- Alien: Then it is a crustacean torture box. ---------------------

Human: I can’t decide. Human: *turns to alien friend and holds up two boxes. Human: Which one should I get? Alien: *Looks at both boxes, then points at right one. Human: Really? Human: Why pick that one? Alien: In a fight these tiny pointy eared mutants would be no match against a terran tiger. Human: *sighs Human: You can’t pick cereal based on which mascot would win in a fight. -------------------- Alien: Why does this fruit not have skin? Human: It was peeled so the customer doesn’t need to peel it. Alien: If it was meant to be easy then why is it in a plastic container? Human: Because without the skin it rots faster, so the plastic keeps it contained. Alien: Was the skin not already an effective container? Human: It was. Alien: So you skinned the fruit to make it easy to eat, but then put it in plastic to stop it from rotting. Human: I DIDN’T MAKE THE RULES; OKAY?!?! --------------------

Alien: I wish to use the mobile throne. Human: That’s a mobility scooter and you can’t use it. Alien: But my legs are tired of walking. Human: It’s meant for people with disabilities so you can’t just- *Loud snapping sound Human: *Turns to see alien has broken one of their legs and is now limping over to scooter. Human: Your lack of pain threshold is infuriating. Alien: Kiss my thorax ground pounder! *Proceeds to drive slowly away. --------------------

Alien: Why do you store your cheese as wheels? Human: Ease of access I guess. Human: How do you store your cheese? Alien: Paradoxical Cubes. Human: That doesn’t seem possible. Alien: For centuries it wasn’t. Alien: We lost a lot of good scientists in the endeavor.  Human: ……. ---------------

Human: *Wondering where alien friend is when alien friend comes running around the corner. Alien: We need to leave. Human: What did you do? Alien: They were offering samples of fried fish. Human: And? Alien: And I took two. Human: Dear god…. *angry supermarket workers come swarming in from every aisle

[idolomantises]

when designing characters, whats ur thought process behind them?

My first thought is personality, then occupation. Then try to incorporate that into the design. I’ll use my Beelzebub redesign for example. (Pulled this from insta because I don’t have the file on hand):

She’s described as a party girl and an animal trainer, so I tried to mash the two designs together. The typical uniform with fluffy boots and a uniform that is pulled back rather than around her body

Because she’s described as an animal trainer and very close to the hellhounds, I implemented animal elements while still keeping the bee design. A long tail to both emulate an animal’s tail and a whip (hence why it’s so skinny), She has tiger stripes instead of regular bee stripes to simulate animal patterns, 4 limbs instead of 6 when relaxed (like the hellhounds), and her wings function as a big cape when in its relaxed mode.

Big white fluff to emphasize the performer element, but also because Bees are very fluffy themselves. I wanted her to look like a Bee (even gave her a thorax in some very rough sketches), but decided not to go all the way, keep that animal/demon aesthetic to her.

Skull in the back as a badass design but also because the original Beelzebub fly had skulls on his wings. He was also beefy as hell as a human which is why (gestures to the left side).

Spiral eyes because… well tbh that was just pulled from my own lore. Spiral eyes represent power in Monsters in Girls, also they look cool.

Her hair turns into fire in her “big” mode because fire looks aggressive and powerful compared to the relaxed lava lamp vibe.

Her hair changes colors depending on emotions, to emulate those lava lamps that change colors

Shes also taller than Vortex because well. I mean come on she’s a female bug. She gotta be taller than the male.

I actually wanted to do an animal hybrid alt where she’d be a lion with lava hear, but making her half look would have made me alter the design way more than I had time for, because I still wanted to make it cohesive.

I also tend to do some sketches to really figure out how I want a character to look. Some roughs for example while planning out the design:

(I wasn’t kidding when I said I really enjoyed doing this)

[marlynnofmany]

Seeing Faces

It’s rare when we get a shipment to deliver that’s not packaged somehow — either in Earth-standard boxes, another world’s version of shipping crates, or a livestock pen of some kind. Even that bunch of alien trees had been thoroughly wrapped at the bottom. But this collection of machinery parts didn’t have so much as a layer of cling-wrap on it. I guess the owners figured these things were sturdy enough not to need it.

They were probably right. The metal chunks were heavy. I tried to guess what they were made for as Blip and Blop muscled the biggest ones onto a hover sled, clearing the way for Paint and me to gather up the smaller pieces. Captain Sunlight bid the customer farewell and shut the cargo bay door.

“I think these look like vertebrae,” I said to Paint. “Greasy vertebra. Ew. I’m going to need a new shirt.” The offworld engine oil of whatever didn’t seem acidic at least, so that was nice. I sighed about the black smears.

“Strange vertebrae,” Paint said, juggling her own armload of odd shapes that didn’t seem to be rubbing off on her orange scales. Not that I was jealous or anything. “There would need to be a dual spinal cord.” She tapped a claw on one of the holes.

“Hm, yeah. There are probably animals like that,” I said. “Or robots, as the case may be.”

Ahead of us, Captain Sunlight opened the door to the appropriate storage hold, then headed off on captainly business. It was impressive how different a vibe she gave off compared to Paint, for all their physical similarities. Both were little lizardy people, but one strode with her lemon-yellow head held high, every inch the authority figure, while the other was Paint. She somehow bounced when she walked, even when weighted down by unwieldy metal things.

“I’ll bet these stack really well,” Paint said. “They look like they interlock. We could probably build a spinal column without them falling over.”

“We probably could,” I agreed. “But I don’t want to be the one responsible for bending one of the flanges because we wanted to test it out.”

“Hm. Yep yep yep. But I maintain that we could.”

“We could.”

The two of us entered the storage hold to find Blip and Blop racing to see who could unload the sled faster. It’s not that the Frillian twins were overly competitive, but they were twins. They’d apparently hatched at the same time, and had been in a low-key competition to see who was better at life ever since. But they smiled while they did it.

“Done!” Blip declared, setting down a lump of metal big enough for Paint to hide behind. She raised her hands in triumph, fins fluttering.

“Doesn’t count,” Blop said as he put down his own piece. “You didn’t line them up right. Mine are tidier.”

They squabbled about this while Paint and I unloaded our metal chunks nearby. I had to kneel to keep from dropping the things. It would be just my luck if they did warp on impact, or bounce off each other and whack me in the shin.

The Frillians took their debate out the door before I finished. They’d already moved on to who could steer the hoversled with the minimum of touching.

“Ha,” Paint said. “They do stack.”

I turned to see only one of the things set on top of another, with Paint ready to catch it if it slid. She took it down before I could say anything.

I just nodded and arranged my own into a reasonable huddle, then wiped my hands on my shirt. It was only when I moved toward the door, with a look back at the big pieces, that I got a good look at the one that Blop had set on its side.

This was the logical place to put it, not sticking out past the rest, but the thing that caught my attention was the shape when seen from this angle. Those two holes could have been eyes, and the flanges were shaped like stubby arms. There were even a couple slots in the middle like nostrils.

I burst out laughing.

“What?” Paint demanded.

“It looks like Zhee!” I said, pointing. “Big bug eyes and everything!”

“What does?” Paint asked. She came to stand next to me, following my arm, but just looked confused. “Where are the eyes?”

“These!” I said, stepping closer and pointing at the holes. “And those are the arms. Isn’t it perfect?”

Paint cocked her head as if slightly tilted vision could unlock the answers. “Arms?”

I repeated myself, but she still looked lost, so I found a notepad and pencil in a storage cupboard —reliable even when the batteries all run out — and sketched what I saw.

“Ohh, I get what you mean now,” Paint said when I showed her. “Those parts are lifted like pincher arms, and those are roughly the same proportion as Mesmer eyes.”

“Yeah, it’s uncanny,” I said.

Paint took the notepad to study it closer. “How did you even notice that?”

“It was pretty easy,” I told her. “It just jumped out at me when I looked from the right direction. Like seeing faces in clouds, you know?”

Paint’s blank expression said that she didn’t know.

“Do you not do that? Find patterns of familiar shapes in random things?”

“No?” she replied. “Is that a thing I’m supposed to be doing?”

“You don’t have to! It’s just something that everybody does on Earth, ever since we’re kids. It’s probably from a long history of watching for camouflaged predators in the bushes. You’ve got camouflage on your planet, right? You must.”

“Yeah, sure,” Paint said easily. “But I guess not that much. I’ve never seen a face in a cloud; that sounds terrifying.”

“Not really; it’s more like feeling smart for spotting something. Well,” I amended. “It could be a little unsettling if you see a skull or something. But that’s rare. There are whole systems of divination about this sort of thing.”

Paint looked like she was about to ask a million questions, but right then the sound of familiar clicking footsteps tapped down the hall.

“Zhee!” Paint called, whirling with the notebook in her hand. “Zhee, look what Robin saw!”

Zhee came into view looking just as eyecatching and purple as usual, halting at the doorway while Paint eagerly explained the conversation we’d just had. Quickly and enthusiastically. With lots of waving the sketch around, and pointing back at the machine part.

I felt like apologizing as he stared with an unreadable alien expression. His antennae weren’t even moving; I couldn’t tell what he thought of it all.

Finally Paint finished talking. “She says it’s probably because her species watches for predators in the bushes. Isn’t that amazing?”

Zhee made a point of looking slowly from the sketch to the metal thing, then to me. I braced myself for judgement.

Instead, Zhee raised his pincher arms into the same pose and declared, “I am the danger that lurks in the bushes.” Then he slunk out of sight, many legs scuttling in a quickstep way that he knew darn well I found creepy.

Paint blinked at the empty doorway, still holding the notebook.

“Aw, man,” I said. “He’s picking things up from Trrili.”

Paint immediately closed the notebook. “We definitely shouldn’t show her.”

“Agreed!” I said.

After a moment of thought, Paint tore the page out and handed it to me, then took the notebook back to the cupboard. I pocketed it with a final glance at the metal vertebra that looked remarkably like a cartoonish Mesmer squaring up for battle.

Someone had left a roll of no-residue marking tape on a box nearby. I grabbed a strip and stuck it onto the metal, with the ends curved up.

Now the thing had a goofy grin that possibly no one would recognize. But if there were any humans on the receiving end of this delivery, they ought to get a good laugh out of it.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[justvoidsdumbstuff1]

Humans?!

[majachee]

THE CHANGELING BROTHERS 🗣🗣🗣

Some design notes under cut:

In mythology, changelings are humanoid creatures that have been placed by fae (broad generalized term) in place of a human child, though there are also some stories here and there of adults being taken and replaced by changelings.

Changelings, based on my limited research, only really refer to the creature left behind during some good ol cradle robbing. They are related to the fae, though. Fae, or faeries, cover a broad range of different creatures in all sorts of European mythos, however, from elves to trolls to imps. In more modern art and stories, fae are drawn as tiny little humans with bug-like wings and long, flowing hair. But there have been less flattering depictions throughout history.

Taking the origin of the mythos, and the obvious bug inspiration in the show, I've decided to redesign these two to look like impish little sprites! Changelings in my AU are smaller than the average pony, usually reaching their chin or shoulders. They have thin, flexible bodies that are protected by an exoskeleton! Their jaws are an odd mix of mammalian and insect, so they can expand and protrude their lower jaws while their upper jaw stays fixed to their skull. Their tongues are thin, based on nectar-drinking bugs and animals like butterflies and hummingbirds.

Most changelings have two wings, only Pharynx and Thorax have four wings (reformed form only.)

Pharynx is also a bit taller than the average changeling drone... Have fun imagining how tall Thorax is. Height chart coming eventually.

Their tails are loosely based on a scorpion's stinger, but I took more inspiration from cartoony imp/devil tails in art and cartoons! 😇

[jimvasta]

Humans: When they growl, you should run

(@skullyfuck thanks for the growling prompt)

The creature rolled and, improbably, stood on its hind legs.

That was impressive, few aliens could take a swipe from a mature Bagron warrior. Maybe it was true, the Humans were hardly, but it had no visible claws and there were no teeth or horns to be seem. Maybe it was the artificial over armour that hid the details or maybe the rumours were a fabrication and Humans were not as impressive as the Alliance wanted their enemies to believe.

The commander waved his uppermost arm in a signal for the Human to be dispatched. They would find out more when they did an autopsy.

Seconds later, the commander was staring in horror. How did it do that?! It picked up a fully armoured warrior and threw it. That much strength was scarcely possible, forgetting anatomically impossible for a Bagron to copy, and all the worse that it somehow threw the hapless warrior directly into its squad mate. The Human then heaped on the indignity by stamping on their exposed mandibles, a horrific way to kill.

On reflection, maybe ordering the execution of the Human’s Alliance companions in front of it and saving for last was a bad mistake.

The Commander realised its biggest error when the Human turned to focus on it. Then came a noise which made it instinctively pull its shell plates round its thorax, a movement normally considered cowardly but in this case wise.

The Human let out a low, menacing, growl.

The Commander dropped down onto all eight limbs and fled.

The growl was dropped for a shudder. “Fucking sentient spiders. When I get home I’m requisitioning a flamethrower.”

[daily-fern]

Day 104

(another MLP crossover bc I love thorax sm)